[Disclaimer: Me no own, etc, etc.]
Author's Note:
Elizabeth Swann-Turner, eighteenth century slasher! The idea made me laugh. (No, but seriously, she really does sound like a crazy little slash-writer in this chapter. Once I noticed it, I may have…exaggerated it…just a little…)
I can't believe how much of this story I've actually managed to get written…I 333333 this story. And I'm sorry, but there's no Liza this chapter. Let's just say she's sleeping off the hangover somewhere backstage, hmm?
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An Exercise In International Relations
Chapter Eight: Elizabeth's Brilliant Idea
In which Aramis has a Moment™, Rochefort visits Egypt, and Elizabeth decides to meddle.
Meddle a lot.
---
If Aramis was honest, he didn't know why he was defending Gautier to everyone. Least of all Norrington, who, if he was even more honest, he'd been privately thinking of as 'competition'. After all, hadn't he had Gautier's affections first? Gautier still wore that little gold earring he gave him -- didn't that mean anything?
But no. He defended him for the 'mistake' with the pirate -- even as he seethed inside -- and he tried to convince Norrington to sort things out and he sat there being so helpful and Gautier would never, ever say thank you, so why?
Well.
Rochefort broke his heart -- that's what Porthos thought. Athos, ever observant and sensitive, didn't have any idea what there had been anything going on. Hell, he didn't even know Rochefort's preferences, and even D'Artagnan had picked up on those.
The fact of the matter was, Aramis was the one who left. He was obliged. They were on opposite sides of what was a hop, skip and a jump away from civil war. Rochefort was committing treason against a King they'd both sworn once to protect (though Rochefort was later given the heave-ho…'conduct unbecoming of a Musketeer', it amounted to the same thing). He had never been the type of man to make the selfish choice.
He'd pretended not to notice when Rochefort started wearing his gold earring…the one he thought he'd lost after leaving that final time, the one he'd been entirely too cowardly to go and look for. He'd pretended not to notice that Rochefort hadn't ever been seen without it. (Even now.)
He supposed it was about time they moved on, the both of them. He'd hardly been celibate since, but he'd never really…and Rochefort, well…
Sometimes you do strange things when you're trying to prove a point to yourself.
Really.
He chuckled to himself. Rochefort would laugh if he heard all this.
---
As a matter of fact, he would probably just sneer at Aramis for being a sentimental fool and make damn sure his ear was hidden under his hair. However, he was currently dealing with several unpleasant situations. Firstly, Sparrow hadn't left yet -- yes, definitely England's answer to Porthos. Secondly, Madame Turner had (somehow -- he suspected eavesdropping) managed to figure out what had happened, and hadn't stopped berating him since (evidently, if one spent enough time around her, she 'adopted' one. This was not a state of affairs he wished to encourage). Thirdly, he had run out of wine. And everything else alcoholic that Madame Turner hadn't managed to get locked away in the master bedroom.
Oh…
And there was the Norrington thing, too. Norrington. James Norrington. Commodore James Norrington. With whom he'd probably just blown sky-high any chances he may or may not have in fact had.
Which was a pity, because James was very pretty.
Not that Rochefort was developing feelings of any kind.
The man may well have been attractive -- and he was -- but he was also laced straighter than a corset (and Rochefort had intimate knowledge of more than a few of those), and more uptight, too. He was irritatingly honest and straightforward to a fault, he thought of others; he was a gentle, genuinely good man.
And lord knew Rochefort was none of those things.
And never fell for anyone who was, either.
Of course.
At this point, the author emphatically does not mention Aramis.
---
Norrington wasn't sure what he was supposed to do now.
He wasn't sure how he was supposed to feel now, let alone 'think' or 'do'.
"Sir?"
Ah, Gillette. He could always be relied upon to be there in a crisis. "Enter, Lieutenant."
"I thought perhaps you might appreciate some company."
"Watching from the window again, Armand?"
"In my defense, I was merely pointing out the lovely view to Aramis."
"For God's sake!"
"James…"
"I swear I will be driven mad between the lot of you!"
Gillette chuckled, and sat down. "Porthos sends his regards, and his apologies."
"He's apologizing? What did he do?" The question was asked with a certain resigned 'well, just when I thought it couldn't get any worse' air.
"He feels responsible, and as much as he is enjoying Rochefort's discomfort -- and believe me, he is -- he does feel somewhat guilty for your part in it."
"How is he responsible, precisely? I was under the impression--"
"Well, how do you think they met in the first place?"
"Oh, brilliant. Your cousin is consorting with pirates, too, now."
I rather thought that was your Rochefort's arena, personally, he carefully didn't say. There was, after all, such a thing as going too far. "Indeed. Apparently he is 'famous'. I chose -- wisely, I think -- not to ask."
"A wise choice indeed," Norrington permitted a brief smile. "You look as though you want to ask something."
"I do, but I'm not entirely sure how it'd be received."
"That sounds ominous."
"Only a little. You looked very upset when you left the Turners'. If I may be so bold as to ask--"
"You may. You will, anyway."
Gillette continued as if he hadn't been interrupted, "--what happened?"
Norrington gave him a steady, evaluating gaze. If he said it out loud, that made it somehow…more real. Gillette was his most trusted friend but… "He kissed me." He said flatly.
"And?"
"Told me to get out."
Gillette winced sympathetically.
---
Sometimes, Elizabeth really didn't understand men.
Most of the time, actually. She was terribly fond of them, though. Her Will -- a little dense, but utterly devoted to her. Totally wrapped around her little finger, which always made it easy to get what she wanted. Jack could usually be led by a strategic pout or smile…James was much the same, though he appeared to be coming out from underneath her thumb. Her father would never be anything but under her thumb.
And her latest acquisition! Gautier Rochefort. Now he was simply impossible. She didn't particularly like him to begin with, but he did rather grow on one. Much like fungus. Very unfriendly, handsome fungus.
…perhaps that was stretching the metaphor a little.
But anyway.
Yes, he was an acquired taste. He seemed to chafe a little under her motherly thumb, but she was quite determined, and when Elizabeth Turner wanted something, she got it. (Exhibit A, William Turner) Will didn't like him, but that was only to be expected, given how he'd been bested -- and so publicly, too.
She had been so sure things would be sorted out when James came to visit, but no! Honestly, she'd never seen two people quite so blind to one another. (Of course, she hadn't seen it until Jack pointed out, but that was hardly the point)
"Meddling again?"
"Only a little bit."
"They're going to be furious with you," Will predicted, watching her write.
"They'll get over it," she replied dismissively. "They'll be grateful when all's said and done. You just see."
"If you say so," he looked dubious.
"Oh, Will," she sighed, "You just don't understand romance."
"What is romantic about two persnickety men that just make each other angry?"
"They belong together," she said firmly. And they're so pretty!
"You haven't exactly been on Rochefort's side before now," he observed.
"Well, now I am." Fickle. "True love just needs a guiding hand."
"Yours," he surmised.
"See? I knew you'd see it my way!"
---
Author's Note
If you want to know what she's up to, you'll just have to wait and see.
But Will's right (for once) -- they're going to be furious.
Oh, Elizabeth. I may not like her particularly much, but I'm beginning to like her as I've got her in here…
