Chapter Five

Norrington's breath simply evaporated. His mind turned completely black as he stared into the fiery eyes of the abomination before him. He was given no warning before the creature's sword flashed from its sheath.

The swords and guns clattered around Norrington's feet as his first primal instinct grabbed his otherwise useless limbs. The assailant's sword stopped a mere inch before Norrington's nose, his own sword blocking with all his strength. He suddenly found his breath, and his fingers' grip on the hilt became that much fiercer. With a growl, he threw his attacker off of him, where he slammed against the opposite wall. A lantern clattered to the ground beside him. Norrington's adrenaline was still surging through him, and he drove forward at the prostrate figure.

Another block. Angry eyes locked on one another, wills sparking in the dense air between them. The shark creature's claws latched around the handle of the fallen lantern and he swung at Norrington's head. He dodged backwards, feeling the hot wave of air off the lantern graze just past his face. The pirate lunged forward, Norrington barely able to parry the attack from the sword and duck in the same instant that the lantern sailed toward his head.

Back and forth, the sounds of their battle fell on the mute ears of the moldy planks. Norrington drove forward, then the creature drove back, the swords pushing owners backwards or allowing a thrust into careful defenses. Swing and dodge, block and roll. Norrington wove circles around the lantern and sword, feeling their movements like color and music around him. The fire, then the cold steel, weaving along with the two combatants. The space closed in about them, all in darkness save for the light-turned-weapon in the shark-man's hand.

Norrington buckled suddenly as the lantern swept down and crashed against his skull. The sword clattered across the floor and collided with the wall. Norrington's eyes were flooded with darkness, and he tried wearily to pull himself up. No use. The wide foot of the creature landed hard in the small of Norrington's back, and he gave a short cry. The shark laughed gutturally, ready to drive the sword through the back of Norrington's neck.

The dagger!

Norrington fumbled for Samuel's dagger shoved into his belt, and, wrapping his fingers around the hilt, plunged the blade deep into his attacker's foot. Norrington's face was suddenly covered in viscous blood, but he gave it no notice as he rolled to his weapon and attacked the shark creature mercilessly. The tip of his sword entered through the creature's back and traveled straight through. The captain pulled back, a sickening sound escaping the blood-filled throat of the would-be murderer. He fell to his knees, then keeled over with a low, dull thud.

Norrington's breath was shallow, staring at the ruin before him. A hand to his cheek reminded him of the foreign blood that was quickly congealing there. No time. He quickly re-bundled the weapons, shoving his bloodied sword into his sheath, retrieving Samuel's dagger and cocking his derringer. His feet led him where his fevered mind could not, running as silently and swiftly as he could manage without bringing any more attention to his presence. Surely some beast would have heard the skirmish outside the armory and would come running.

"Captain!" Harry Buckler cried, seeing the blood on Norrington's face as he arrived in the brig, his breath haggard and tired. Norrington let the weapons drop to the ground, not finding words possible. He waved off Buckler and motioned for Samuel to come nearer. The men all moved about in search of their weapons as Samuel approached his captain. He could see the man holding out the dagger he had leant him, and he could see the blood there.

"Young Samuel," he said when he had found his voice, "this fine weapon saved my life. I thank you for its use." Samuel took the dagger in his hand, turning it over to inspect the life fluid stained on his small weapon. "Keep it near you. I fear it will be needed again very soon." He stood from his kneeling position to address his crew. "The crew of the Dutchman is about and if we're to get free of her it'll be a battle for our lives." He tossed a fine-looking sword to Harry Buckler. "They know we've escaped, and there may be no hope for us to survive without a fight. I don't know how we can find our way out of this, but I will fight every hell-spawned creature Davy Jones sets before me if it allows your freedom."

"We're with you, Captain Norrington!" Harry Buckler said immediately.

"Aye!" Samuel echoed, followed by a loud chorus from the crew.

Norrington grinned, his newfound derringer in one hand and blood-soaked sword in the other. Pride, anticipation and a lust for battle swelled somewhere deep inside him-- a feeling almost completely unfamiliar but zealously welcomed.

"All right, then," he said with an exhale, then moved for the door to the brig. Buckler and Fredricks were by his side, each with a rapier. Samuel, true to his word, remained near the captain with his dagger and a pistol found amongst the bundle. They surged forward as one, eyes scouring any crevice for a crewman of the Dutchman. Their uneasiness did not ebb with the empty corridor, and only increased when the bloodied body of Norrington's attacker appeared on the floor before them. Norrington urged them forward, taking the lead. Overhead they could hear the hurried footsteps and voices of sailors in a frenzy. They knew, and they would come.

Water fell in torrents through the cracks above them. It was raining.

They came at last to the stairs leading above decks, and there the crew was waiting for them. Norrington's sword cracked against the side of a cursed sailor's head, knocking him to the side. Fredricks finished him with a sword to the abdomen. Another came barreling down the steps toward them, Norrington meeting his charging body with his shoulder. The creature rolled over Norrington's back and was met with a forest of loyal swords. Swords clanged against one another, light flashing off the metal and reflecting in the pooling blood. Norrington ran a pirate through, using his body as a shield. Buckler joined him and, together, they shoved the body into the oncoming wave of pirates, who tumbled as they tripped over their fallen comrade. Together, the crew of the Gorgon leapt over the moaning sailors at their feet.

He slashed at the belly of an oncoming pirate and shoved him out of the way in the same motion. Rain and blood splashed on his face as he emerged on deck, Buckler, Fredricks and Samuel still with him. The crew rallied behind him, the rear still battling with the remaining enemies upon the stairs. Norrington braced himself.

Waiting for them stood even more cursed pirates, each holding a more exotic, more painful-looking weapon than any sword he had seen in the armory. And directly in the center of this group stood the stoic form of Davy Jones. His pipe was gone, his mismatched arms crossed and brow furrowed to new and dangerous levels. His tentacles shook with silent fury, the rain coming off him in steam. Norrington's breath fogged before him, but his dual grip did not fail.

"Mr. Norrington," Davy Jones shouted above the rain pelting the deck. "Seems as though ye've managed an escape." The creatures around him laughed, sharing a macabre inside joke, no doubt. Jones looked about him, brow raised in mock-surprise. "Well, Captain? I'm waitin' to see just what exactly ye plan on doing from here." Norrington felt his lip curl back in defiance.

"Beckett will not negotiate with you," he called over the sound of the rain. "I am worth nothing to him. You have no bargaining power with or without me."

"I'd figured as much, laddie," Jones said in a belittling tone. Norrington took the lull to crack his shoulder. "However, a bargain's a bargain, and you were sent to me. You belong to me now, Mr. Norrington, and I don't believe I'll be lettin' ye leave so easily."

"Then let my crew go free. You have no use for them."

"Ye know, I rather think yer right," Jones said devilishly. As if on cue, his rabble surged forward past him, brandishing weapons. Norrington hardly had time to defend himself before they were surrounded. Norrington blocked a blow from a familiar foe-- one brandishing a sawfish blade-- afraid to fire his one-shot derringer. The sounds of death surrounded him, and he dared not think of whose deaths they were. He protectively stepped back to shield Samuel and gritted his teeth against the power behind the sawfish blade.

A distant sound barely pierced the veil of rain. But he knew it. He knew it well. Well enough to duck and take Samuel with him just as a cannonball flew overhead and embedded itself with a terrible crash in the mainmast.

The chaos on deck soon intensified tenfold as cannon fire erupted from the fog around them, punching neat holes in the Dutchman's side and prow. One collided with the mast a second time, bringing its timbers crashing down around them. Another crashed into the mechanism topped with a carved squid, shattering it to the deck. Jones fell to the deck himself, barely missing another ball fired in his direction. Norrington's features flared into a smile as if the sun had broken from the clouds.

"Gillette," he muttered.

The Gorgon burst from the cloud of fog, firing its broadside against the Dutchman relentlessly. Norrington leapt to his feet, slicing his sword through the body of the closest enemy and pulling Samuel up by one arm.

"Samuel," he called to the boy, shaking the fear of battle from his eyes. "Quickly, rally the crew to the starboard side! Prepare to board the Gorgon!" Samuel stared transfixed for a moment at the beautiful sight of the sleek Gorgon attacking the massive Flying Dutchman with everything that she had. Samuel nodded fervently and shot into the fray to gather the lost crewmen. Norrington cut his way through the two nearest pirates, closing his eyes against the flow of blood. Jones watched from his position at the helm, chuckling to himself. A red cloud appeared before Norrington's eyes, and he tried furiously to blink away his rage. He turned his head to find the Gorgon within boarding range. A sailor he had never seen threw a rope in Norrington's direction. He caught it deftly, then handed it to Harry Buckler beside him.

"Go!" Norrington urged. "Get the others across." He guarded against a quick blow from the right, parrying the weapon out of the creature's hands. Buckler did not argue with the intense green eyes. Lines from both the Gorgon and the Dutchman were ripe with sailors passing from one ship to the other while Norrington and Fredricks held back the onslaught. Samuel was the last to swing across. The Gorgon was almost out of range. The rope landed in Fredricks' hand, but he quickly handed it off to Norrington.

"They need you, Captain," he demanded. "I'll keep this lot at bay." He gave a final salute before charging back into the fray. Norrington cursed softly, but did not deny the man his final request. The captain swung across the gap, helped onto the ship by helpful hands.

"Pull out those sails!" was his first and only order. It was followed immediately.

His thin, tired, fire-filled eyes turned back to the Dutchman, where he could hear Fredricks fighting for his life and for theirs. He could clearly see Davy Jones, still at the helm, pull off his hat and wave a sarcastic gentlemanly goodbye to the captain.

I will see you die. Mark me, for this I swear on my life.

As if in response to his silent promise, Davy Jones scowled and turned away to his helmsman.

"My God."

Norrington turned at the familiar voice. There stood Gillette, sweeping an eye over his captain. "Do forgive me for saying so, sir, but you look like you've survived Hell." Norrington reflected that it was very much close to the truth.

Silence took them, the betrayer and the betrayed staring at one another in a variety of emotions too varied and altering to pinpoint. Finally, Norrington placed a hand on Gillette's shoulder. The gesture spoke more than any words could have at that point. Gillette offered a smile, but did not find it reflected by his captain. He stepped back and took on the air of his naval days.

"Sir, if we do not quickly leave the area, Jones may call out the Kraken on our ship--"

"I have a feeling he will do no such thing, Gillette," Norrington muttered as he sat himself down on the hard ground, sighing in relief. "Firstly, this is a ship of Beckett's fleet. Should Jones destroy something so valuable belonging to the man that holds his heart, Beckett would feel free to destroy Jones' heart without remorse." Norrington ran a hand wearily across his face, finding rather more blood there than he had thought. "Secondly, I believe you destroyed the mechanism necessary to summon said beast from the depths with one well-aimed cannonball." At last, his half-grin appeared. "My thanks are in order."

"Sir--"

"Don't." Norrington said simply, like the drop of a hammer. Grunting, Norrington stood once more. "I believe a restructuring is in order. Mr. Gillette, you are now my first lieutenant. Please seek out a Mr. Harry Buckler and inform him of his ascension to second lieutenant. We are no longer a servant of the East India Trading Company. Have our colors run down an all sails filled."

"Sir, our colors...? If we are not a ship of the fleet, what exactly are we?" Gillette asked. Norrington paused before turning slowly to Gillette.

"Before you follow those orders, I suppose I should ask you." He faced his subordinate, a different man than he had been when he left. "Can you serve under the command of a pirate?"

Gillette stared incredulously at the man before him: drenched and blood-soaked, Commodore's sword hanging by his side, stolen derringer in his belt loop; a man with the deadly glare and authority of a servant of His Majesty's Royal Navy, but with the lopsided grin and dangerous edges of a rogue pirate. It was Commodore Norrington and Captain James Norrington, but also simply James, the pirate within him that had begged for so long to be released.

"If you will have me, sir," Gillette answered. Norrington nodded as would a forgiving father to his apologetic son.

"Then give my orders to the crew, Gillette."

The subordinate nodded and began across the deck to issue the orders given to him. He allowed himself one last look over his shoulder.

There stood James Norrington, green eyes closed against the rain, head turned toward the heavens and arms slightly raised at his side as if accepting the rain as a brother. The blood washed away from his face, his hair lank and damp against his head and white shirt plastered to his skin. He breathed deep the fresh air, let it fill him, and accepted all of it. It was perhaps one of the most breathtaking sights Gillette had ever witnessed.

As the Gorgon sailed through the stormy seas, the crew watched as Captain Norrington passed slowly to his cabin. A hero of ancient Rome was passing through their ranks-- a gladiator, perhaps, his dignity worn on his sleeve. To them, he was more. He was their captain, and they would follow him. He reached his cabin, everything arranged just as he had left it. The boots left his feet without his asking them to, and he fell without a word onto his bed. His eyes closed, and, at last, sleep cradled him to her bosom and took him.


AN: Ah, good ol' Deus Ex Machina. I feel a little corny bringing in Gillette just as things were getting rough, but really, I couldn't think of a safe way for everyone to get away. This worked out best, I think. If no one likes it, just let me know. I had sooo much fun turning Norry into a pirate, however. I hope I'm not the only one hoping that he'll turn out something like this in the 3rd movie. -siiigh- Anyway, thanks for reading, all!