Disclaimer: I do not own anything from Pirates of the Caribbean, and I don't claim to.

Chapter Nine
Port Antonio, Jamaica

James invited Edmund out for drinks when they made their first port. "To talk," he said.

He had been sitting at his table in the corner of a local inn for at least ten minutes, sipping slowly at his small glass of brandy, when Edmund finally walked through the door. He caught Edmund's attention with a brief wave of his hand and sat back, feeling a little bit fuzzy from the alcohol and a bit peevish from having to wait.

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting, sir," Edmund said before sitting down as far away as possible from James. His voice was tight and formal, and already James noticed that he was treating this intended casual talk as some sort of chore that James had maliciously assigned him to make his life miserable.

There was something to be said about age and maturity, James decided.

"You don't have to take that tone with me," he said, focusing on the drink in his glass rather than Edmund's face.

There was also something to be said about affection and being raised thinking that emotions made a man weak.

"Sorry, sir." Edmund looked away, toward the door and toward freedom.

James pushed the glass away, sighing; it wouldn't do him any good to try holding this conversation while drunk. It would probably only worsen matters, if that were possible. And he needed to keep Edmund on his side, desperately.

"Edmund, listen." He didn't turn toward James. "Are you listening to me?" He couldn't help getting agitated, not with a lowly lieutenant defying him, and his own pseudo-nephew at that.

"No," he snapped, but he turned his head so he could see him.

Now what? He had the boy's attention, but where to go after that? This was something that Navy officers were never taught – how to resolve conflicts in a healthy way that didn't involve duels or fistfights or verbal confrontations.

"I take it you're angry at me."

"If that's why you called me here, sir, I would like for you to excuse me. Yes, yes, I am angry. You have your answer; may I go?"

"No," James said calmly. "You have to tell me why first."
Edmund shifted impatiently in his chair, his body clearly finished with this conversation, even when his manners were the only thing that kept him there. "Tell you why? I'm not a child anymore, sir."

"Children wouldn't be able to find the words to express their anger; adults – real adults – should be able to do it clearly and concisely."

He looked for a moment like he would refuse to play James' game, but suddenly he said, "I don't understand how you can keep those criminals down there. They're escaping justice, thanks to you!"

"Just because I decided not to turn them in yet doesn't mean that I won't when the time is right–"

"All right, all right, so what if you do intend to turn them in eventually? How do you define the 'right time'? How do you know that you won't just keep changing the definition, until either they escape or you let them go free?"

"Is this about Sparrow?"

Edmund crossed his arms and settled back in his chair.

Norrington clasped his hands for a moment and rested his forehead against them. He sat back up and looked Edmund in the eyes, saying, "You're right. You're completely right, Edmund. I should turn them in; it's an obligation, it's my duty to do so, as Admiral. And I fully and absolutely intend to. But – and perhaps you are too young yet to understand this – but there are some cases where what I am doing is completely acceptable, perhaps even advisable."

Edmund snorted. "The law is the law, no matter who you are."

"I agree with you," Norrington said slowly, "but try considering this from all sides, Edmund."

"I am–"

Norrington spoke over him. "You're not." He reached for his glass again, just for something to do with his hands. "I shouldn't be telling you this; you have no right to know this, especially given how much of an insolent little– pain you have been and are being."

James stopped for a moment, wondering if it were really the wisest idea to be telling such a rebellious boy about his true intentions, when the only other person that knew was Sparrow.

"Sparrow has certain valuable information that I can only get from the likes of him. He knows where some of the pirates we are hunting are located, where they harbor, where they attack. He knows the pirate psyche better than all of us, since he is one. He is a known quantity; I know what to expect from him.

"Most importantly, though, is his usefulness when dealing with other pirates. Do you think they would talk to me?" He laughed, sharp and harsh.

"I don't see why you need to talk to pirates."

"You think we should just kill them?" James shook his head. "No, don't you realize? For every one we kill, hundreds appear in his place – they are like the hydra. What use is there in that? No, we have to attack them from within, destroy them from within."

"And to do that, you're trusting the word of one of them, a criminal, a pirate?"

"Sparrow has a lot at stake."

Edmund narrowed his eyes. "No matter what he may or may not have at stake, it doesn't change the fact that he's one of them. He just looks for the best opportunity to use whatever advantage he has to get ahead."

"Then we won't give him that opportunity."

Edmund subsided. For something to do, he signaled to a barmaid and motioned her over. "Some rum, please–"

"He won't have anything of the sort. Bring him some water."

Edmund turned to Norrington eyes blazing, shoulders held stiffly. "You're not my father; I don't see where you get the nerve–"

"Ingram wouldn't have wanted to see you drinking."

Edmund had no reply for that. He rested his head on a balled fist and stared at the wood grain of the table.

"I know why you think you want to turn Sparrow in, Edmund. You think that if you turn him in, he will be hanged and you will be released from your promise to Beckett, you won't have to kill anyone–"

Edmund slammed his fist on the table, looking furious, but Norrington held up a hand.

"You don't really want to kill him. You're still young, so young; too young to be putting such heavy responsibilities on your own shoulders. You have the rest of your life to take revenge on the pirates – killing one of them won't change anything, and then where does the killing end?"

Edmund's head hung weakly. He reached inside his coat and drew out a finely crafted ring attached to a battered piece of twine. He turned it around and around in his hands, looking over every inch of it, letting the candlelight glint off it, warming it in his palms.

"It was my mother's," he said finally. His water arrived and he remained silent until the girl had walked away. "Is it strange, James, that I don't have any memory of her? I was so young, but shouldn't I remember something of her? I have never seen her face; Ingram told me that she was pretty, but what else is there to say about a dead woman? And then they took Ingram from me, too."

Norrington sighed, wishing it weren't so awkward and unseemly for him to give Edmund a hug or– or something. He leaned forward a bit so he could see Edmund's face. "You'd be hard-pressed to find someone who hasn't been affected by pirates. I have known many men that have done great good, fighting these devils. But–" He gripped Edmund's arm, and the boy looked up, surprised. "–this isn't the right reason to fight them, Edmund."

Edmund pulled away slightly, and Norrington let go of his arm. "If this isn't a good reason, if my mother's death isn't worth–"

"That's not what I mean," Norrington said quickly. "If you truly do intend to avenge your mother's death, then do so on your own terms, without working toward another man's goal, without accepting money for it."

Edmund looked away. "Beckett said he understood–"

"He understands nothing about justice," Norrington said fiercely. "He only understands money."

"He told me that he had been wronged by pirates too. He told me that he doesn't care about that sort of thing, about money."

And Norrington saw the complete innocence in Edmund, the level of which he hadn't before comprehended. He shook his head. "No, Edmund. The only reason he wants you to kill Jack is because he disobeyed him once, cost him a good deal of money and business. And he's wasted a lot, trying to catch him. He can't turn back now; he has to complete what he set out to do, at whatever cost."

Edmund looked down at his hands, fit the ring on his pinkie, tried it on his other fingers, but it never went past the first joint. He left it on, admired the way it fit snugly on his little finger. "I can't stop now, James, whatever you say. I have faith in myself that I can stop them. Anyway, I'm in too deep now. Maybe I'm like Beckett in that respect." He stood, his chair scraping noisily against the floor, bowed politely to James, and walked out the door into the night.

"Sir, it's time."

James rolled over in bed, and found himself still fully dressed, sleeping on top of his sheets. His neck felt stiff and his mouth tasted awful; his feet were cold. "Time? Time for what?"

"They pirates will be attacking tonight, sir. Don't you remember? It's time to get into position."

James sat up quickly, too quickly, and his head tilted and spun for a few seconds before righting itself. His thoughts went first to Sparrow and his crew in the brig below, and he imagined them with smuggled guns and swords, leading an attack from within the bars–

But then he remembered his orders, why he was there: to stop a rumored pirate attack on Port Antonio. "Right. Well, why are you standing there? Ready the ship, wake the men, weigh anchor, and all the rest."

To allow himself some time to wake up, he sat down at his desk and read over his orders again, and the papers which detailed what information they had gathered about the impending attack. A traitor among the pirates' ranks had told them that the attack would take place at some point after dawn, that they would approach in two small ships, disguised as merchants (further proof in James' mind that pirates weren't very intelligent: merchant ships were never small). Once they had docked, they would lead the attack from there, staying as silent as possible so as not to alert the guards to their presence. They would continue all the way to the mayor's mansion, where they would steal the loot and then race back to the ships.

If they could stop the pirates before they even entered the bay, that would be the best case scenario.

James heard the sounds of men readying the ship for departure. He stood and straightened his uniform as best he could, adjusting his sleeves, straightening his collar, repositioning his hat.

The deck was surging with activity, but the men were quieter than they usually were, either out of exhaustion, annoyance, or anticipation. From what he heard the men whispering about, James guessed it was the latter.

He found Edmund standing near the wheel, watching men scurrying above, unfurling the sails. He placed a hand on Edmund's shoulder and he jumped. "Can I trust you, Edmund?" he asked, keeping his voice low. "Will Jack be alive in the morning?"

Edmund looked at his feet. "I wouldn't shoot a completely defenseless man, sir."

"That is good, because I would hate to have to kill you."

Author's Note: Mostly verbal conflicts in this chapter, which are easier or harder to write, depending on how you look at it. Proof that you can learn things from fanfiction: Governor Swann, holding his position, was governor of all Jamaica, not just Port Royal. Seemingly an obvious assumption, but for some reason it just didn't click in my mind until I researched the governors of Jamaica. Moral of the story: I'm not sure if mayor is the right term for the ruler of Port Antonio, haha.