A/N: My brother knows I write fic, but not the fandoms etc. (because I'd die if he read this)...upon finding out the length of this one, he asked me "who the fuck is reading 400k words of what you write?!" the cheeky bastard. It's okay, I ask myself the same thing on my Insecure Artist days, but I had the ultimate power moment when I told him some people have read it twice. He's disgusted with the lot of you, but you have my eternal love so hopefully that balances things out xoxo
Groves' ability to hide his relief when the Pearl sprang back to the surface once the maelstrom cleared was questionable at best, but it mattered little for Beckett hardly glanced his way at all. He comforted himself with the fact that he'd have done an even poorer job at hiding his grief had it turned out that he'd just watched two of his dearest friends perish.
The moment the battle between the Pearl and the Dutchman began, Beckett ordered for the Endeavour to be pulled back in towards the fleet. At first Groves had assumed it was so they wouldn't unwittingly be drawn into the flurry by the perilous tides, but now he wasn't so sure, not if the troubled look on Beckett's face was anything to go by. It turned darker still when two figures broke through the surface of the water - so calm that he was almost tempted to believe he'd imagined the storm that had only just been lashing down upon them, were it not for how utterly soaked the deck was.
At Beckett's gesture, a young officer stepped forward and handed him a scope so he might get a better look at who it was that swam the short distance towards the Pearl.
"The Turners," he said "Both of them survived."
He said it like it was a pity.
"It…appears they defeated the Dutchman, sir," he said.
It earned him a black look.
"We don't know that. Jones may be regaining his strength," Beckett replied "If the Turners are aboard the Pearl, neither of them could have stabbed the heart. Jones may yet be alive. Look for signs of her resurfacing."
"And if she does not?"
"If she does not, then we must accept that Mrs Norrington was speaking truthfully," he said sourly.
Any further chat was interrupted when the rushing of water met their ears, the main mast of the Dutchman surfacing first like a drowning man reaching for the sky, then more and more until the behemoth rocked back and forth, steadying itself in the light of day and shaking off the last of the water it had just been cloaked in.
Beckett yanked the scope back up to his eye, but growled his annoyance when it seemed he couldn't see anything that offered any satisfaction. Handing it to Groves, he spoke.
"Who captains her? Do you see Jones?"
"They…they appear to be men, sir," Groves said, each face he spotted looking more and more human the longer he watched and nothing like the beasts that once crewed the ship.
All faced in the same direction towards the bow of the ship, Groves moving the scope to follow their line of sight before halting when it reached a man garbed in black - he could not see his face as his back was to them, but he had two legs, no claw, and a hat bedecked in a feather.
"It's not Jones, sir," Groves said.
Beckett did not respond immediately - and Groves thought he meant not to respond at all. However, just as he was lowering the scope from his eye, he replied.
"No matter. We've still the fleet, and positioned here we're not so vulnerable as we otherwise may have been. They've been through one fight, let us see how they fare against the brunt of our forces."
Groves' lips thinned. He did not relish the idea of facing James Norrington in combat - and the former Admiral's swordsmanship had little to do with it. And how could he face barking orders for cannons to be fired when he knew they could easily find their mark in Theodora, recovering from her injuries below deck? Or Hattie, tending to her?
He was saved from the worry of answering any of those questions when a cry came from above in the crow's nest.
"Sails! To the east!"
The scope was snatched from his hand before the man above had even specified a direction, Beckett holding it to his eye as he strode towards the ship's rail to take stock of their company. Groves did not protest, nor did he call for another - he didn't need one to recognise British ships - tonnes of British ships, no less - when he saw them, approaching the flank of the fleet.
Beckett grinned, a horrible little smile that held no mirth nor any warmth to it whatsoever.
"It appears we have reinforcements."
Having seen a fair few more battles than she had, and not boasting the same injuries that she did, James recovered more quickly from Theodora in the aftermath of the fight, helping her up to sit on the bed. She didn't really see the point of that, to be honest - it was just as wet as the floor and only marginally more comfortable - but she went along with how he directed her numbly, both impatient for and somehow also dreading the moment when feeling returned to her limbs.
The storm had cleared up quickly, only compacting its supernatural nature, with that same bright but grey daylight shining in through the doorway and the holes that had been smashed through the walls of the cabin. Once he appeared content that she wasn't about to go rolling off of the bed like a helpless newborn (which took him a moment longer to ascertain than she'd have liked) he ducked outside to take stock of the situation that continued to unfold, keeping one hand curled around the doorframe of the cabin as though he was worried that there was still an immediate need to guard it.
"The Endeavour has fallen back into the fleet," he said grimly when he dipped back inside.
Theo sighed, closing her eyes. Of course. The numbness was fading away now, giving rise to a slow, unending burn from her wounds that had been saturated in saltwater throughout the battle they'd already dragged themselves through. Now it seemed they were due another - a war. Against a fleet. How many would die because her information meant Beckett had made damn well sure he would not be flanked by the Pearl and the Dutchman?
There wasn't much chance for self-flagellation, though, because before she could even find a whip with which to do it, James was speaking.
"If it's to come to battle between the two fleets…which is looking more and more unavoidable with each passing moment…" he spoke reluctantly, brow furrowed as he regarded her and chose his words carefully "We'll have to move you below deck."
"I know," she said quietly.
He blinked at her, the argument he was ready to give dying on his lips as he stared at her, visibly struggling to comprehend the fact that she wasn't fighting him on this.
"I'm too much of a very obvious weakness up here," she said "That fight taught us that - even with the limited amount of help I could offer. I don't have a second wind in me, and you can't go through another battle worrying about my invalid-ed self in addition to your own life. I'm too much of a hindrance."
"I would not have worded it thus," he said sincerely "My thoughts are for your safety."
"Which is the problem," she nodded slowly.
She wouldn't ask him to stay below deck with her. She couldn't. It wasn't who he was - and god knew he'd lost enough of what he once would have viewed as moral waypoints as of late. Asking him to hide below deck when the fighting broke out with she and Hattie would be too much. She knew that, and she wouldn't. But fuck, did she want to.
"Were you truly going to stab the heart?" he asked, saving her from stewing over that temptation "I only ask because for a moment it appeared that you might."
It didn't take a whole lot of thought to answer, and when she did, she did so honestly.
"No."
The answer earned her a relieved nod, and he slowly lowered himself to sit on the bed beside her.
"I didn't want to," she elaborated quietly "And I don't think I could have. But when you're holding it and you think this will all be over if I just do one little thing, it's always going to be tempting, isn't it?"
"Although that little thing is hardly little at all."
"Yeah. That's the next thought that stops you."
A cry from Elizabeth outside told them that Will and Bootstrap had surfaced alive and well. Or at least well enough to swim.
"I'm sorry for last night," James said quietly "So sorry."
"Don't be. It wasn't you. It wasn't even really her. Although I don't doubt me n' her are due a conversation if we survive all of this. It was just…a shit show."
"We will survive this. I have to believe it," he said "To have come so far and not do so? It's unfathomable."
She hoped he was right. But scepticism welled within her as to whether he really believed that, or if he was just trying to make her do so to lift her spirits. James was a realist. A pragmatist. He'd seen enough senseless violence and tragedy throughout his career to know that things didn't quite work that way. If they did, he wouldn't have died in the movies.
"Do you not believe so?" he asked when she didn't respond.
"All I can believe right now is that I'm very, very tired," she said "Doesn't seem clever to dwell on much else, because it's just fogged by everything else I'm feeling."
At least she had the presence of mind to know that if she was feeling defeatist, it was more to do with the state she was in than the reality of the situation. Or so she hoped. Then again, if there was any situation in which one might be allowed to feel a bit down in the dumps, staring down an enemy armada was probably it.
"Nobody could blame you for that," he said "Which is exactly why I could not see you stab that heart. You've sacrificed much. Too much. And I love you for it - more than I could possibly say, but no more."
"I'd do it again," she murmured, "I meant it."
"That is precisely what scares me," he breathed a laugh that sounded as tired as she felt "Enough. It's enough. It has to be. We've earned ourselves a lifetime of peace and of privacy and of governing ourselves. I intend to see that we get it. Not least because of all you did last night to give me my life - it would be a poor recompense not to use it wisely from hereon."
A lump threatened to lodge itself in her throat - but for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, it wasn't out of sadness. No, it was because he spoke with such ardent conviction that she couldn't help but believe him.
The roar of rushing water sounded outside, but they didn't need to move in order to find out the source, with several aboard crying out it's the Dutchman! - it being the first time Theo had heard that called out with anything other than terror and dread. Hell, her chest still seized up at hearing the name almost out of instinct, like she was so used to nothing good coming from that bloody ship that even the name triggered her fight or flight. But she was too bone-tired to do much fighting, nor flying. Although she couldn't help but snicker when she heard Jack remark somewhere near the cabin that he was pretty sure he preferred the Dutchman being under Jones' command than Barbossa's.
James seemed much in the same boat, barely shifting at all beside her. They pressed their heads together where they sat, curled up against each other, Theo pretending that she was not shivering and James likely pretending it did not worry him, relishing in this moment they had - both because less than twelve hours prior they'd feared they'd never get another, and now they knew they'd have to fight for more. Mostly, Theo tried to use what energy she did have to commit everything about the moment to memory, knowing she'd need it when the time came for her to be moved below deck. That moment would have to be soon, too. With Beckett seeing the Dutchman was still sea-worthy and now on their side, he wouldn't want to drag things out much longer.
Then more shouts began to ripple throughout the ship - throughout the entire pirate fleet, even - starting far off and then repeated and punctuated by the thud of boots on deck.
"Sails!"
Theo straightened out of instinct, and then hissed in a sharp breath through her teeth because doing so hadn't been her best decision.
"Sails?" she repeated, frowning at James "Did they say sails?"
It was clear from her face that this hadn't been an expected development - or maybe it was just that she would've bloody well mentioned it by now if it was something that was meant to happen. James didn't bother arguing beyond a long-suffering sigh when he rose to his feet and she was right behind him, nor even when he had to help her step out into the daylight so they could take stock of what was going on together.
The cry, it turned out, hadn't merely heralded one set of sails, but countless - almost the size of Beckett's own fleet, even. They drifted into view on the horizon to the left of the pirate fleet, but they were growing larger quickly, the one heading the group moved fastest and would soon be between the two sides, and it didn't seem to have much intention of stopping anytime soon. She was too woozy to spot out colours, and not well-versed enough when it came to ships in general to pick out any tells about them. Who were the British allied with in this century? They fell out and made up with the French every other decade, so that was difficult to judge. Who else might ally with Beckett? Whatever the answer, her heart sank at the sight. If the battle would've been a rough one ten minutes ago, it was an impossible one now. Several gazes aboard turned questioningly in her direction, and she offered a grim shake of her head in response to every single one, answering the unasked question. This was not part of the plan.
"'Ere, Norrington," Jack held out a scope to him "You know the Royal Navy better than any here. Do you recognise the ships?"
It spoke worlds as to how serious the situation was when he couldn't even be bothered to come up with some teasing over-familiar nickname with which to refer to him.
"Beckett could not have had the necessary time to call for reinforcements," James remarked "Not between hearing your knowledge and returning you to us. Word would not have even reached any potential allies by now, much less afforded them time to muster and depart."
Holding up the scope to one eye, he closed the other and frowned deeply as he observed the ships. As Theo continued to hold onto him for balance, she didn't know what to make of it when he relaxed beneath her hold - much less when he breathed a laugh.
"I know that ship - it's the Paladin. Governor Byam's flagship, from Antigua."
On the other side of Jack, Elizabeth's lips split into a wide grin and she breathed a single word.
"Father."
The Endeavour pulled out of the ranks of the rest of the fleet just enough to allow her to be boarded when it became clear that the Paladin intended to do so. Groves honestly could not decide between being impressed and disturbed by the complete lack of emotion - much less panic - when the other ship drew close enough for them to see Governor Swann standing side by side with Governor Byam on the main deck of the ship, and Beckett's features hardly twitched in response. If the Lord truly believed he'd done nothing wrong, that was somehow more disturbing than if he knew he had something to answer for here and was able to hide it from his face that well. A skill that no doubt served him well politicking in London, he supposed.
Governor Byam was older than Governor Swann, not by much, but enough for it to show as they stood next to one another. Despite that, though, it wasn't enough to fool oneself into thinking he would be an easy man to deal with. Impressively tall, he was dressed fairly simply for a man of his station but still impeccably so, and the simplicity only added to the severe look of his features, his heavy brow furrowed over a look of outright scrutiny when they landed on Lord Beckett. Beckett returned the look coolly, hand resting atop his silver-handled cane as the gangplank was rushed into place.
Byam was stepping up and striding across it the very second the men were done securing it, Governor Swann rushing to keep up with him.
"Governor Byam, isn't it?" Beckett greeted "If you've come to add your fleet to help us wipe out the pirate scourge once and for all, I must tell you that while it is appreciated, I'm unsure as to whether it's needed. Although I'm only too happy to share the glory."
The smirk at the end was what pushed Byam's expression from severe over to outright fury as Beckett greeted him as though he'd come to share in brandy and cigars after dinner.
"This is badly done, Lord Beckett, badly done indeed," Governor Byam spoke as though all of the words were coming from the back of his mouth, the words all sounding oddly ground out "If even half of what I've been told these last few weeks is true…I've no trouble telling you it bodes poorly for you."
Beckett's acting was not quite so stellar this time around, but it looked to Groves that this was thanks to his loathing at having his actions (and his authority, by extension) questioned rather than because he was worried about Byam's thinly veiled threats.
"All that I've done, Governor?" Beckett blinked "All I've done is for the common good - for King and Country, no less.
There was something about Governor Swann's fury in response to that assertion - or that lie, rather - that emphasised just how exhausted the man looked by recent events. He'd hardly been a portly man to begin with, but his travels with Sparrow had left him looking positively gaunt, his wig and clothing wearing him more than the reverse.
"King and Country?" he breathed in disbelief "King and Country, sir? You have perverted the cause of both for your own gain - to serve yourself! Your name, your pocketbook, your pride, your vanity! King and Country indeed, by God it's practically treason! No, we've had quite enough of this - Governor Byam, we must speak with Admiral James Norrington, he will give you the truth on what has occurred here, if anybody has the common good in pride of place in his heart, it's him. Lieutenant Groves, where might we find him?"
Beckett's smirk was slimy as all get out in response to that, tilting his head in a manner that was distinctly mocking - no doubt thrilled at the prospect of getting a little revenge so soon after being denounced on deck before all his men.
"With all due respect, Governor Swann, your ability to judge character seems to be found wanting. Perhaps your personal history with the former Admiral has clouded your judgement where he is concerned."
"Former Admiral?" Byam asked bluntly as Swann stared at him in disbelief.
"Yes. Admiral Norrington defected to the side of the pirates not one night past. I believe to seek companionship with Governor Swann's daughter, who now appears to be Pirate King. Is it treason you still wish to discuss, Governor Swann?"
The deathly white pallor of Governor Swann's face stood in stark contrast to the red-tinged fury that it had replaced, while Byam just appeared grim as ever - clearly questioning what it was he'd just walked into. For a moment, Groves even feared that he'd believe Beckett and order his fleet to join the Lord's against the pirates - perhaps deciding that Governor Swann's judgement had been clouded by personal matters, and he'd fled to Antigua spouting falsehoods.
It was that fear that had him almost forgetting he had a voice of his own. Until his feet moved him forward.
"Governor Byam, sir, forgive me," he said.
"Stand down, Groves, the opinion of a Lieutenant is not needed here," Beckett said sharply.
"Lord Beckett is mistaken, sir, and I must correct him," Groves pressed on, hardly looking at the man even as he tried to silence him.
"How so?" Byam asked.
"Admiral Norrington did leave, that much is true, but his motive was an honourable one."
"Is there ever an admirable motive for piracy?" Byam's tone was dangerous.
Groves hoped dearly that he'd be forgiven by higher powers one day for the lie he was about to tell - because it wasn't really a lie. Not truly. The heart of it was real, and it was the only way he could see here and now to inform Governor Byam of the sort of thing that occurred under Beckett's rule, while working to bring that rule to an end.
"Admiral Norrington left because Lord Beckett tortured his good lady wife, Mrs Norrington."
The laugh Beckett breathed was one of shock and dismay. Disbelief, even.
"That is a grave charge, Lieutenant," Byam replied grimly.
"And one for which he has no proof," Beckett snapped.
"I beg your pardon, but I have the required proof right here - given to me by Beckett's right hand man, a Mr Ian Mercer, with whom he charges all of his unscrupulous deeds."
Pulling out the pouch from inside his coat, he pinched it between his forefinger and middle finger, extending it out towards Governor Byam. Frowning deeply at the display, Byam undid the drawstring of the pouch with a few yanks, and emptied the contents into his palm. Five bloodied fingernails tumbled out. Groves' stomach turned at the sight - he was used to violence, but against civilians? And women, at that? But he kept his nerve and remained still, watching Byam impassively for a response.
Governor Swann, however, was not so lucky - although he had the unfortunate disadvantage of having no idea what it was that he was about to see.
"God in heaven," he breathed once he made sense of what he was seeing, eyes widening as he turned away, had scrambling to the pocket of his frock coat for a handkerchief that he could splutter into.
Byam was not so easily startled, staring down at the evidence in his hand, his face stern but otherwise unreasonable. For a moment, Groves thought he may have overplayed his hand - that in his determination to see Beckett pay for all he'd done since he came to Port Royal, or at least since they'd all had ample time to see the truth of his character, he'd been disrespectful in some way, managing to hinder his cause rather than help it. Lifting his other hand, Byam turned one of the nails over in his palm. It was small - much smaller than any man's, and must've come from her little finger. There was no mistaking that it belonged to a woman.
Lips thinning so tightly that they soon became bloodless and white, Byam then deposited them back into the pouch, before slipping the pouch into his pocket.
"Do you have an answer to this charge, Lord Beckett?" he asked, his voice eerily calm.
"Lieutenant Groves distorts the truth in favour of his ties to the couple," Beckett scoffed, although the nervousness with which he eyed the pouch betrayed him "To refer to Theodora Norrington simply as a woman understates the truth of her nature. She's a witch, and she withheld valuable information which could threaten all of the King's subjects. I had to remedy that."
"He lies, sir," Groves said immediately.
"Hold your tongue, Lieutenant," Byam snapped "Weatherby - this woman. I assume you know her?"
Governor Swann was beginning to recover from his shock, and had thankfully managed to avoid vomiting.
"Mrs Norrington is…a strange woman, yes, but not a malevolent one. The admiral would never have married her if she was. I struggle to see any truth in Lord Beckett's charge. It was she and her husband who secured the heart for Lord Beckett in the first place."
"She is afflicted, Governor. In her mind. Mildly so, but still - she has fits of fantasy and delusion," Groves echoed the lie he'd heard Admiral Norrington purport himself when this had all first come out in Beckett's office "We could all see it for what it was, but Lord Beckett could not. He took imagination for prophecy and sought to pry delusions from her in order to further his own end."
"Torturing women and chasing prophecies," Byam grumbled, shaking his head "Poor form, poor form indeed…"
"Poor form is lying to get revenge on one who Lieutenant Groves perceives as having slighted his old friends," Beckett ground out "He lies, Governor Byam, as does Governor Swann - to protect the Norringtons, to protect his daughter, to protect his future son-by-law."
"Perhaps," Byam allowed "Perhaps not. I must speak with the Norringtons. I shan't move my fleet out of your way until then. They're on the other side, you say?"
"Aboard the Black Pearl, I'd wager, sir - the one with black sails."
"Then I shall go there and speak with them," Byam said, straightening his coat.
"You cannot be serious," Beckett scoffed "In a stand-off such as this? You're giving them a hostage! I cannot allow-"
"You cannot allow or disallow me to do anything, sir," Byam interrupted sternly "I lead my men for the King, and for the King alone."
Of all of the governors Swann could've brought about, here and on this day, Beckett was unlucky that he happened to have brought about the staunchest and sternest of royalists that the Caribbean's pool of governors had to offer.
"We have not one but four friends on the other side of that line," Swann cut in "It would be quite safe Governor Byam, I assure you."
"And you're willing to stake his life on that, are you?" Beckett asked coolly.
"Not just his, but my own," Swann said "How else are they to know this isn't another of your tricks?"
Groves stifled a smile. How long had Swann been waiting to make a jab like that? Too long, he'd wager.
"I'll approach by skiff - with Governor Swann and six soldiers. My men shall wait here for my return," Byam said, nodding at the soldiers he'd brought with him onto the ship as he made for the gangplank.
Beckett looked outright mutinous, but Byam didn't pause to wither under the heat of the glare, jaunting across the gangplank with a sprightliness better suited to a man half his age.
"I will remember this moment, Lieutenant," Beckett said softly, once the two were out of earshot.
Groves said nothing. Because doling out that threat was all Beckett could do. Byam would not be stopped unless somebody stopped him, and doing that would turn the entirety of Byam's fleet against him. Perhaps it would be a risk Beckett would be willing to take if he knew he would win, especially given that a lack of witnesses would allow him to spin the story however he liked. No doubt it would amount to blaming the pirates, and casting himself as a hero who avenged the good governors both. But doing so would weaken his own fleet, and leave the pirates to pick off the scraps. And then what would become of his great aim, then?
Moreover, he could not send Groves away now without appearing guilty as sin. And that left Theodore free to sit back and enjoy the show. Judging by Beckett's newfound twitchiness, he was not enjoying it half so much.
A/N: I've mentioned before that Governor Byam was indeed the governor for Antigua in this time period. I kept his age the same, but everything else I made up - and when I write him, I picture Prince Philip. Maybe because Jonathan Pryce just played him in The Crown, so the association is there in my mind, but also apparently because that's who my brain throws at me when I need a grumpy older man to appear in a story.
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