Authoress' Note: Ok, so this is my stab at the prequel to the James and Lizzy love story that we all love. I figured that if I didn't write it someone else was going to, so I might as well jump on the chance. Please let me know how you feel about the POV, voice, etc. And by the way, I've just noticed that I managed to name James & Elizabeth's child from ASOF Charlotte, the very same name as Governor Swann's house servant from one of the previous chapters. I hope that doesn't weird any of you out. :P It certainly strikes me as funny.

Steps Toward a New Life

I sit on the edge of my four-poster devoid of its lace linens swinging my legs against the cherry wood of the bed frame. Charlotte sits on the floor, legs tucked neatly beneath her, packing frocks, petticoats, and stockings into a traveling bag. She glances up at me for the fourth time, swiping at a stray strand of hair swinging in front of her eyes. I stare back almost defiantly as though daring her to ask me to help pack for a voyage that I do not want to make. She sighs and sets back to work.

We, that is to say, Papa and I, are being sent to Jamaica. I refuse to believe that my father would willingly volunteer for such a thing. Surely he would not force his only daughter to give up the only home and friends she has ever known to go live in a jungle. At least that's what I thought. But here we are, packing up the house and leaving everything we know behind, leaving Mama behind . . .

I may be 12 years old, but I am not daft. This move has something to do with Mama, even if it is a small reason. Papa has never quite been the same since she died, although I do not remember her or how Papa was before. I've only got what I've heard from Charlotte, and she tells me everything.

Charlotte stands up and brushes off her hands on her skirts. "Now then, have you said good-bye to your friends?" she asks with a false smile.

"Yes," I lie, nodding glumly. In truth, I don't really want to see them, because all I'll get is sympathy. It's not as though I'll ever see them again anyway.

The young woman smiles sadly, picks up the travel bag and leaves the room. I look about me then, wondering if my room at the governor's mansion in Port Royal will be just as big. I wonder if there is a school there, and if there will be girls my age whom I may play with. Somehow I can't imagine these things in a jungle.

Hard and fast footsteps in the corridor approach, and I stand up quickly as the door opens slowly. The pale face of a girl with pink cheeks peeks around the corner. I breathe a sigh of relief.

"Oh, Georgia, it's you," I say, and she steps into the room with a shy smile.

"I couldn't let you leave without saying good-bye, Elizabeth," the blonde girl says, her blues eyes wide at the thought, "You're the very best friend I've ever had."

I smile, and reach for both of her hands. "And you're the very best friend I've ever had as well," I say.

Georgia's smooth brow suddenly furrows. "Jamaica isn't terribly far away, is it? Perhaps I could still visit you."

I shake my head. "I don't know, Georgie. Father showed me a map, and it's across a huge ocean. It may take us months to get there."

Georgia nods, and she sniffs a bit to keep the tears from coming, though a few leak out anyway and roll down her cheeks. I hug her hard then, feeling the wetness of her cheek as I press it against mine. Closing my eyes I try to memorise as quickly as I can her pale skin, shining blue eyes, and curly blonde hair.

There's a knock on the door, and we jump back quickly. Georgia takes out a linen handkerchief and wipes at her eyes as Charlotte sticks her head around the door. She looks slightly surprised at the sight of us.

"The carriage is ready, Miss," she says, "I'll need to be locking up, so don't be too many minutes longer with Miss Ashworth."

I nod, and Charlotte steps out again shutting the door lightly behind her. Tucking the handkerchief away, Georgia reaches into the pocket of her frock and pulls out a golden chain with a small circular pendant dangling from it. I take it in my hand and run a finger over it to make it shine in the dull light.

"It's a locket!" Georgia cries, taking the trinket from me and prying it open with two hands. Inside is a lock of her white blonde hair. I take it from her; snap it shut, and pull it over my head so that it rests directly over my heart.

"I'm going to miss you," I say and give my friend another hug. Charlotte raps on the door again more urgently. I squeeze Georgia's hand one more time. "I've got to go. Good-bye!"

I rush from the room, leaving poor Georgia Ashworth standing all alone. I do not believe I will ever see her again.

---

"Elizabeth, where have you been?"

I look down at my feet, which are hidden by my numerous skirts. "I was saying good-bye to Georgia," I whisper, keeping my eyes on the ground.

"Ah."

Papa's tone softens, and he lifts my chin with one finger. I smile tentatively, and he smiles back.

"That's all right. I understand how hard this is for you, leaving your friends behind," he says this as he takes my hand and helps me up into the carriage. "But I promise you that there will be plenty of new people to meet in Port Royal. You'll make all sorts of new friends soon enough."

I find this hard to believe but do not say so aloud. Instead I purse my lips and stare out the window, waiting for us to begin our bumpy ride down to the docks. The door remains open however and several minutes pass.

"Papa, what are we waiting for?"

Father sticks his head out the open door. "Ah, here he is now," he says, and turns to me again, "There's someone I would very much like you to meet."

Someone is getting into the carriage. It is a young man, perhaps just turned 20, in naval uniform. He takes off his hat, revealing a brown tied back wig underneath and sets it on his lap as he sits down opposite me. The door shuts then, and the carriage jerks as we move forward.

"Elizabeth," Papa says, "I would like you to meet Lieutenant James Norrington. He will be accompanying us on our voyage, and he's been a very good friend of mine."

James Norrington smiles at me and sticks out his hand in a most forward fashion. I place my much smaller hand in his and shake modestly.

"A pleasure to meet you, Miss Elizabeth," he says kindly, as I slide my hand out of his grasp.

I nod my head, and place my hands neatly in my lap. Papa smiles approvingly, but I can only think of one thing: James Norrington is decidedly the most handsome man I have met in my very short 12 years of life.

Authoress' Note: I need feedback! Free cookies and love and hugs to everyone who gives it. Thanks for the time you give for writing reviews; it means the world to me.