Disclaimer: Not mine, please don't sue me.
Author's Notes: Okay, so, I've never written for this fandom before (my friend requested PotC!fic for his birthday), so I would really appreciate some gentle constructive criticism. Read and review!
o.o.o.o
He was a good man, and they were not.
That was what James Norrington always reminded himself of, when things seemed not to be going his way. He was a good man, and whoever he was currently pitted against, were not. And James always won.
Through his whole life, he never lost, no matter what the stakes.
He had decided, at an early age, that he wanted to be a captain in the Royal Navy. The other children of breeding in his parents' neighborhood -- those little brats whose progenitors were all richer by far than his own, who were just a mere country squire and his wife -- had laughed and jeered at the very notion. James was not from a particularly wealthy or influential family; everyone knew that lack of worldly goods or weightiness was practically the kiss of death herself, in such ventures. James was a fourth son; everyone knew that fourth sons had no prospects whatsoever, except to live on the charity of relatives whose pockets were more well lined. James was utterly without connections; everyone knew that unconnected people never got far in any profession unless they were obscenely talented, which he really was not. Naturally the rest of the world doubted him. Even James's parents were skeptical.
They had sent him off as he asked, however, at the very early age of eight, to begin his career, for they had no money to leave him and he must do something to support himself. So why not that which he desired above all other things?
No-one had thought he would succeed, though, except himself.
He was a good man, and those alongside him were not.
By the time he was sixteen, he was a midshipman, and by his eighteenth birthday, he was lieutenant on a ship bound for the Caribbean, with the promise of a permanent position with the Caribbean fleet, if he acquitted himself well.
And of course he had, though no-one expected it, except himself.
He was a good man, and those around him were not.
After that he had been made second mate; and then first mate; and then captain. Eight years after reaching the Caribbean, he was promoted yet again, and made commodore. And any man who can, through hard work and diligence, become a commodore at six-and-twenty, is quite a good man indeed.
He was a good man, and those against him were not.
Which was why he had no notion of viewing Turner, a mere twenty-year-old blacksmith's apprentice, as a legitimate rival. For he was a good man, and Turner was... not nearly so good.
Any man who would risk himself, his freedom and his very life, to save a bloody pirate from the hangman's noose couldn't be as good a man as James, after all.
He was a good man, and those who opposed him were not.
No, James Norrington was not concerned by Turner's interest in Elizabeth, or hers in him. (That was a minor inconvenience, and proved a small setback, but it would not end with her in Turner's arms; Turner was not man enough to hold onto such a fine woman for long.)
James, it must be seen, loved Elizabeth, fiercely, enough to ensure that he could not lose her, so he did not mind giving her up -- temporarily, anyway -- to that blacksmith. He could play the benevolent, and relinquish her to Turner's less than certain keeping. Because Turner might be a good man, just as he himself was, but it was obvious that Turner also had something close to pirate blood running thick through his veins, which made him not quite as pure and good as James.
And in the end, the better man always won.
He was a good man, and they were not.
James Norrington did not ever lose.