(Author's Notes – First POTC fanfiction, don't kill me if it's terrible!
None of these people belong to me, unless I get creative and write in another character, but any of the originals are not mine.
For a bit of a back-story, to explain, I am an unapologetic Commodore Norrington fan, have been since the first time I saw it. I hate the way his character is treated in DMC, but, hey, I'm not writing the script. I guess this is my take on what he thinks about the events of DMC and where he goes from there. Mild AU, changing a few things said in the movie about how Norrington got to the point he was in, like the hurricane, the warrant, etc. This will probably become complete AU once the third comes out … which can't happen quickly enough!)
In the Wrong
I regretted handing the heart over to Beckett as soon as I did so, though I didn't realize it at first. Disgusting as it is to me to admit now, I was too happy that as soon as Beckett took the heart, he handed me my sword.
"Commodore Norrington," he said in the slick manner of his, "It was nice doing business with you."
I left without a word.
I found myself in my former apartments some time later, listening absentmindedly to the bustle as servants brought back to service what had once been abandoned. Sitting in my former bedchamber, I could hear someone, hopefully my valet, pouring a bath. God knew I needed it. Now that I was not in the company of pirates, lowlifes, drunkards, and filth, I noticed an awful stench that emanated from … me. As this horror gradually subsided, another took its place. Not long ago I had been a lowlife. Not long ago I had been as disgustingly drunk as the worst of them. Not long ago I behaved in a manner which would have done the slimiest among them proud.
And now I was reaping the benefits of it.
Looking around, I saw my former life restored to me. I had my apartments, my old flag lieutenant Gillette was to return to call in an hour's time with my commission, and my sword lying on the desk before me. The honor attached to the name James Norrington had never been truly lost in the public's eye, for they believed I had perished in the storm. The only soul who knew was Beckett, and I had given him bribe enough to keep him silent for eternity. All I had left to regain was my appearance, and that would be mine before long.
I felt some shadow of my former confidence return as my valet left me to clean myself, something I was only too eager to do. The water was murky as my conscience when I was through. It had been so long since I had seen a razor I feared for a moment I had forgotten its use, as I looked at itmy only thought was – weapon. Trying in vain to push that dreadful period from my head, I went about the business, noticing in shock how pale the skin under was compared to the rest of my face. It was something I'd have to deal with, unless vanity got a better hold on me.
Hair brushed, powdered and queued, I confronted the uniform. It was my right, as an officer of his Majesty's Navy, to wear, as was the sword. I'd spent my whole life in earning them, but lost them through folly. Now I had earned them again, no matter the method. My duty was all I had left. And, as I eased the gilded coat over the immaculate white of the shirt and waist coat, I was reminded it was a heavy one.
Pleased, I looked at myself in the mirror. Though I almost looked like the man of months before, I, for a moment, could only see what I had been merely an hour ago.
A pirate.
Conscience be damned! I was an officer and a gentleman! I was! And am!
And I may be a gentleman, but God help those who get in my way.