West they traveled from London to Tirwitter, and long was the route. They followed alongside the River Thames for much of the first day. It ended them up in the Cotswolds by nightfall. Rather than brave the roads in the dark what with the threat of highwaymen hiding in the hills, they had stayed the night in a warm room of a pleasant inn. In confidence James had expressed to Percy his alarm at having not brought with him a purse of coin, but had been slightly mollified by his friend's assurances that Starling had already seen to the expense—as well as to the expenses of their coachman. Indeed, Jonathan had at breakfast on the morn refused Patrick's money, flicking it back across the table at the wide-eyed Pickwick. After they'd stuffed their guts they had packed up and picked up the trail onward.

Through the hills they bumped along, cramped in the crowded coach. With bellies so full they were drowsy by that mid-afternoon. James had nodded off several times. The last had even been in the midst of the third Pickwick dispute that he and Jonathan had suffered since they had taken leave of the inn. Upon waking, James had been most grateful to find that the Pickwicks had they themselves drifted off to sleep, but he hadn't been so keen on the idea of keeping conversation with Starling who too was awake. Oddly enough, Jonathan seemed as much uncomfortable as he. The both of them had stared across the carriage at each other with wary looks on their faces for what seemed hours of travel before Patrick snorted awake. James had nearly breathed a sigh of relief, and he had turned his face toward the window to watch as the scenery changed from grey to white, snow blanketing their route northwest.

Winter it was in Wales. Several times had snow squalled to slow their carriage. It was only as they passed through the valley that led into the woods at Tirwitter that the snow fell heavy white upon them, however, and for that James was certain they were all thankful. Perhaps, he thought with a twist of his cheek, the coachman was thankful most of all.

As was the Forest of Dean rife with nature's finest, so was the wood that made up the bulk of Tirwitter. Many woodland animals made their home there, making the place a favorite for sporting amongst the high-society folk whom kept good with the Witter family. Situated at the base of a snow-capped green mountain, the sprawling hunting estate was thick with tall trees and wound with icy streams.

Along one such stream followed the winding road up to the log-built lodge. Even the sight of it filtered through the straggly branches of the bare-limbed trees was impressive. Large it was and tall it stood. Soaring windows glowed gold and warm against the cold blue of falling night and snow. A massive cotswold chimney furled a ribbon of smoke into the air, reminding James of the great hearth inside which was, in the chill of night, a welcome thought as they passed through the open gate.

They'd barely pulled up to the entry when the wide double doors swung wide to reveal a tall figure dark against the firelight flickering inside. Two slighter figures strode before the first down the flatrock risers. James squinted out the window as they neared and found that the two before were not so small on their own but dwarfed in stature by the man strolling stately behind. As impressive as the lodge looming behind him, there was only one man he could be.

Though the thought that Tirwitter's keeper would be present whilst they took harbor there had not at all crossed James' mind, there was no doubt that it was Onry Witter himself who was coming to greet them. It seemed to James that Captain Witter was large as the name he'd made for himself in the King's colonies. Privateer he'd been, this tall man aplomb as a proud peacock. Indeed, Onry Witter had been the Captain of several fleets and Commander of several campaigns in the West considered so successful that the King Himself had seated the man in Port Royal, Jamaica as Governor. Not only a decorated Man of the King, Witter was a man of enterprise as well. It was not only his name that brought wealth to the Witters, but his own endeavor to further the family in their trade of importing and exporting the world's finest spirits with one of their own—a dark, syrupy rum refined on the grounds of the Great Goat's own sugarcane plantation. It stood to reason that so powerful a man would seem as such and indeed, James thought as Onry Witter neared, he did.

A great cloak trimmed with fur he wore draped over his broad shoulders. It swept the snow behind his big black boots as he strolled down the flatrock and its heavy drape flared out to reveal the finery beneath as he brought a hand up to tug upon his braided beard. That golden plait was tied with a small bow matching the blood red of his ensemble. The closer he got, the clearer his countenance became—brows drawn and jaw set square though a smile tugged his lips up under his golden mustache. This face was framed by a mane of gold that swept back over his head and down over the red of his cloak.

Even as he was ushered out of the crowded carriage by a clucking Jonathan Starling, James could not look away from Onry Witter. It was only as he realized that the man was standing directly before him that he blinked. A panicked gaze up found calm grey eyes.

"Hullo."

It was the simplest of greetings, but said in such a deep timbre of voice that it seemed somehow grand. James was pondering this as Onry Witter exchanged pleasantries with Starling and Patrick, and nearly missed his pack being pressed into his hands by an exasperated Percy. Nary a heartbeat later and the five of them were trailing the Great Goat's men—who despite their own broad shoulders struggled under the weight of all Starling's luggage—into the warm glow of the lodge.

James had, in fact, been to Tirwitter before. It was the same place Brian had brought him to hunt, and he remembered well the wooden staircase that lined the great room. So wide it was, and thick with oakwood, that James had marveled at the idea that its timber could make up the bulk of a small warship. Brian had laughed…

"Think your head's a bit muddied from all that travel," his brother told him, but he was grinning. "Warship Witter eh?"

James ignored this jibe and ducked his brother's reach. It'd taken him much too long learning it the best policy as regarding Brian's fondness for mussing his only too glad to be messed hair. "Don't!"

But it seemed that such was the wrong thing to say to Brian Norrington, for he was the sort who was only more determined when presented with a challenge. James knew he'd made a mistake the moment protest had burst from his mouth and, with wide eyes, darted forward toward the steps. It was to no avail; Brian's stride was longer than his short legs would take him and so James found himself grasped about the head by two large hands whose fingers were wreaking havoc in his hair.

Brian's laughter rang out, too loud. It seemed to shake James, and then the sound of it echoed all around him…

Shivering, James reached for his hair to fix it but felt that it was not mussed. He frowned as his hand came away and avoided Percy's curious glance in his direction by fixing his gaze straight ahead.

Behind them, Witter was stopped by his brother. Wilhelm, who was frowning worriedly, and a panting yeoman seemed to require his attention and so the Goat waved James and his companions on with his men. They followed. Up the staircase and around the room they went, and passed behind the round chimney to where hid the hall to the bunkrooms. Paintings of men and their dogs lined the hall, all manner of fowl and beast being their sport. Past several doors they went to the third on the right and through it found a cavernous room made cozy by a small hearth and many quilts piled high upon the five beds. A feast had been laid out upon a sidetable, a stack of plates beside it. James' mouth watered at the sight, and he was ever glad when the two men dumped Starling's things, shot the oblivious gent a dark glance, and left them to their dinner.

They scarcely uttered a word throughout their consumption of the roast duck and all its accoutrements, but there seemed good cheer amongst them despite it. Starling offered a silent toast with his mug of drink and went on slurping and snacking with the rest of them without a word. Miraculously, Percy and Patrick managed the entire meal without a scuffle. James noted this with half a smile around his pudding spoon and then he placed the flatware in its empty bowl.

"What's with you?" Percy leaned forward, frowning slightly at him. His gaze flit up at James' forehead and back over his sleek dark hair. "You looked a bit itchy when we first come in."

"Itchy?" James shrugged, but his heart thudded painfully in his chest at the reminder of his latest remembrance of his fallen brother. He glanced around the room, at all the paintings of fowl and beast, anywhere but at his friend. "S'pose a bit."

"Maybe it's the air."

"Could be," offered Patrick in passing, "it is rather a prickly bit cold here isn't it?"

Percy ducked his brother's playful smack and frowned as though something had just occurred to him. "Reckon Nolan's here with his Da?"

James shrugged. "Wouldn't know."

"Only wee Witter here," said Starling as he stretched out on the chaise before the fire, "is the little dove herself."

Percy rounded on the man, his brows together. "What's a girl doing here?"

Jonathan, who could not have had any part in that, flinched backwards and shrugged.

"You'll be civil," warned Patrick to Percy, "or you'll be tossed to the Goat for sport."

To James this sounded rather like impending doom and so he decided that he, himself, would certainly carry on with civility in the face of feminine company. He doubted the girl would be much around them as it was—surely a hunt did not interest a girl of her stature. Though, were it Susan Sutton…

"James, are you even listening?"

He snapped out of it and looked at Percy, not surprised to find his friend's frazzled face. By the desperate look of it, Percy had been going on about ridding Tirwitter of womenfolk—creatures whose company he often protested—and expected James' agreement to his proposal. James, however, felt that the argument was a lost cause. Alice was Witter by name and so Tirwitter was as much her own as it was the Goat's.

"James," Percy said. "Don't tell me you think she should be here!"

James stole a glance at Starling and Patrick, both of whom seemed suspiciously uninterested in the conversation at hand, and offered a frown to his best mate. Being tossed to the Great Goat's mercy was not his idea of a jolly good time and so he could only shrug helplessly. "Isn't much my place to say." Wanting very much to not end up in argument as so often did Patrick with Percy, he searched his mind for a change of topic fast as he could. "The custard."

Percy's brows lifted.

James fought the urge to wallop himself—and Starling for the knowing look the rake shot him—and decided the best course of action was to follow through. "It was tasty, don't you think?"

It was to his advantage that at that moment there was a brisk banging on their chamber door. They had not answered it when it burst open to accommodate the Great Goat's stride into the room. His fur-trimmed cloak snapped at his heels. It spun out around him as he turned to lay a heavy hand upon Patrick's shoulder. For a moment he wore no expression, and then his smoky eyes smoldered at each of them in turn while his mustache quivered. When it straightened itself impressively on his face, he set his gaze upon the highest point of the ceiling and spoke.

"Boys," he said, voice quite grave, "there was just behind yours another arrival." Looking up at the ceiling, he could not see their glances exchanged and so continued. "With it comes sad news. I trust that you will lament as I did the Admiral's ill-met shin…"

James nearly asked if the man meant Admiral Sutton but quickly bit his lip. Such a question would be good as guilt. He glanced at Starling and found much the same look on his face. Feeling a bit better for this, James looked away and back to their host, who by this time was shaking his head sadly at nothing in particular.

"Alas, brothers," said he, "Admiral Sutton's shin is determinedly… busted—and likely in two places at that. Seems he will be… hobbling… for a time."

"What a rotten shame," Jonathan put in.

Patrick nodded. "Must smart something awful."

Onry Witter's mustache twitched, and his grey eyes glinted a bit though his voice was tinged with something of sadness. "It is and I do bet it does." His gaze abruptly met Jonathan's and his mouth quirked up. "Way I hear it, he cranked up such a howl all the wild dogs came running, worried for their wounded friend."

"He is something of a mongrel," Starling agreed. He frowned then, his eyes narrowing on Witter's. "Who was it brought this news?"

"Hawk VonCoch."

Four glances met. James saw upon the faces of his comrades the same hesitation that stuck him. He bit his lip. Patrick Pickwick opened his mouth but promptly shut it. Percy's mouth was agape. Jonathan Starling's lip curled, and his dark eyes gleamed in the firelight as if laughter lit them.

Who'd have thought, James wondered, that such a man as Captain Onry Witter would share in their sentiments as regarding old man VonCoch? But it seemed that he did share their general dislike for the man, for the Great Goat looked just as unhappy to have received the arrival of VonCoch to Tirwitter as they'd all been to receive news of it. Indeed, there was a strange twitch to his mustache—the sort that usually meant its wearer's nose had to its dismay got whiff of life's foulest odor.

"My brother is tending him at the moment," said the Goat, "as Wilhelm is better suited to pandering than I. However, I do think His Grace shall find his demands to see you tossed out unmet."

"Tossed out?" Percy's eyes flashed defiantly at this suggestion and he ignored the tempered look from his brother in favor of scowling up at Onry Witter. "Well His ruddy Grace can gripe much as he wants! I'll not leave!"

James, not near as courageous as that, paled under the Great Goat's unreadable gaze. "I—I think—what—I th—think what he means is 'unless you ask us to leave', sir." He gulped. "Governor." He gulped again. "Captain Witter, sir."

"Young Norrington," Witter said, leaning down to look him hard in the eye, "I'd sooner see VonCoch tossed out before any one of you boys. You and yours were invited to take what is mine as if brothers we be." He frowned. "VonCoch is accepted here only as courtesy to the King, though what Henley sees in the fool of his family I have yet to figure."

Starling's laugh was cut short as the Great Goat's glare found him.

"This conversation, Mister Starling—and the rest of you, is to stay within the confines of these walls," he warned. "I do not wish to find His Grace any more unreasonable than already he is and I daresay hearing himself referred to as a fool would quite do the trick." His mouth twisted then turned up in a smile. "Now, won't you join us by the hearth? Mulled the mead myself."

Though they four exchanged glances again—for they knew, all of them, that Hawk VonCoch, and likely his intolerable progeny, would be waiting—it was only for a moment and then they followed Onry Witter out. It was as he was nearly to it that the first door on the left swung open to admit its occupant into the hall. Alice Witter, white curls a jamble and robed in too much white lace, frowned up at her startled uncle and then peered around his cloak to gander at the rest of them. A small 'o' her mouth made and with two spots of pink in her pale cheeks she ducked back behind the cover of cloak.

"Niece," said Onry, "I thought you were abed."

"Please, Uncle," chided her tart chirp of a voice, "there is no sleeping when the house smells of mead!"

"True enough, little one, true enough," he said. "Come along with us and you'll have a cup."

James watched Alice take the Great Goat's giant hand and saw her fall into step beside the man, but looked away as her grey glare struck at him over her shoulder. He glanced at Percy then followed his friend's gaze out and over the banister. Their worst fears were confirmed—Hawk VonCoch was indeed having words with Wilhelm Witter, who was frowning much more worriedly than before, and his son was standing guard smirking up at them.

"Uncle," Alice was whispering, "why did no one tell me that we were expecting… guests… to stay?"

"Mind your manners," was the curt reply.

"But," she hissed, "it is only that I would not venture from my chamber in naught but my nightclothes were I to know!"

Beside him, James heard Percy snicker. Not wanting to bring the wrath of either Witter down upon them, he elbowed his friend in the ribs—just as Patrick took it upon himself to thwack his brother across the back of the head. Percy let out a shriek of protest that merited a snort from Starling and whipped Alice around to stare at them. Instantly they schooled themselves to their previous show of decorum, staring back at her as if she'd no reason to be gaping at all. With a 'hmmph' she whirled forward, descended the last few steps, and then let go of her uncle's hand. A mad dash across the room caught the still smirking Charles' eye. Pity it didn't keep it, though. His hateful stare found its way back to the rest of them fast enough. The snot's father turned, his beak pointing at them as he showed a tight smile to the Great Goat.

"Charles," boomed Onry, "has my boorish brother not offered you a cup of mulled mead?"

"Why, he did," said the man, lip curling just a bit, "but it is not to my taste."

"Oh?" Onry Witter chuckled. It was a great rumbling that seemed to thrum from his broad chest and quake upon his shoulders. "No I suppose it is much too simple a drink for a fancy man like yourself." He ignored the fleeting look of anger that crossed the man's face and stepped past him, cocking his head at a frowning Wilhelm. "Wine instead?"

"Yes," snipped VonCoch, "thank you. And for my son, I should prefer he drink a dark tea."

This, thankfully, drew Charles' hateful stare away from James and his companions. The glare found his father, and a great wealth of fire came into his dark eyes as it did so. James exchanged a look with Percy and they bounded toward the other side of the room to warm themselves by the fire. A glance back over found Hawk VonCoch exchanging what looked to be stiff pleasantries with Starling and Patrick, and James was most glad that he and Percy had taken the chance to escape from under his nose.

"Charles shall have a dark tea, James," mocked Percy quietly. "I should prefer he not partake of the commoner's drink and would instead like him to have a dark tea."

James couldn't help but crack a smile at that.

"Perhaps if they'd told him all the dark tea is in China, he would set off for holiday."

"Well he's not an idiot." Alice Witter's sharp words turned them around and she looked from one wary face to the other before going on. "Not that much of one."

Startled by this, James looked round at Percy. Percy's eyes were as wide and he looked set to speak, but something caught his attention and he averted his gaze. James followed it across the room where Hawk VonCoch stood staring down his nose at Starling, whose dark eyes gleamed as his hands gestured wildly. Patrick, beside him, looked mightily weary. James couldn't really blame him, he would probably be as lessly enthused were Starling's exuberant hands slashing the air so close to his head.

"Here boys."

Onry Witter's gruff voice turned James around and he goggled at the large mug being stuffed into his hands. It was so big, James thought, that fingers from both hands barely met to grasp it. The sweet aroma that filled the place steamed up at him from the golden surface of the still bubbling mead. He sniffed at it and was rewarded with a smell he had not detected before. Spice, it was, and warmed him as he inhaled.

"Got it, have you?"

Percy seemed to have had a worser time accepting the mug. It was too big for his hands and kept trembling as his fingers strained to keep hold of it. But there was a determined light in his eyes, even as the mead threatened to slosh his front. "Yes, I have."

James raised a brow at this, for surely the Goat knew as he did that Percy was mistaken in the matter. He glanced up—way up—at the man. Though Witter was smiling kindly, there was a worried look in his grey eyes as Percy struggled silently with the mug. It was as the mead did slosh in the air that a great hand shot out to steady the thing.

"Mebbe a smaller mug?"

There was no mistaking the disappointment that dulled Percy's eyes as Onry relieved him of his burden. Frowning slightly, Witter glanced at his other hand. There glittered a great golden goblet encrusted with glittering gems. It seemed to brighten the man's face and then he offered it forward, a small smile playing under his great mustache.

"Mebbe this, my own goblet, eh?"

Percy's eyes widened as he accepted the thing. His hands wrapped easily around the thick golden stem under the cup. Eyes alight, he looked up—way, way up—at the beaming man and flushed scarlet. "'M honored, sir," he breathed, taking a deep swallow of the mulled mead. To his credit, he did not splutter. Instead, he seemed to stand taller than before. "You make a mean mead!"

Seemingly satisfied with this, the Great Goat took a gulp of mead from the great mug that looked small held in just one of his hands. His grey eyes narrowed. A curt nod and he patted Percy on the shoulder. "Good enough." His gaze switched to James. "What say you, Norrington?"

James, though, was a bit timid about trying his mead as it was still bubbling. That usually meant it was too hot to be tasted. But he did not want to disappoint Onry Witter and so he took a small sip off the edge of his mug. Turned out that the stuff wasn't too hot—but it was deeply warming. James took a bigger gulp so that it spread fire through his belly. It was almost overwhelming. Feeling heady, he hurriedly took another glug of the stuff.

"Easy there," warned the Goat. "It'll go to your head quicker than you think."

"It's warm," James told him. "Very, very warm."

Onry Witter chuckled and patted him fondly on the head. "That it is, boy. That it is."

"Indulging these delinquents in drink, are you Witter?" The unpleasant voice of Hawk VonCoch cut sharp through the warmth that seemed to be spreading around them and James couldn't stand it; he took a mouthful of mead and none too soon, for the unpleasant man with the unpleasant voice had joined them by the hearth. "Really. What would," he asked, sneer upon his face, "their parents think?"

Hearing this, Percy took a particularly noisy sip of mead. James frowned, first down at his mug and then up at VonCoch, who had never quite looked more hawkish than he did at that moment, and tried to figure why he felt an odd pang in his gut. He hoped it wasn't the mead…

Witter, though, was looking livid insofar as James could tell. He'd gone pale along his tense jaw, and a darkness in the grey eyes that stormed at VonCoch. Even his knuckles were white. James had the impression that he was gripping his mug much too tight.

"Oh," said VonCoch, sounding startled, "silly me. How could I forget? There is not so much a problem as there is but one set of parents to worry about—young Norrington hasn't any." He put his wine glass to his lips but did not drink. "Quite unfortunate…"

James' stomach heaved and he found himself gripping his mug near tight as Onry Witter was.

"Speaking," cut in Starling's voice, "of unfortunate… how long you think the Admiral's going to be bedridden with that injury of his, eh VonCoch?"

James felt as breathless as he did when he ran too far too fast. His eyes widened as VonCoch reared around to face Starling, who was followed closely by Patrick and Wilhelm Witter. Both looked wary. Even Charles, behind them, looked much subdued—but James guessed that that was because of the dainty cup of what was probably a dark tea set in his hand. Not wanting at all to catch his eye, James looked back to the matter at hand and found VonCoch and Starling eye to eye before him.

"Ah," breathed VonCoch, "but I think we both know that is none of your concern, don't we Starling?"

Jonathan didn't flinch under the man's cold gaze, but his brows did inch up just a bit. There was a momentary pause and then he flashed a smug smile at Hawk VonCoch. "Right you are, man. I've little to no concern for that old canker." He frowned and took a drink from his own cup, eyes still on VonCoch's. As he swallowed, his lips turned up in a smirk. "But I do think it the best policy to play at being polite, don't you Charlie?"

"You," snarled VonCoch, making a sudden move but seeming to think better of it as Wilhelm Witter frowned gravely at him over Starling's shoulder. He recovered his composure quickly and his voice was again cold when he spoke. "Have the courtesy of a boar not to address me by title—"

"Ah yes," said Starling, "your title. Traditional for the cousin of the King—but wholly undeserved—"

"You tread a thin line, Starling. Your mouth is but one step away from speaking treasonous words—men have been hanged for less."

"Oh," breathed Jonathan, his dark eyes burning black, "have they?"

Something changed in VonCoch's face then. The vein that had popped at his temple and throbbed there receded. Skin that had been taught went lax, and the hot fire that had burned in Hawk VonCoch's eyes went out, replaced by cold darkness. He inclined his head, studying Jonathan calmly. "Of course," he sneered. "I seldom bluff, Starling."

Onry Witter took the calm in the midst of the storm to suggest, with too wide a yawn, that they all retire for the night. Percy scowled at both VonCochs, and then at Starling as he handed over his goblet of mead. But so relieved Patrick looked that James felt certain his friend's brother had thought the heated discussion a dangerous one. Wondering at that, he nearly missed the Great Goat's hand as he gave over his mug. Stuttering an apology, and wishing to not stand under either of the Charles' sneers any longer, James made for the stairs. He heard the others tramping up behind him. Alice skittered past, sparing him a strangely sad glance, and slipped into the room she'd earlier emerged from. James paused there, staring at the door.

Only too often did people look upon James that way; only too often did they seem to pity him, and every time they did he hated it more. Anger seethed in his throat as he pondered throwing the door open and wrenching Alice Witter back out by the hair. Perhaps then she'd have herself to pity—

"Come on," groused Percy. He grabbed James by the shoulder and dragged him toward the door that Patrick opened. "Stupid VonCochs, they ruin everything!"

Starling stalked past them, found his bed first, and was out before any of the rest of them could turn down their own covers. Percy made a face at the soft snores so close to him, but soon disappeared under his pillow without a word. James crawled under the quilts and sat until he was certain Patrick had extinguished the fire. Then, as darkness fell, he flopped back onto his pillow and stared up at the canopy, wondering soon as he did what had made Alice, who previously had not seemed to care either way, look upon him with pity…

Author's Babble: Tried to get this out last month but did not and so here it is. Thanks all for reading, and many thanks to those of you reviewing!Mssparrington, thanks very much. I was hoping that the chapter would be both miserable and comical and so I am glad to hear that it read that way for you! Lykosdracos, I'm not so sure I hold the mischief making men in as high esteem LOL thank you :)