II. Surrender or Die?

Despite the doctor's best efforts the inevitable fever struck.

In a guestroom in James' own home Elizabeth lay on her belly muttering with fever dreams, a healing salve and linen gauze spread over her wounds. James employed two nurses to watch over her at all times, changing her dressings and bathing her with cool cloths.

James came to sit by her side whenever he had the time, and even when he didn't. He never really considered himself a man of God, but for the first time in a very long time, he held her hand in his and prayed.

There was a sickness here on this island that had already claimed half of the settlers who had come with him from England. He hoped she had been in these climes long enough to resist it in her weakened state.

How often had he wondered after Elizabeth over these long years? Did she have enough to eat? Did her shipmates treat her well? Was she safe? Was she happy? If she finally met her demise here in his city, where he finally should have been able to protect her…it was simply unbearable.

Sir James had taken great pains to avoid the Caribbean for the last decade of his life, and those who knew him and many who didn't were rather surprised to hear of his eager return to those pirate infested waters. There had been a matter of great embarrassment in Port Royal some years ago, a governor's daughter who elected to fling herself from the ramparts of Fort Charles to run away with a blacksmith and an infamous pirate rather than marry the then Commodore Norrington. That was what the gossips said, at any rate, and though at its heart it was essentially correct, James' disappointment had not been quite so dramatic.

Elizabeth Swann had not gone over the wall after Sparrow's foiled hanging and swum out to meet the waiting Pearl. She had joined her cohorts later in the dead of night, and had done her then fiancé the courtesy of leaving an apologetic if not surprisingly sweet letter, for a woman-child so bent on breaking his heart in the pursuit of her own destiny.

He had gone after her, of course, but the Black Pearl truly was one of the fastest ships in the Caribbean, and with a wily Jack Sparrow at her helm there was little a lubberly first rate like the Dauntless could do. Once he'd had them in his sights, and through his glass he'd watched Elizabeth playfully blow him a kiss before the Pearl caught the wind and left the Dauntless in its wake. He had returned home to Governor Weatherby Swann months later, miserable and empty handed.

Then, as time went on and evidence of her piratical escapades mounted against her, James shifted from desperately wanting to find Elizabeth and bring her home, to dreading such a victory, for it would only mean delivering her and her band of merry ruffians to a hangman's noose. James had requested transfer to the Mediterranean, and had seen action against the Barbary corsairs, and even travelled so far as India in the continued conquest of the subcontinent.

Indeed, the detail that had interested James Norrington most in this new commission of re-taking the island of New Providence from pirates and settling the city of Nassau was that he would be armed not only with the power to execute, but to issue the King's Pardon as well. Sir James was not the only one who had seen advancement through the course of his adventures. When word reached him one evening during an amicable supper with a comrade in arms off Gibraltar that Miss Elizabeth Swann had been named Pirate King of the Brethren of the Coast, and had taken a direct hand in the demise of Lord Cutler Beckett and the Caribbean interests of the East India Trading Company, James had nearly fallen off his seat.

These azure blue waters were her territory, and those who called themselves the Brethren proved to be insufferably hard eggs to crack. But after a year of hard labor, many hangings, numerous pardons, and the threat of Spanish invasion always hanging over head, somehow Sir James had managed to mold Nassau into a semi-respectable place for law abiding citizens to call home. Perhaps it was not yet a place he would have allowed his nieces to walk down the thoroughfare unguarded, but an average man could at last go about his business with no more than the usual watchful eye upon his purse, and return home with his throat intact.

Indeed, James would have been a liar, at least to himself, if he claimed he had come to this part of the world without a single hope or design of laying eyes upon Elizabeth Swann once more. He had envisioned it more times than he could count, in myriad number of ways. Most fantastical but by far his favorite, he imagined her coming to him with all the poise of a monarch but tired of the constant toil and strife of the pirate life, lured by the tales of a new order and longing to be taken into the Crown's fold once more.

More likely, he'd wondered if someday he would look out from his office window to find an armada of pirate ships looming on the horizon, a threat the likes of which she had offered Cutler Beckett: leave us be or die.

But he never ever would have dreamed this outcome: the Pirate King in his very own guestroom, burning with malaise, her back a bloody butcher's mess of torn meat. He wanted to call Fitzwilliam out to a duel, but the sad fact of the matter was that with his living connections (for James' father had also been an Admiral, God rest his soul), Fitzwilliam was practically untouchable. Even worse, James needed that firebrand bastard of a Captain here. Despite his temper and understandable dislike of pirates, he was a good seaman, an invaluable tactician, and intrinsic to defending this colony from the wolves of the waters that surrounded them. There were more than a few still at large, and the fort had a ways to go yet before it could be considered a true bastion of defense for Nassau.

Someday he would find a way to avenge Elizabeth's mistreatment, but James feared it would be a long game with no immediate reprisals available to him.

Five days passed like this before Elizabeth finally opened her eyes. It was late in the evening, and James colored a little when she caught him half asleep with her hand clasped in his, her fingers reverently pressed to his cheek.

"James?" she rasped, her throat dry as a desert.

He jolted up, surprised. He had not expected her to wake so soon, and in essence he was seated in her room unchaperoned, while she lay half naked with her whole back bare, and he was practically manhandling her person… But she would not let him reclaim his hand, her long fingers twining with his.

"Elizabeth."

Despite it all, somehow she managed a weak smile for him.

"Either the conditions of English gaol have vastly improved since last I sampled them, or you have done me a great service."

James stared down at her, lips parted dumbly. Of all the time he'd spent envisioning this reunion, now he hadn't the faintest where to begin. Finally he managed, "I had you brought to my home to heal your wounds. I hope that was not too presumptuous of me."

Her smile widened a fraction, undoubtedly amused by his adherence to propriety, even now, after everything that had happened and who she had become.

"Most kind of you."

He laughed a little, though it was not a happy sound. "I offer my most sincere apologies for the way you were treated. That is not the usual way we go about things here, but I was away visiting a friend, and Captain Fitzwilliam…"

Elizabeth huffed at the thought of Captain Fitzwilliam. "Nasty blighter. He never would have caught me anyway, had that traitor Hornigold not happened upon my ship crippled in a storm."

Captain Hornigold, a reformed pirate himself, had proved a most useful asset in rounding up the buccaneers. Still, James never would have guessed the man would bring in a fish this big.

"Then how did you end up in Fitzwilliam's hands?" James had not been told this part of the tale. But then he'd been so angry he supposed no one wished to chase after the subject with him.

"I was already in shackles and he and his men snatched me off the dock."

James wondered who else had been involved in the whipping of Elizabeth Swann. Somehow he doubted Lt. Toadface could have managed her alone.

"You seem to have a history?"

She grunted, and James wasn't sure if it was a sound of disgust or pain. "Perhaps I did take fifty men off Barbados, but they were not his men," Elizabeth elaborated with a sudden hard edge to her tone. "He was convoying with a slaver. We ambushed the bastards, freed their cargo, and gladly scuttled the Royal African Company ship soon after. Fitzwilliam was vastly annoyed, no doubt, that he would not receive his bonus for a successful journey."

James pressed his lips, fighting a battle with a smile. The slavery trade was not an element of English colonialism he liked, though the plantations certainly could not operate competitively without the free labor. It was an evil, but a necessary one. "I am going to pretend I did not hear that," he said, in the same tone he'd used when she was but a girl, caught in the midst of some mischief aboard his ship.

Elizabeth laughed a little, and then winced for the havoc it played with her back. She groaned, burying her face in the soft pillow. "Son of a bitch got his pound of flesh out of me in the end though, didn't he?" Her voice was muffled by the down pillow, but James still caught most of it, and appeared mildly shocked by her coarse language. Which at a glance, caused her to laugh again. "I am sorry," she apologized. "I shall endeavor to soften my vocabulary for gentile ears."

James sighed, exasperated already, in the happy way he had always been when faced with her small improprieties. Secretly he relished her spirit; he always had.

"What has happened to my crew?" she asked next, worry clear as a bell in her tone. She clearly feared they had received the same treatment as their Captain, or worse.

James made an attempt at an assuring smile. "Well, they refused to take the King's Pardon, if you can imagine." Elizabeth held her breath, waiting to hear James say he had thusly hung them all. "So they have been put to work repairing the fort with the rest of your stubborn subjects. I hope it will change their minds."

A sigh of relief escaped her at hearing her boys had not been put to death just yet. "You are merciful, Governor Norrington. Thank you."

"I am shorthanded," he evaded, annoyed to feel another blush coming upon him. "Once the battlements have been repaired I wouldn't count too heavily upon my goodwill. They will have to make the hard choice eventually, Your Highness. You can count on that."

"And myself?"

"Let us get you up and walking before I give you the full surrender or die speech, hmm? It puts such a damper on the evening."

Elizabeth laughed a little, trying not to jostle her back too much. She cast her eyes over James, assessing his appearance after so many long years of absence. He had aged, certainly, but exceedingly well. He was not wearing his wig, and a hint of silver showed at his temples, stark against the sable dark of the rest of his close-shorn hair. There were lines upon his face, as anyone who spent the majority of their life at sea was bound to have. But his eyes remained bright and sharp, such a rich emerald green beneath a sweep of dark lashes, and she could not help but notice he appeared fit and trim as he had in vigorous youth.

"You look well, James," she complimented, squeezing his long fingers in hers. "Or should I say, Sir James? I was so proud when I heard of your knighting but not the least surprised. Has life been good to you? Did you marry? Have you children?" She asked these personal questions with the assurance of one who was certain the asked would answer yes and happily so.

James cast his eyes down so that she would not see the flash of pain therein. Even after so long the wound still felt alarmingly fresh, especially with her near at hand. Of all the commissions, posts, and titles he had earned over the years, husband and father never ranked among them. A confirmed bachelor, the closest James had ever come to becoming a bridegroom was fiancé, and Elizabeth Swann had made short work of that little blunder.

"I…no, I fear not," he answered simply. A winsome smile played over his handsome features as he said, "It is an achievement I have yet to fulfil. Or more likely, will continue to fall short of."

He echoed the language his proposal to her of so many years ago, and a surprising pang struck Elizabeth's heart. It was not exactly regret, though she was not so callous as some would care to believe, and the knowledge that she had hurt James inspired an uncommon twinge in her black little heart.

"Oh…I see." There was an awkward pause as Elizabeth racked her brains for something suitable to say. She was out of practice when it came to polite conversation. Finally she arrived at, "Then who was that young gentleman who argued so spiritedly with Captain Fitzwilliam on my behalf? He is the spitting image of you."

"Ah. My nephew, Sheridan. My eldest brother's son. He thought he might like some firsthand experience with politics, so his father saw fit to send him out here with me. He is a good boy, though I find his enthusiasm exhausting." The last was delivered with the self-deprecating smile of an old man passing petty judgement upon the young.

"Indeed. Well, you may give him my thanks."

"You may give it yourself in due course. I am sure you will run into him here."

Elizabeth paid him a considering glance, curious that James seemed to envision her having free run of this house in no time. It was a little strange, to be sure, but mostly…sweet. James Norrington had always been a good man, a far better man than she'd ever deserved.

"Well…it is late, Pirate King," said James, standing from the bedside chair, his hand reluctantly slipping from hers. "Do get some rest."

He narrowly resisted the urge to kiss her hair, clasping his hands behind his back in firm resistance to the impulse. Perhaps she was in his care now, but she was not his. He would do well to remember it.

As he turned for the door she called, "James?" He paused, cocking his head inquiringly. "Thank you."

He shook his head, glancing fleetingly at the blood-stained gauze mess that was her back before returning eyes to hers. "I fear there is not much to thank me for, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth, however, knew all too well the pickle she would be in if in the hands of any other official representing the King of England. Not only a Pirate King, but a woman? Compared to some tortures, a few lashes from an overzealous subordinate seemed like a spring picnic.

"I've had worse, believe me. You are a good man. I thank you, and I mean it." She said it like a royal decree, and the Governor bowed his head, murmuring a few syllables of acknowledgement, before beating a hasty retreat.