A Martyr's Choice – Chapter Three – Strawberries and Cages
~^///^~
Elizabeth woke, empty. For a moment, she lay on her side and stared at the drapes, feeling for all the world as if she were that parasol she'd seen drifting on the water, eight years ago: upside down, lost and totally out of her element. She considered whether she was going to cry for a moment, but no tears came, just an uncomfortable stinging. Slowly, she sat up, wishing she were doing the opposite and a bundle of fabric tumbled from beneath her head. She picked it up. Oh. James' coat. She'd fallen asleep hugging it to her face, crying, comfort radiating from the smell of the sea and...something else she couldn't quite place. She held it up. It was really quite crumpled. What was she going to do with it? That depended, as everything else did, on her choice. The coat fell into her lap.
It reminded her of a story she'd heard once, when she was a small girl. A man, given a choice of two doors as punishment. Behind one, a beautiful lady who would become his bride. Behind the other, a vicious animal that would tear him to shreds. No difference in the doors, no way to tell...His lover knew which was which and each to each. She had never really understood the story when she was young. It was obvious: point to the door with the lady. But she understood it now. To watch your lover die or see him with another? The story had no end; you never knew which door she pointed to, another thing she hadn't understood when she was a girl. What story didn't have an end?
But she realized there could be no end. That woman had to make a choice, as she, Elizabeth, had to make a choice. But the fate was her own love. Whose life was she going to ruin? How many souls would she kill before this was over? She had to choose, but all she saw was agony any way she turned.
James had to choose.
Will hadn't been given a choice.
And she had known what was behind both doors all along. Funny thing was, she didn't know which she'd picked when she said, "I am."
Will would have called it a lady.
James would have said it was a tiger.
And she thought of it as a little of both.
Which door would they have indicated, she wondered, if I were choosing again? James...would tell me to go with Will. And Will...She shuddered. She had the terrible feeling that Will would feed her to the tiger. And was he wrong for that?
What door would she choose, were he in the arena? Would she give him away? Or let him die? She'd already done some of each. And she knew she would regret either one.
Knocking. "Miss?" Estrella.
"Yes," Elizabeth called wearily, stashing the coat hurriedly under her pillow and sliding off the bed, "Come in."
Estrella came bustling in and stopped short at Elizabeth's bleary expression. "I didn't wake ye, Miss?" she inquired worriedly.
"No...I'm just a little slow this morning."
"Well, I brought ye some tea, Miss, and a message from your father."
"Oh?"
Estrella clasped her hands behind her back and recited, "He says he has complete confidence in your ability to fill a day, but he requests you choose your company wisely." Estrella winked. "Meanin' the Commodore, Miss," she added boldly.
Elizabeth studied her curiously.
"Oh, come now, Miss, he must ha' asked for an answer by now!"
"Yes...and I gave one."
"Oh?"
"Really, Estrella, what do you think I said?" Elizabeth snapped, half annoyed, half playful.
A slow grin spread across Estrella's face. "Well, Miss, I'll say it again: that's one smart match. Marryin' a Commodore! My, my! An' he's han'some, too!"
Elizabeth smiled, knowing she should be able to summon more joy than this. "Bring me some toast and strawberry jam, would you?" Hang what society said about women who ate in the morning! Some bread could hardly hurt her!
"Yes, Miss."
"And I'll be getting dressed in a minute; I have places to go."
She munched her toast thoughtfully, wandering around her room like an unresolved ghost while Estrella lay a gown out for her and replenished her teacup occasionally.
She had half a mind to go see James. She didn't think she could handle any more aloneness, any more thoughts of tigers, even if it caused more problems later. She had to be with someone.
People were talking downstairs; it sounded if someone was being let into the main hall. The footman knocked on the door a moment later and announced, "Someone to see you, Miss Swann."
Estrella ducked out onto the landing and immediately scurried back and flattened herself against the wall, shutting the door again.
"Saints preserve us," she gasped. "It's the Commodore!"
Elizabeth dropped her toast. "Help me!" she blurted at Estrella. "I'm not even dressed!"
Estrella dove for the gown and Elizabeth, examining her jam-sticky fingers, found nothing to do with them except stick them in her mouth. The gown slid over her head and she stuck her arms through it, jerking it down over her chest. "It's a good-thing-father refuses-to," she shoved at the tight material every few words, "let me-wear-corsets-anymore!" The gown slid down and she set about fixing her hair while Estrella laced up the back.
"Why did he have to show up so early?" she complained.
"'Tisn't early anymore, Miss, an' it's a beautiful day. The storm's passed an' he's probably been up for hours-"
"Oh, no!" wailed Elizabeth, catching sight of the mirror and cutting her off, "I look a total mess!"
"Not at all, Miss, you'll do fine with a little fixing up."
Elizabeth was slotting earrings through her ears. She let Estrella cover her in hasty make-up, tear out her hair fastening it up, and straighten out her uncooperative clothes, before deciding that it was going to have to do.
"Oh, people already think bad of me," she grumbled, slipping on shoes, "I guess it doesn't really matter, I doubt he'll notice anyway." And so saying, she swept out onto the landing.
Norrington was standing just inside the door, his hands clasped behind his back, gazing idly around the room. He looked up at her approach, but allowed no emotion to cross his face. "Miss Swann."
"James!"
Behind her, Estrella giggled. Norrington glanced at her mildly and Estrella flushed and dipped into a curtsy, her eyes scraping the floor. Norrington almost smiled.
"I thought perhaps you might wish to spend the day with me," he said softly, as though afraid of rejection.
"Of course." And without a backward glance at Estrella or anyone else, she tripped down the stairs and took his arm.
He helped her into a carriage and they rode without speaking up to the fort, and it was only after they had begun climbing a set of stairs that Elizabeth did not recognize that she found anything to say.
"Where are we going?"
"Someplace I like to go and think. Was there somewhere you wished to go?"
"No, I...I just have never been here before. I had no other plans for the day."
"If you do not wish to be alone with me, we can-"
She sighed. So like him to take that the wrong way.
"James. Do you really think that matters anymore?"
He seemed surprised. "Of course it matters."
She smiled rather sadly. "I was kidnapped by pirates, James. I came home in a Marine uniform. There's no one left to impress. I have no standing, no society left. Let them think whatever they like."
"That people are narrow-minded should not reflect on your self value."
"My self value has little to do with their shallow opinions."
Norrington had no response to this, so they walked on, climbing the steep stairs slowly, he bracing her arm in case she stumbled in her impractical shoes.
When they reached the top of the stairs, Elizabeth gasped. They had come out of a far-flung arm of the fort that curved about the bowl of the bay. There was nothing up here but a few cannons and a stretch of wall that dropped sickeningly to the ocean far below. They could look down to where the jungle crept in close to the cold stone foundations, smell the ever-present brine of the sea. The sun beat down bright and hot and though Elizabeth searched, she could not find a single cloud.
"I can see why," she mused, strolling forward and looking about with wide eyes. She was going to ask if anyone else ever came up here, but she realized that that hardly sounded like a proper question, so she said nothing.
"You look very lovely, Miss Swann."
Elizabeth hid a smile. "Thank you, Commodore." She suddenly felt very lonely and very fragile. I fell off these very walls because of London fashion, she thought grimly, and almost drowned. But then Jack saved me. No gain to him, no reason to it. But he did. And now he's going to hang.
She considered trying to say something to James about it, but this did not seem to be the time. He had come up behind her while she thought and now stood just behind her. She sensed that he was about to say something, but he never did. She turned around to look at him. His hands were crossed behind his back and he wore the same nondescript expression he usually did.
"Just thinking," she muttered by way of an explanation.
"Nothing too disturbing, I hope."
"Oh...just..." She would not lie and say, 'Nothing', "...things." She wobbled suddenly as she said it and he caught her arm. "These stupid shoes! I prefer boots!" she complained. "Honestly, James," she asked seriously, "have you ever tried a pair of these?"
He stared at her a moment, then a slow, incredulous smile spread across his face.
"I was being serious!"
A strange expression alit upon his features and she realized after half a second that he was trying not to laugh. She had never heard him laugh.
"You're laughing at me," she teased, trying to provoke him, suddenly needing to actually hear him laugh. He tried to iron out his features without a lot of success.
"No...I-"
"Is it that funny? Really, I ought to make you wear them! It's that or a corset!"
That did it. Startled laughter burst out of his throat and he doubled over slightly, covering his mouth with his hand. Elizabeth hadn't realized how much she was looking forward to that sound until she was laughing with him, mostly at him, for laughing in the first place.
"I'm sorry," he chuckled, straightening.
"Clothes designed to break your legs and then drown you! And you all wondered why I stayed in that uniform?"
Norrington's face sobered and she wished she hadn't said anything. "You know that I...would have gone in after you."
"I do."
He turned away awkwardly and she took the opportunity to murmur, "I would have drowned." She thought she saw his shoulders bow.
"Is that why you persisted in dressing so improperly? Or was it rather to annoy Governor Swann and myself?"
"Actually, James," Elizabeth corrected lightly, "my gown tore in half."
He had not been expecting this and his eyebrows rose slightly. "I would consider that a rather outstanding reason, then."
For some reason, Elizabeth found this funny. Norrington smiled patiently, and taking her arm, began to walk aimlessly, but not without purpose, around the wall. Elizabeth found her mood slumping again, though she could not say exactly why. Maybe it was the fact that this was nowhere near as easy as it looked. James was tense, the expressionless mask back, and she found herself longing for a moment before, when he had been so open, so...unafraid.
The breeze swept down the wall, ruffling Elizabeth's skirts, and she breathed in the sweet perfume of some flower, born across the miles to this cold stone stockade. A moment later, the flower itself came drifting through the air, and James reached up with a quick motion and lifted it out of the air. He turned to her and flipping over his hand, unfolded his fingers to display a small, shockingly pink petal that Elizabeth could not recall ever having seen before. She picked it up off his palm before the wind could blow it away again, and spun it before her eyes. It was curved in on itself like a funnel, supple as a plant stem, completely intoxicating and, like her, did not belong here in these formidable stone walls. Norrington reached over, took the little flower, and gently threaded it through her hair, smoothing it down with his fingers.
Elizabeth smiled and took his hands. He gazed down at her fondly, but Elizabeth could see sadness hidden somewhere in his features.
"What's wrong?"
Norrington just shook his head, lifted her hand and kissed the tips of her fingers, a smile possessing one side of his mouth with effort.
Elizabeth wrapped her arm through his and leaned against his shoulder, feeling as if her heart were going to suddenly give out on her as surely as her knees were. She had been wrong. She was already in love with James. He seemed to shake off whatever dark thought he was having, at least in part, and they resumed their aimless stroll.
She did not feel flustered or awkward as she would have thought, as she felt around Will, merely...comfortable.
They were past most of the polite society gestures. They'd been through things together. They knew pain and desperate measures. He loved her, and he didn't have to kiss her knuckles and catch her eyes across the room to tell her that. She loved him, and she didn't have to flutter behind a fan to let him know that.
So they just walked, expressing it somehow through the touch of their arms, in a way that he, hesitant, formal, and she, pained, doubtful, warring with emotions and embarrassed by her reciprocation, could never say. They knew the value of a silent word, a grudging smirk, a smile that didn't quite reach the eyes. They weren't perfect, far from it, it wasn't true love or a fairy-tale romance, but somehow, it was better that way. They needed each other and they each were killing the other.
Elizabeth glanced up at him, wondering what it would be like to leave him, if she was capable of that, if she would really go through, and he glanced down, wondering the same thing. Their gazes brushed. And at that moment, James felt her sliding away from him, inevitable, unstoppable. And somehow, just for an instant, he didn't mind. He'd caught a bird, a beautiful bird, and held it in his hands for a moment, a shining, stunning moment. But when his fingers slid apart, he knew the bird would fly away, as birds are meant to. Who was he, to build a cage?
Elizabeth stared into eyes that, just this once, were completely open, his face smooth. She wanted to sink into them, to disappear into the calm he always sailed through, even in the face of death or heartbreak. But she was on fire and even the ocean in his bright green eyes couldn't put it out. If she was going to fall into those eyes, she needed to be sure she was never coming back up. And right now, she had a demonic desire to see the sun set over the sea one last time, before she drowned.
They were back where they started, gazing out over the ocean where a lone ship crested the horizon, the faint white gleam of her tops'ls shining on the glass-green water.
James slid his arm from hers and put it around her waist carefully, keeping his arm loose, his fingers resting against her side. He was still so cautious, reserved. Elizabeth stepped toward him, letting his arm tighten across her back, running her hands over his arms to his shoulders.
He leaned in close, but instead of kissing her, he rested his forehead against hers, pushing back his tricorner, and gazed into her eyes. Somehow, there was more intimacy in this than a half dozen kisses, the subtle emerald patterns of his irises eclipsing her vision, their breath mingling before their lips. He wrapped his arms around her slowly, his lips moving to words without sound, skimming across the surface of hers without really touching. And then his hands rose to her shoulders, he tilted his head just enough to the right without drawing back, and he was kissing her.
It was almost too soft to be called a kiss. His lips brushed over hers, lightly, just enough to send shivers over her skin, parted her lips gently and drew back again, tracing over again with that light, lightning touch that was like kissing the wind, only infinitely more enviable. He was slow, thorough, his eyes never leaving hers, until her mouth burned and she thought her arms around his neck might be bruising him. He pushed down against her jaw, and then he was in her mouth, tentative, each contact a vivid spark.
She shut her eyes, unprepared for this, and let him kiss her for a moment, fire building in her veins, accustoming herself to this strange sensation. He seemed to sense her hesitancy, and drew back, his lips never leaving hers, never stopping, but Elizabeth opened her eyes, placed cool hands on either side of his face, holding him there, and pushed open his mouth. A shudder ran through his breathing as she touched the roof of his mouth.
He kissed her smoothly, his hand sliding down over her shoulder, catching on her collarbone, down over her heart and down. And just like that, it was done. He pulled away, closing his eyes and clenching his hand as though burned.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. But then he turned his ocean-colored eyes on her again and came back, deliberately smoothing his hands over her back, his lips coming to meet hers again. They kissed softly, unconsciously moving closer, his hands scribing patterns on her muscles, his pulse kicking against her palm. Gently, ever so gently, he pulled his lips from hers, and, bending forward, whispered in her ear, "You taste like strawberry."
Elizabeth giggled breathlessly, absurdly, her arms twined around his neck. She propped her head on his shoulder, and tenderly, he slid his hands around her waist.
Norrington buried his face in her hair, stroking her back, his eyes closed. "Elizabeth," he breathed. At that moment, there was nothing he wanted more than to stand here, forever, until darkness fell and the world broke apart around them and everything was gone, because he knew what would happen when he let her go. "Elizabeth," he whispered again and there was so much pain in his voice, that Elizabeth shifted and looked up into his suddenly open eyes.
She was too perfect, too lovely, for any man to have to hold so close and let her go. Could he do it? Could he let her go, let her leave, let her be free?
And in that instant, gazing down into her velvet eyes, sundered by choices and sorrow, James Norrington made his choice. He pressed his lips to her forehead once more and stepped back. Slowly, he clasped her slender fingers between his hands, forming a cage. But who am I to build a cage? James had caught a bird, and now he was setting it free. He unfolded his hands and drew them away, palms out, like a man surrendering.
"Elizabeth, if you're going to leave me, please do so now."
She stared at him, her mouth open, her eyes like a startled deer. Her mouth twisted, but no words came out, pain like broken glass in her pupils.
James shoved his hands into his pockets and turned away, his pulse still racing.
"James!"
He turned around; she was staring after him desperately.
"I can't...I don't..." she choked, her voice thick with tears, though there were none yet on her face.
What must it feel like, falling off of a cliff? Not to die, but just to fall... It must be something like this...
"I...I don't...James...don't make me..." she whispered the last word, "choose."
He came back and she seized the front of his coat and kissed him. He kissed her back before pulling away with difficulty.
"Is this your choice?"
"It's been my choice for a long time."
"But is it your choice now?
"There is no choice!"
"There is always a choice," he told her fiercely.
She stepped back, looking betrayed. "I don't know..." she finally whispered
And then she was kissing him and he held her close, her tears glimmering in the bright sunlight. He pulled away, kissing her fingers, knowing somehow that he would never kiss her again.
"James? James!"
Everything was bright and over loud. He swallowed loudly, her slim fingers twisting through his, and forced his eyes shut, blocking out the chaos that had suddenly erupted in his soul, making him lightheaded. He could do this. Despite the thousand, frantic voices that said he could not, he could do this.
"Elizabeth," he whispered, opening his eyes, calm once more.
"James!" She sounded terrified. He looked at her, everything going blurry, feeling her fingers against his face. He blinked, bringing a bewildered hand to his cheek. Crying. He was crying.
He blinked again, clearing his eyes, and studied the tears on his fingertips. He could not remember the last time he had cried. His voice was steady, his face composed, and yet salt was spilling from his lashes and streaking slowly down his cheeks. He clenched his fist over the tears, averting his gaze. And then he looked at Elizabeth.
She was horrified, her face a perfect, open book, pushing aside the tears with trembling fingers.
"James..."
He touched her face, gently, one last time, then turned away, his eyes out on a horizon only he could see. He thought several times that she was going to say something, but she never quite got the words out from her throat.
Finally, he felt her hand on his arm and he turned to take her gently in his arms, but there was no passion in the embrace, only warmth and sadness, and the sweetness of her touch. They stood that way for a long time, unable to speak, tears drying slowly on their faces, until she stepped back and looked him full in the face, squinting slightly as though she were gazing at the sun. He searched her face, but there was nothing there to read. She smiled sadly, saying nothing, explaining nothing because there was nothing that could be said or explained.
Once upon a time, there was a woman, who was in love with two different men. And both men loved her. So the woman had to make a choice. And she didn't choose me.
By the time she finally turned and ran, James was past noticing, his eyes out over the sea he wished would come to claim him there upon the battlements, just wash it all away. He was remembering the taste of strawberries and falling, falling through the dark.
~^///^~
