Black Wings of Fate
Summary: For every fiftieth human born into the world, there is one guardian born for them, their souls connected by a single gem. Others have gems and guardians they can't ever see or meet. But James Norrington was born with a black pearl in his hand and a guardian so opposite to him that they could never be.
Jack had always known Elizabeth was a pirate, more so than Will ever could be. She was dangerous in her charm and good looks and her supposedly innocent manners. She was as rotten as any pirate that Jack had ever seen and he couldn't help but be a bit proud of her as she shackled him to the main mast. "Pirate." He breathed against her lips when she pulled back. She had blindsided him, even though probably not in the way she thought. He had been surprised and confused. He had not expected this to be the result of returning to his ship.
There was no need for the manacles. He has no desire to be anywhere else but here, with his ship, in their final moments together as his crew rowed away. The Kraken had not went after the Black Spot. In had stayed attacking his Pearl and Jack knew his plan to lead the beastie away had not worked. Jones would rather still get a chance to possess and use him than destroy him altogether. No, he instead intended to use the Kraken to destroy that which is most precious to Jack. As he has no knowledge of who Jack's Tutela is, he has no more leverage against him than the possibility of his ship being returned, or taunting him with her fate now that she was in his grasp. Jack would not give the octopus-face that pleasure.
His Pearl berated him for it even as she extended her spirit into the shackles that were not a part of her - never a part of her, of Jack's freedom - in order to loosen them enough for Jack to slip his hand free without the need of breaking his wrist or fingers. Jack just caressed the main mast lovingly, muttering endearments and promises he was no longer sure he could keep. It was the Locker for them both and she will once again be his anchor. They would be together and Jack will gladly spend eternity with her and no one else as long as they stayed together. James can find serenity without him. How would he find serenity with Jack Sparrow of all people, anyway? Jack was followed by trouble and chaos like two puppies following a master. There would be no peace with him.
James was probably better off without him, anyway. He'd not been Jack E. Teague for many years now. He wasn't sure he even remembered how to be that man from before. It's been years since he'd been that naive. He'd seen even more of the world than when they'd first met. Hell, he'd seen more of the world since their last meeting. And they'd only met a couple of times, anyway. What did James have to mourn? Certainly not a pirate.
Thinking of his family name brought thoughts of his family. He cared very little for his cousins and aunts and uncles, but his closest family mattered to him a great deal. His Da, his Uncle Jack, maybe his Grandmama ... What would they think? His Da had already lost his own Tutela and Jack's Mum had died shortly after giving birth to him. He would have no one again. Jack didn't want his Da to suffer and that was not even mentioning the trouble of having to find someone to take Jack's place in pirate society. That was going to be a pain. Not to mention salt on an open wound. His cousin Valerie will probably get his position. She had always been a better pirate than him, anyway. Not that that would help with being the Heir ... She didn't have nearly as rich a memory as Jack's was. She'll struggle to memorize the entire Code.
He just managed to tug his hand free when the Kraken slithered up the side of the Pearl's hull. Its mouth opened as he turned to face the creature and it roared in his face. He did not flinch at that stench of a thousand corpses or the slime that hits him or the hot air that ruffles his hair and coat. The thing is no less mortal than him, no less magical, no less corporal. It will take him to the depths and it will take him to the Locker, but the Pearl was his ship and as long as her black boards are under the soles of his feet, he fears nothing. She sighs at his stubbornness - he could still fly away but they both know he won't - but she would also have it no other way. If they had to go down, then they would go down together and no beastie was going to tear them apart. Never again.
The Kraken had his tentacles all around her, holding her tight even as it lunged almost in slow motion towards her Captain. Jack Sparrow, in his last moments on this Earth, took out his cutlass and let his magnificent wings spread out behind him, standing defiantly with his Black Pearl, daring the beast to challenge him. Just as the giant maw moved to take him, he jumped forwards and with a single slice to the Kraken's delicate inner throat, Jack Sparrow and his Black Pearl were no more.
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The surviving crew of the Black Pearl, consisting only of Joashamee Gibbs, Mr Cotton and his parrot, Marty, Pintel, Ragetti, Elizabeth Swann and William Turner Junior, could not help but stare in horror as the two greatest legends and icons of piracy were swallowed by the beast they had fought and only managed to anger. They couldn't help but flinch and look away when, with a final ear-shattering scream of rage and triumph, the Kraken dragged down the topmast of the main mast under the waves, the legendary Black Pearl and her eccentric Captain lost forever, never to be found, never to be seen ever again.
Elizabeth in particular took the disappearance of the flag and the topmast like a punch to the gut. She had left Jack behind because she had feared the Kraken would continue going after them because it was after him, not the Black Pearl. She had kissed him and left him to his death, just like Judas had with Jesus. She knew she had no right nor basis to compare these two betrayals - Jack was no saint, but he was as close to divinity as humanity can ever hope to be and she had betrayed him. She would go to hell for that - but the fact remained that Jack had considered her a friend and had trusted her. She had taken advantage of that trust and had used it against him.
Surely their bond must be broken. She was doomed to spend the rest of eternity alone, being reborn again and again, never meant to get peace until some deity takes pity on her and ends her suffering. She had killed her own Curatrix, so she rather doubted respite will ever come to her.
She deserved to suffer.
He had come back, had known it was sure death. He had returned and had fought with them in the end. And she had repaid him by telling him she wasn't sorry for organizing his death.
She deserved to suffer.
Sitting across from her, William was mourning not the loss of a man, but rather the ship that he had went down with. The Black Pearl was the only ship faster than the Flying Dutchman and she had sank with her Captain. A poetic end for such a pair but it put a great dent in Will's plans. With the Pearl, it would be easy to eventually catch the Dutchman and spring his father free. Without her, Will was back to square one. And there was no Jack to give him some savvy advice or a crazy idea that might through some great miracle or the pirate's own luck end up working.
What was worse, Jack had kissed Elizabeth! How could he do that!? Did he know how Will would feel about that? Did he not consider Will's feelings? Maybe he thought it wouldn't matter because he was to die? Well, Will thought it mattered. Because Elizabeth was distraught about his death and they were not talking. Sure, it had not been long since he'd seen them kiss, but she had not said a word to him since he'd asked where Jack was. No matter. Jack was dead now, as cruel as it was to think like that, and Will was still here. He'll let her gather her thoughts and they'll go back to how it was before.
Meanwhile, he had to think about how he'll save his father.
Gibbs, on the other hand, was probably the only one truly allowed to mourn the now dead eccentric Captain in this boat. He was the only one who really knew him well enough to really mourn. He'd seen his young friend and Captain in all sorts of situations and he had been very fond of him. The world already seemed much too bleak with the knowledge that Jack Sparrow was good and gone. And he shuddered at the thought of the people he'd have to tell. He wasn't sure whose fallout he feared more: Jack's father's, his grandmother's or Tia Dalma's, who had been a mother figure as much as a friend to the downed Captain of the Black Pearl. Gods be merciful on him.
And gods be merciful on them all, if he has to tell the Commodore - not anymore but maybe again? He has the heart - too, what his actions had brought about and what his actions will bring about if he continues on this course. Maybe it won't matter to him, in the end. He would have nothing else but the possibility if being a Commodore again.
After all, he must have broken their bond when he killed his own Curatrix, even if indirectly.
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James had never before felt such a sense of deja vu as he did while he was running away from the cursed fish-men that made up the crew of Davy Jones and his Flying Dutchman. For one, it reminded him an awful lot of a certain nightmare he had suffered through some two years ago, especially the irregularity of his heartbeat. He was just as out of breath, tired and desperate as he ran through what appeared to be a familiar forest as he had been in his dream. And that was not even mentioning just how frightened he was. For he knew how his dream ended and he feared - rationally or irrationally, it mattered not - that this would end in a similar manner. Which was absurd! His Jack was nowhere near him right now! Why would he be in any sort of danger.
He had nearly dismissed the entire idea altogether, but then he had tripped and Jones' crewman surrounded him like a pack of hungry, vicious vultures. Just like in his dream. Knowing that he had nothing to lose by giving them the chest, he had taken off after throwing the damned thing at the one blocking his way to freedom, never turning back to see whether they were following him or not. He just kept running. He had been running in his dream, too. He had been chased, before he tripped, but then no one had been on his heels but he had kept running all the same. It was disconcerting how many of his dream's features were coinciding with reality now.
But, just as in his dream, he soon ran out of forest to run in, panting for breath, heart hammering a staccato beat against his chest, his boots buried in the sand of the beach. It was probably the same beach on which they had dug up the chest, if only behind the curve of the relatively small island that was Isla Cruces. He was drenched in his own sweat and as dirty as he had been upon boarding the Black Pearl again, due to the day's events. Such a shame. He had enjoyed the relative cleanness that he had enjoyed for but a day or so. He was a little worried about his health, though. Surely no matter the exercise, fear or amount of adrenaline coursing through his body, his heart should not be beating like that! He'd never heard of someone's heart doing the acrobatics his must be in order to beat like that.
Strangely enough, he did not feel like his blood was pounding too hard in his ears or like he had enough energy to repeat such a run, as would have been the case if his blood was rushing as hard as his heart was pounding.
'Maybe it's just my imagination?' He wondered to himself idly, his breathing slowing down a little. Now, how was he supposed to get off of this bloody island? He doubted the crew of the Black Pearl had been so nice as to have left their longboat for him. Even if Sparrow had forgone the boat altogether and returned on his own to the ship by way of flight, those two pirates, Turner and Elizabeth would have surely taken it by now and left. If they were not killed and the cursed crewmen did not destroy the longboat so as to leave James stranded on this island. He doubts any of that had happened - despite Turner's earlier description of Sparrow, the pirate actually had a good, honest streak and tended to put his life on the line for the sake of others more often than a marine would ever care to and they were supposed to be the 'good guys'. Sparrow had probably managed to get them all out safely. The man had an uncanny ability to survive anything thrown his way. James rather doubted Sparrow really needed the heart-
There was something like a deafening roar in the distance and James flinched. Panic gripped him like nothing ever had before, not even that time he was drowning and his Curatrix had not been able to drag them both up over the waves without help. Before he knew it, his feet were pounding away at the sand, rearing up small clouds of dust behind him as he almost mindlessly raced in a direction he did not know, but his soul seemed to be pulling him in. He was running again, just like in his dream. His heartbeat was still irregular - why was that? - and he had to struggle to draw in any air at all. His body protested the abuse but his mind and his soul could not have cared any less. He was going to damn run if he wanted to and, right now, he wanted to, needed to. He needed to run. He had to get there, where ever there was, before it was too late.
He ran on the beach, close enough to the water that it was almost lapping at his feet. He was almost there, he could feel it, but he was in a panic because it was too late, he was too late. What was going on? It took him but a few minutes more to come to the spot from which he had started his mad dash and, in the distance, he could see a black dot, just distinguishable enough to be a ship but the details were unclear. He didn't need them to be clear in order to know the dot was black not because of the distance, but because the ship itself was black: black hull, black railing, black masts, black sails with only some gold lining and a golden figurehead of a woman holding a bird in an outstretched hand. But there was a strange something wrapping around the ship as far as Norrington could tell and the ex Commodore felt desperation, fear, sorrow and panic seize his heart as they suddenly tugged down, whatever those shapes were, and the Black Pearl went down with it.
He was in the water before he could think about it, mindlessly calling out names he was not even sure he should worry about, calling out for people he knew only oh so briefly and the three people he might have at some point considered companions. The waves and the sand would not allow him to reach the sinking ship, would not let him get out of the shallows, holding him back. Before he was waist deep in the water, it was already too late, the mainmast of the black ship already beneath the waves, the fate of her Captain and crew left unknown.
He heard a crack, so minute a sound that no one else would have heard it, but he did and he felt a freezing chill settle deep into his very bones as the crack registered. He had heard it once before. His hand frantically reached into his breast pocket and he took out his gem. A black pearl, about the size of his fingertips, with cracks all over its once smooth, gleaming surface. It seemed dull now. Dull and empty of life. His soul felt empty. He could barely register the bond that still struggled to keep him and his Curatrix connected. He himself felt empty, like he had stopped functioning and he didn't understand why.
His heartbeat had normalized. Only, James realized, his own heart had stopped. There was still a beating against his chest and he reached into his jacket. The heart of Davy Jones beat in his hand, mocking him for the lack of his own heartbeat. The cracks in his black pearl were deeper and he could have sworn some stardust had drifted out from between the cracks.
His knees gave out and James Norrington knew no more.
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On the Flying Dutchman, where Jones had watched the Black Pearl and her erstwhile Captain sink to the depths, about to be dragged to his Locker, he felt satisfaction as well as regret. He had just taken from the world the most fascinating of heaven-created creatures, one whose power he himself would have gladly taken advantage of. Sparrow was a one of a kind man, one of a kind specimen of his own kin that Jones felt a little remorseful that he would never get to see the true extent of Sparrow's powers and skills. There were places Jones could not sail into without Sparrow as his pilot. He could forget about those places now. And Sparrow's powers were far more great than the simple charm of a Curatrix. Sparrow was the luck of the gods, he had it in every fiber of his being. They had expected much of him.
It was a good thing Jones was already pretty much dead or else he would have had a lot to fear from their rage. Sparrow had been their favorite. Even the Captain of the Flying Dutchman had known not to simply take the pirate, even when the opportunities were clear and true. The bargain was his best chance. He should have not allowed Sparrow to charm him into agreeing to that three days trial to let Sparrow collect one hundred souls. The man would never go back on his libertine ways. Freedom was everything to him, which was why he loved his ship so much.
No matter. Sparrow will be more useful in some ten years, when the locker wears him out. He had no connection to the world of the living to keep him strong. It was why it was tricky to place a Curatrix in the Locker. Their souls were more accurately split up between their Tutela, their item, their gem and their own body, a strong connection keeping them bound to all four. Killing a Curatrix was far easier than breaking even one of those bonds. But Jones was sure that Sparrow had his Tutela aboard the Black Pearl. The man had been glowing with happiness that particular way a Curatrix does whenever they are close to their charge. That meant guardian and charge, both their items and both their gems were on the Black Pearl, on their way to the Locker. The human will wilt away within a few weeks but Sparrow's angelic half will keep him sane a lot longer. But even Curatrix have their limits. Soon enough, Sparrow will be a perfect puppet for Jones to pull the strings of. He can wait a few more years. Sparrow was his now.
He had more concerning matters to attend to. Sparrow's debt has been settled but the man had been close enough to the chest that Jones did not like it. Not one bit. So while his crew murmured amongst themselves that not even Jack Sparrow could best the devil and that a true Captain always goes down with his ship, he ordered for the chest to be brought to him. The damned thing inside had not been giving him troubles with feelings (it was interesting how he spat out the mere thought as though it was poison in his mouth) and that in itself was worrisome, for he had buried it away for that very same reason. The key in the lock already told him all he needed to know and yet he still ordered it opened.
It was empty.
His punishment for taking Sparrow was that he was about to become either very dead or some mortal fool's lapdog. He could just hear the mocking laughter and disgusted sneers of the gods, their vengeful stares and their furious snarls. Once again, Jack Sparrow had bested him.
"Sparroooooooow!" He bellowed to the wind in helpless fury. It did him no good. Sparrow was still gone. The heart was still gone.
His days of freedom were numbered.
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They came to an end just a couple of days later, when a disgusting midget of an English Lord of the East India Trading Company took his heart in hand and summoned him into the docks of Port Royal. Lord Cutler Beckett was smug and proud and arrogant as Jones was forced to report for duty, if he wished to keep his life - and he did; he was a coward, for all his famed power and cruelty. Even he feared death. He could not help but admire Sparrow's resolve to rather die than become a slave, though. That man was stronger than he had given him credit for, it would seem.
By Beckett's side were two men. On reeked of blood, even from where Jones stood, but there was a certain air of otherness to him that had Jones wary. An assassin of those origins? He'd never heard of such a thing before. But the other of the two taller men, the tallest yet youngest of the three, was blank faced and yet stony eyed. Those green orbs flashed with rage whenever they settled on the heart in Beckett's hand or the tentacles on Jones' face.
He shivered when he saw them return to their blank stare as he was told to kill his Kraken.
What had he done to make such a man?
And why did he feel strangely familiar?
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Tia Dalma had felt it when Jack Sparrow was drawn to the depths and into the Locker. The sea shivered under the rage of a woman who had gazed upon the Curatrix as a symbol of hope, whom she had cared for as her own and whom had been her friend longer than any other being dared to hope. Her rage was warring with her sorrow, but the people of the swamp had no such struggles. Flames light the dark shores of her swamp, all around her little shack as she hands out a warm drink to the returned crew of Captain Jack Sparrow. Hundreds of men, women and children were holding candles outside, lighting the way as though in hopes of drawing Jack's soul away from the torment that awaits him and towards an always safe harbor. He had done much for these people, and so they steadily, unflinchingly held vigil, hoping for what they knew was hopeless.
Tia Dalma is not impressed with the story they gave her. It was true enough, her Witty Jack's choice, but it was not the whole story. The young woman was hiding something and she did not know that the voodoo witch knew just what. Tia Dalma was not fond of Elizabeth Swann, the would be murderess of Jack Sparrow. She had shackled him and left him to die. Witty Jack would not have flown away, even if he could. He would not have left his Pearl. But she, oh, she thought she knew better and so she had gone and killed the very essence of the man Jack Sparrow always strove to be. A free man. Witty Jack will not be forgiving her so easily.
Young William Turner resembled his father a great deal, but he had a dark side. A terrible dark side that haunted his thoughts, his soul. He cared not all that much for a lost friend but for his friend's ship which had been lost along with said friend. He had become narrow minded in the short time since she had last seen him. She was disappointed. Bill had never been like that. For all that he had betrayed her Witty Jack, he had mourned him when he had thought him lost. The Black Pearl will not sail for this one, no matter what he wants.
The rest were somber and sorrowful enough for her to realize there had been a true and deeply rooted loyalty in them for the downed pirate Captain. It showed just how much he had meant to them in Gibbs' speech and their reactions to it.
"Aye. And, already, the world seems bit less bright without him. Tricked us all, to the end, but I guess that honest streak finally won out." There was true regret and sadness in his voice. It had been difficult for the old sailor to face her and tell her what had become of the Black Pearl and her Captain. "To Jack Sparrow!" Had been his simple toast.
"Never another like Captain Jack."
"He was a true gentleman of fortune, he was."
"He was a good man," Elizabeth had brought up in the rear. Her voice was shaky, full of regret, sorrow and the guilt that was eating away at her. Tia Dalma felt no pity for her. She deserved far worse. Jack Sparrow does not trust easy and yet he had extended his trust to her, had made her his friend, one of his protectees. And she had taken all of that and spat in his face. Tia Dalma was not interested in her guilt.
"If there was anything that could be done to bring him back, Elizabeth..."
Ah, but in that she was. She fairly teleported in front of Will, eager. "Would ya do it, hm?" She asks him. She turns to look at the rest of the bewildered sailors and saw the recognition and hope flaring in Gibbs' eyes. "Wha' would ya, wha' would any of you be willin' to do? Hm?" Tia asks them all, knowing this was her only chance of saving her plans and saving her friend. "Would ya sail to de ends of de earth and beyond, to fetch back Witty Jack and him precious Pearl? Hm?" She didn't need to wait long for their answers and a grin split her face. Not a single one of them had refused. Charm or true loyalty, it mattered little to her how her Witty Jack ran his ship, but true loyalty was always best, as it compelled men to go back for those they were loyal to. Witty Jack could inspire loyalty a lot easier than he thought. "Very well." She said, pleased. "But if ye are ta brave de weird an' haunted shoals at World's End, den ye be needin' a capt'n wot knows dose waters."
She greatly enjoyed the way their jaws dropped when Hector Barbossa, the mutinous first mate and former captain of the Black Pearl, appeared from the back of her shack. "Now, tell me, what's become if my ship?"
She anticipates the adventures to come.
Jack Sparrow will be needed soon enough.