Summary: James Norrington is captain to The Avenger, and a privateer. His redemption seems not to have gone as planned, but it's still better than having to be a deckhand to a pirate ship. His adventures at sea lead him to cross paths with a young pirate who will do absolutely anything to leave the past behind. How far will James go to help a person who seems to have the same ambitions for a better life?
Author Notes: I don't own it, and if I did, I think I'd be too busy playing with…ah, trimming, Norrington's beard. Didn't think I was good for anything other than Lord of the Rings romance, eh? Well, I'm back, and this time I'm not going to disappear for quite awhile. I hope that you enjoy the makings of an epic adventure of romance and a little bit of tragedy, with the help of my good friend Mercury Gray. And I hope you'll like my original character, too. I put a lot of love and heart into her. Without further ado…
"Cold and foggy when it happened. Late it was, too, 'f I remember aright. The holds were fair burstin' with Spanish gold from the five ships we'd taken at sea. Aye, and the captain was in a particular foul mood that night. Too long at sea, some said. I say his sword be itchin' at his hip that evenin', and he was ready for a good fight."
Crew members stopped working and slowly made their way toward the Mr. Fletcher. The man had a flair for ensnaring the imagination quite well. Sailors would swear he should have been the court jester in England. Or at the very least, a traveling storyteller. A few sailors sat nearby, waiting with wry grins. On their last port, The Avenger had acquired new crewmembers, a few which were young men who had visions of grand adventures. They had heard of their captain, and thirsted like dying men for water for the tales.
"An' so there we were, in the middle of the seas, with naught but the lanterns for light. N' out of the darkness there comes this wail like the depths of hell was calling us to our doom! The cap'n doesn't bat an eye, no sir."
"What'd 'e do, Marse Fletcher?" asked a young gunner who had recently joined the crew.
"Well, the wailin' goes on for some time, all ghost like. Ever one on deck is getting mighty afeared. But the Captain, he just tells us to clear for action, calm as a frozen fishpond he was. And then, there's this whistle and the mast splinters and falls right in front of him! So then we knows there be another ship about te kill us, and we get those guns cleared double quick, d'ye ken? And sure enough, it's the Devil's Apprentice, with Black Samuel at the helm, laughing like he was Old Harry hisself!"
New crewmembers looked at each other as if Fletcher had just blasphemed God above. "Ye mean, Cap'n took on the Apprentice, sir?"
"Aye, he took 'em on. Cap'n don't fear nothin', even the hurricanes of Jamaica. 'E'd laugh at the devil hisself if he could, n' I says he's already donnat least twice."
"Contrary to whatever tall tales Mr. Fletcher may tell, gentlemen, I assure you that I have never laughed at the devil," the captain said as he appeared silently from below decks and approached with an eerie calm. "Now, about your work!"
"But sir!" said Fletcher. "I was just gettin' to th' good part!"
"There will be time enough for stories when we're in a pub, Mr. Fletcher," answered his captain calmly. Fletcher looked up at the hard green eyes of his superior and knew that now was not the time to play the crew's buffoonish jester and make a scene.
"Aye, Cap'n," Fletcher assented quietly, standing and following the man after a wordless motion of his hand signified he wished his presence at the helm. And yet the first mate muttered that he stood by everything that he'd said. If one or two more crew members respected him because of Fletcher's outlandish tales, thought Captain James Norrington as he ascended the stair, what harm came from that?
"Captain, sails off the port bow!" cried a sailor from the crow's nest. James turned his head sharply, walking closer to the rail to have a better look out to sea.
"Mr. Fletcher, the spyglass," he called to the first mate, who trotted over as fast as a heavy-set body would allow him. All the sailors looked up expectantly as Captain Norrington pulled out the spyglass and gazed into the distance. "There goes the far-seein' sea god again," a deckhand chuckled, wondering if they'd get more Spanish gold to set their hold to bursting.
"What do ye see, sir," Fletcher whispered, standing a little behind James and squinting his eyes. For a long moment, the breeze blew as his captain was silent, watching the horizon hungrily.
"I see..." Norrington murmured at last, a wry grin on his face, "a ship with no colors."
"Pirates, then," Fletcher asked, astounded, before a chuckling grin appeared on his face. "Thought we'd got the last one near two weeks ago."
"All hands, prepare for battle!" shouted Norrington as he snapped the spyglass shut, turning on his boot heel to make way to his cabin, where he kept his pistols safe.
"Cap'n, who we be goin' to fight and confiscate goods fr'm this time sir?" Fletcher asked, having followed Norrington to badger him for information. "And shouldn't we be runnin' up our colors?"
"No colors,' Norrington said shortly, loading his pistols and readying his sword. "Let them think we are fellow pirates; give us an element of surprise. And I'm sure you've heard of The Saint, Mr. Fletcher?"
The first mate crossed himself. "God ha' mercy, aye, sir. Raided me home port not too long ago, I 'eard. Killed me cousin and hurt lotta families I knew."
"Here's your chance to inflict some justice, Mr. Fletcher," Captain Norrington said mirthlessly as he handed his first mate a loaded pistol.
Aboard The Saint, the crew scrambled madly for arms, hungry for a victim at last within reach. Pistols and muskets were loaded and distributed, swords and cutlasses loosened at the hip. No one noticed when a single figure backed up against the wall of the captain's cabin, trying to hide, unwilling to take up arms and contemplate the pillaging of a ship. Not until the captain himself shoved a musket at the figure, sneering.
"Ye'll not get away with trying to hide so easily, Cobb," he growled, making sure his crewman took the weapon.
"Who said hiding was easy, Captain Flynn," asked Cobb sourly, trying to mask distain.
"I'll not hold with lazy slugs aboard me ship, Cobb. Or were ye thinkin' of goin' into the captain's private stores while he was gone?" Flynn asked evilly, stepping close enough so that the young pirate had to turn head to avoid the stench of the captain's breath. It was obvious he wanted an answer.
"Why would I," Cobb replied, getting some spine, turning and looking at the captain with a cold, hateful light in those tired brown eyes. "Your private stores, nay, your entire cargo hold can't possibly be worth as much as what you've already taken from me. It's no use for me to be lookin' through it."
"Another word from yer bloody trap, and I'll be sure to take it from ye again, Catie," Flynn leered, staring down the weaker of the two. "And ye know I won't be so quick about it this time. The humiliation of it'll stick 'n yer stubborn head longer."
"We'll see about that, Flynn," Catherine Cobb muttered under her breath as the captain stomped away, giving orders right and left. It had been a bloody year since she had first met Flynn. A year ago when he had promised to take her back to England, away from the Caribbean port where she grew up. At seventeen years of age, Catherine was now utterly disillusioned about sea adventures and pirates. There were no dreams now of living in London in a fine house. No hope of a friendly, civilized society she could be a part of. Bitterly, she realized all too late that she had thrown it away when she took Edgar Flynn's hand and ran to The Saint, her head filled with false promises.
And here she was on the deck of a pirate ship, dressed as a man in tattered clothes; a musket in her hand, a sword at her hip. Catherine had learned the hard way how to run a man through with a sword, especially if he was coming at her with his arms outstretched and his eyes wild. She taught herself how to shoot straight, load a musket or pistol, how to care for these things that would keep her alive. No one else was going to do her the favor of saving her hide.
"Make ready the guns!" Flynn shouted as nearby pirates scattered like a school of fish when a shark approaches. The captain pulled out his spyglass and had another look at the ship they were approaching, which seemed to have been dawdling along since he looked last.
"'O we takin' this time, Captain?" a wide-smiling pirate asked, gleeful to be in action once again. Flynn looked through his spyglass again, studying the prow of the ship he would soon splinter to thorns in the sea.
"Ne'er seen the likes of it, Mr. Roberts," Flynn replied at last. "But she sits heavy in the water, like she be weighed down with a lotta cargo."
Mr. Roberts and Captain Flynn watched with confusion as the ship they approached turned toward its starboard side and presented itself as a very easy target. Further confusion ensued as the distant rumble of canon fire sounded, and the whistle grew louder until the two ducked to barely miss the shot that took a bit of the railing from The Saint. Righting himself, Flynn looked through his glass again.
"We be bearin' down on The Avenger," he growled. "Let's give 'er a taste of 'er own medicine. Bear to starboard and run out the portside guns! Give 'em the sting o' The Saint!"
The ensuing battle was long and desperate. Neither The Saint nor The Avenger would give in easily, and both captains were determined men, each accustomed to having their victory. Cannonballs whistled to and fro, the ships splintering under them as the crews fought each other fiercely after The Saint had been boarded. Catherine never had time to reload her musket, and so used the butt of the weapon as a club until she lost her grip on it. Unsheathing her sword between fighting foes, she looked about her. It would be the perfect time to escape, in the confusion of battle. Making her way to the ship's railing, Catherine took a last look about her as if to make sure her escape was secret. The Avenger had somehow escaped much damage, and was currently a preferable ship to The Saint's condition. Catherine convinced herself she could hide in the cargo hold and stowaway until it came to a port. Then she could start a new life, away from the sea; away from pirates; away from Flynn.
A crewman of The Saint recognized her and leered. "Where ye goin', Cobbie?" he asked, knowing that particular nickname irked her to no end. "Runnin' away?"
"If ye try to stop me Tom, I'll run ye through," she replied dangerously, pointing her blade at him. Her black hair that had been in a loose braid now looked wild as an island native's gaze.
"Try it, Cobbie, ye know I'm a better swordsman," Tom replied, swinging his sword at her, making quick jabs to make her back up until she was at the edge, near the plank where The Avenger boarded her. Catherine looked over her shoulder, trying to right herself in a properly balanced attack position when Tom lurched forward, having been shot in the back of the head. His body fell upon her and Catherine fell backward, screaming at the loss of solid wood beneath her feet before taking a deep breath in preparation of hitting the water. Tom's body was still over her, forcing her underwater with its weight. The water helped lift him off her, but her pushing him away was impeded by the same thing. Catherine kicked her feet, swimming to the surface, her limbs moving slowly as if in a terrible dream. How far had she sunk already? Why couldn't she seem to break surface?
At last, her head broke through the water, her lungs sucking in the air desperately. Looking up, she could see that the battle on deck was less intense. Swimming closer to the hull of the ship, she climbed up the side, pausing to take a breath at the top. Gasping in surprise, she felt a pair of hands take hold of her and haul her to her feet. Catherine would have made protest, if not for the naked blade near her neck. Apparently, the crew of The Avenger had won the sea battle. Catherine's brown eyes searched out who was alive and found Captain Flynn in a very small knot of his sailors, trying to barter for his life. The coward.
"The ship is ours, gentlemen," said Norrington, "and all its contents."
"Three cheers for Captain Norrington, who's given us victory again!" Fletcher cried with glee. The crew cheered their captain and went about confiscating whatever was left that remained undamaged. Catherine looked around her and quickly worked out a plan for saving herself. Surely it could be done, with the proper cajoling.
"Captain," she said, not daring to move. The sailors that still held her shouldn't be provoked to slicing her neck. Captains Flynn and Norrington looked toward her.
Norrington looked surprised for only a moment that a young woman was being held as a pirate. After Elizabeth willingly chose piracy as her lifestyle, he couldn't possibly be surprised by anything anymore. "And I suppose you're going to barter for your life, much like your former captain?" he said curtly. He had learned not to underestimate the power of the female intellect.
"Yes," Catherine replied bluntly, boldly looking Norrington in the eyes. She could hear Flynn growling.
"Catie, ye traitorous bitch!" he snapped. Norrington turned to his first mate.
"Mr. Fletcher, see to it that he does not curse in the presence of this woman again," he announced carefully. Mr. Fletcher nodded and pulled out a still loaded pistol, cocking it at Flynn menacingly while his captain stepped toward the young woman. Catherine remained still, submitting to her capture calmly even as her mind furiously worked to lay down her plan for survival and escape from Flynn.
"And what do you propose, madam," Captain Norrington asked, pursing his lips, his hands clasped behind his back.
"Sir, I'll do anything to get away from Flynn and his crew," Catherine replied, trying to be as convincing as possible. She spat seawater as she punctuated her words with urgency. "I nivver wanted to be a pirate in the first place."
"Anythin', love?" asked the sailor to the right of her, who was grinning at not only the advantageous view he held of her bosom, but the way her wet clothes clung to her body. Catherine shrank away from him when his hand slid down her back to rest on her backside.
Captain Norrington sighed heavily and took his pistol from his belt, clubbing the sailor over the head. Cate shuddered away, whimpering in submission in case he decided to use the pistol on her as well. Norrington turned to the other sailor who held her, holding up the butt of the pistol. "I won't hesitate to knock some sense in you as well, if you make such a comment as Forbes did."
His crewman nodded and stepped away from the captain. No one gainsaid Norrington and escaped the consequences when he was angry. He turned back to the young woman. "Is that why you were fighting against our crew, then?"
Catherine visibly deflated, her eyes dropping to the deck of the ship. "I was tricked into bein' a pirate sir," she said hatefully. "It was either fight yer crew or…bear the consequences."
Norrington seemed to consider her words for a moment. "Your name is Catie?"
"Catherine Cobb, sir," she replied, hope springing in her heart. Her plan was working! She'd get away from Flynn at last!
"Catherine Cobb," Captain Norrington amended, lifting his pistol and loading it as he spoke. "How badly do you want to get away from being a pirate?"
Catherine paled when he began to load his pistol right in front of her. Gunpowder spilled onto her foot, sticking to it because of the wet. Taking a gulp, she licked her dry lips and focused on his face so she wouldn't be afraid of what was sure to come next. "I'd kill to leave this life, Captain," she said forcefully, trying to keep her courage.
Norrington smiled wryly. "How convenient for you to say," he chuckled mirthlessly as he finished loading the pistol and offered it to her. "Would you do the honor of killing Captain Flynn, then?"
Catherine's hands shook when she took the pistol. The metal was hot from the sun and its recent use, and dried the palm of her hand. Looking at Captain Norrington, she realized from the hardness of his green eyes that it was either going to be Flynn or her to take that bullet. And Catherine meant to live.
Looking down at the young woman, Norrington saw the fear in her eyes. He also watched the fear being swallowed up by a fierce, cold desire for life. The girl cocked the gun and aimed at Flynn.
"Catie," Flynn said in a warning tone, as if he would break away and strangle her. "Ye'd shoot yer own captain?"
Catherine's brown eyes suddenly hardened, steeled against his mocking voice. Against whatever would come and stand in her way. She had left a good life, to follow a man who never meant to keep his promises to her, and she intended to force her way into an even better life, if she could. This shot would begin her pilgrimage back to civilization.
"Ye were never my captain, Flynn," she answered dryly. Pulling the trigger, Catherine's hand jerked back, and Flynn fell to the ground, his face in a sooty contortion of what it once was. Lowering the pistol, Catherine looked on the mangled, bleeding mess of the man that was once her captor.
Beside her, Norrington nodded quietly to the crewmen who were nearby, signaling them to take the rest of the prisoners below. "Mr. Fletcher, clean up this mess," he commanded, stepping over Flynn's dead body. Catherine looked at the retreating form of Captain Norrington and threw herself at the railing, retching over the side before she too was lead to the brig.