PART TWO


The Dauntless

Groves stared into Norrington's empty office. The space hadn't been touched since Norrington's departure, and it seemed as if any minute the Commodore could walk in, sit down at his desk, and pick up where he left off. The desk chair sat about a foot back from the desk, slightly crooked. A few papers covered one end of the desk, separated into piles that were almost perfectly in order, and other miscellaneous items sat in a small, slightly disorganized pile at the other end. The clock at the back of the room had stopped for lack of winding. All of it sat waiting, ready to be used again at any moment.

But Groves knew it never would be. After months of no news from the crew that had gone after Jack Sparrow, a letter had finally reached Port Royal with news of the Dauntless's demise. Norrington had chased the Black Pearl across the ocean, nearly caught her once or twice, and then driven the Dauntless through a hurricane rather than give up pursuit. The ship had not survived the storm. Many of the crew had drowned. Norrington was forced to resign his commission rather than face a brutal court-martial and a damaged reputation. No one had heard from him since his resignation.

There had been no word from Gillette, either. Groves felt his pulse start to race as he realized his friend could very well be dead. With no list of confirmed casualties or survivors, there was no way to prove otherwise, and though he hated to assume the worst, Groves couldn't ignore the thought. He was sick to his stomach and still in shock. Surely the human mind wasn't meant to handle so much bad news at once. He stared at the empty chair behind the Commodore's desk, feeling desperately alone and, somehow, as though he had been betrayed.

"Lieutenant Groves?" Governor Swann had appeared, and was looking at the lieutenant strangely. "Is everything all right?"

"You know that it isn't," Groves said, staring at the ground.

"Yes," the Governor agreed. "It's such a shame about..." He stopped as he met Groves' eyes and saw the genuine pain there. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant," he said. "There's nothing I can do."


When he was finally home, Groves dropped into a chair and closed his eyes. He felt drained. The day's work had been no more demanding than any other day's, but the news about the Dauntless had weighed heavily on him, making it a strain to carry on as though life was normal. The other lieutenants felt it too, acutely aware that it was only a trick of fate that they themselves had not been on the doomed ship. They grieved the loss of the man who had been their leader. Norrington would be missed, and his resignation was met with disappointment and a sense of not knowing where to turn.

But few, if any, of the others knew how deeply the Commodore had been hurt by Elizabeth Swann's rejection. It was more than rejection, Groves thought. It was a betrayal. And Norrington had survived in the only way he knew how, by clinging even more tightly to the structure and duties of his job, and by lashing out at Sparrow, who just happened to be the easiest target. Groves thought of Lieutenant Gillette, missing, likely dead, following his friend and leader through a hurricane. Surely Gillette had known better, but he would never have abandoned his friend. Groves wondered if anyone had tried to talk Norrington out of the pursuit. He wondered what he would have done if he had been there.

"There you are," Emma said, appearing in the doorway to the kitchen. "Aren't you coming in to supper?"

Groves hesitated. The thought of food wasn't particularly appealing. He thought he'd rather be left alone, and he didn't want to drag Emma and Gregory into the mess that was on his mind.

"Lionel and his wife are here already," Emma continued. She gave her brother a scolding look. "You didn't forget, did you?"

Groves sighed. Gregory had been wanting to host the printer and his wife for some time, now that he was married and had a place that could be considered his own home. Emma had finally agreed, and had spent all week preparing for the evening.

"No, of course not," Groves said, though he dreaded the thought of making small talk with the printer. For the first time in his life he wasn't looking forward to interesting new company. But he told his sister, "I'll be there in a few minutes."

"With a smile, I hope. Right now you look like you have a stomachache."

"I do have a stomachache."

Emma frowned slightly and came into the room. "Are you all right?"

He nodded. "It's just been a terribly long day," he said. He tried to smile at her. "But I won't let it ruin your evening. I know you and Gregory have been looking forward to this. I wouldn't miss it."

Emma held his gaze for a moment, studying his face. Groves looked back and tried to wipe away all traces of unhappiness, but the smile felt unnatural and it quickly crumbled. Emma sat down in the chair next to him. "What happened?" she asked.

Groves hesitated again. "Just some bad news," he said.

"What news?"

He shook his head. "Later," he said. "I'd rather not talk about it now, and I really don't want to ruin this evening for you."

He expected Emma to question him further, but she didn't. She just looked at him for a moment, then said, "You're really not feeling well, are you?"

Groves sighed. "I'll come in to dinner with you, but I probably won't eat much."

Emma stood up and crossed her arms. "If you go in there, you'll make our guests depressed."

"Emma, I'm sorry. I really don't want to upset anyone, but I can hardly avoid dinner without being rude."

"Of course you can. I'll just tell them the truth: that you had a hard day, you're not feeling well, and you really just need some peace and quiet this evening, but that you're very sorry to miss them."

"Emma - "

"Now go lock yourself in your room so they don't see you looking so miserable."

Groves stood up and slowly went to his room, feeling as if he were walking underwater, and lay down on his bed until Emma brought his supper on a tray and told him the guests had gone. Then Groves sat up and finally explained to his sister about the hurricane, the Dauntless, and Norrington's resignation.

She responded with appropriate shock and sadness, wondering aloud who would take Norrington's place and why the man had felt the need to resign over losing just one ship.

"He was forced to," Groves muttered. "No man worthy of his title sails a ship into a hurricane."

Emma hugged her brother, understanding his distress, and left him alone.

Groves stared at the closed bedroom door that shut him away from the rest of the house and thought of Norrington, his friend, who was physically alive but dead in judgment and honor. Madness would be sailing into a storm I couldn't beat, Norrington had once said. Groves thought the Commodore had encountered the unbeatable storm long before the hurricane in Elizabeth's betrayal, which had driven him mad enough to disregard his own life and the lives of his men. Something wasn't right in the world, Groves thought. Another storm was coming.