AN: ah, bless you all so very dearly. I've been rather depressed of late (naturally due to the infamous Sharpie who remains as pig-headed as ever. And as fit, but y'know…) so your generous reviews touched and cheered me greatly. Sorry to disappoint, but there is no fluff in this chapter. Keep on reading, though, it's perilously near…dd xx
26
And then, with the thought of Alicia's body sinking in the stormy water so many months ago, Norrington found that he had resolve enough to press forward, the blade of his sword rasping along its rival, forcing Armitage backwards, so that he was sprawled with the Commodore's point at the soft flesh of his throat.
There were gasps of fear and excitement from the crowd as Norrington held Armitage there, both of them panting furiously, a steely glint in the eye of the victor.
I could kill him, Norrington thought giddily. He saw the tip of his sword nick the white skin at Armitage's throat, and saw a small, vibrant trickle of blood stain his open shirt. He had never before looked into the eyes of a man he was about to kill, never felt the resistance of warm, living tissue as he thrust the fatal blade home.
In truth, he knew he could not, before these people, he could not murder a man, regardless of his sins, and then turn around and fall on his knees before Alicia Groves. His honour and sense of justice compelled him to kneel beside Armitage and hiss in his ear, 'do you submit?'
The younger man nodded breathlessly.
'Good. Stand and apologise to Miss Groves…and then leave my sight and never speak to me, or to the lady you have wronged again.' His tone was cold and commanding, one usually reserved for the storm of battle aboard the Dauntless.
Armitage, eying the razor-sharp blade warily, clambered to his feet shakily and stood before the crowd, feeling the hot gaze of humiliation blight him, standing stooped and ashamed in comparison to the fearsome Commodore beside him.
He threw out his arms wretchedly… 'Miss Groves,' he began loudly. 'I…I have done you wrong…and I pay for it with my reputation.' He bowed his head as he left the platform, stumbling in the dust of the courtyard and feeling the heat of a hundred stares as he made his way from the fort, his shirt sticking to his back with sweat.
Norrington stood above the chattering crowd for several moments, regaining his breath. He had suffered several cuts to the arms and chest, and small blossoming bloodstains were unfurling across his sweat-stained shirt. He could feel damp tendrils of hair sticking to his face beneath his wig.
It was unbearably hot, and he called hoarsely to Gillette for some water, slumping down unceremoniously against a post, completely spent.
'Commodore?'
He looked to the side exhaustedly, and saw Alicia's lovely face at the level of his, for she was standing beside the platform, her parasol shading her from the sunlight.
'Miss Groves,' he whispered, his throat dry, unable to muster any energy to stand and address her correctly. As Norrington, his tired, aching head lolling listlessly to one side, observed her, he noted that she seemed agitated and upset.
'Commodore, might I enquire what on earth that was all about?'
'Your honour,' he replied, still unable to speak fully.
'May I not be the judge and defender of my own honour, sir?'
'You wish to fight Mr. Armitage?'
'I do not, sir. But I would remind you that my reputation and name are not yours to defend. My brother would have fought on my behalf, I am certain.'
'I see…' Norrington said slowly. 'I am sorry my efforts for you are not appreciated.' He was unable to stop himself from sounding bitter.
'Commodore…I…Mr. Armitage…who are you to dictate with whom I may and may not associate?' She drew herself up haughtily.
'I…I no longer know who I am to you, Miss Groves,' Norrington said quietly, ducking his head and looking at his discarded weapon. 'Evidently, not a man worthy of your esteem, or of Mr. Armitage's opposition.'
'Commodore Norrington!' she exclaimed as he rose gingerly to his feet, rubbing his sore hip. 'I…I beg you, do not misunderstand me…'
'I understand you perfectly, madam,' he said levelly, staring down at her from the platform, noting the way the lace of her parasol threw little spots of light on her face and shoulders. 'I pray God you may one day know why I have done this thing which is so repulsive to you. I have not the strength to tell you. Good day.'
Silently he descended the steps and walked out of the fort, mutely accepting his coat and hat from Gillette. It was four miles to his house, and his feet were throbbing from the tricky duel, but the sea air was a cooling balm to his shattered mind, and he needed to escape the bustle of the town, so that no one would see the tears flowing unchecked down his grimy face.
It was an alien sensation to him, to find himself crouched by the side of the road, in the shade of a palm tree, sobbing uncontrollably, overcome by the adrenalin of the battle, and by the pain in his heart. He imagined how much better things would have been had he died in the duel. Alicia would have rejected Armitage as a murderer, she would have read his passionate letter and wept for her dead lover, and he would have been serenely lying in the morgue, rather than crying like a young girl in the Caribbean countryside.
With a great effort, he hauled himself to his feet and continued along the way, feeling his feet trail dejectedly in the dry dirt. His sword dragged behind him on the road, and his arms swung loosely by his side – a far cry from the smart military step of his other persona. The tears continued falling hotly, until his eyes smarted and he could barely recall the reason for his distress.
Streaks of bloody sunset were marring the sky as he finally arrived at his own doorstep, his back soaked with sweat.
After the heat of the day, and the tumultuous events thereof, Norrington was almost screaming with need for an icy cold bath and a good night's sleep in a clean bed made with crisp white sheets. The housekeeper, seeing her master stagger up the stairs with a look of gloom on his smeared face, evaluated this wish swiftly, and it was not long before the Commodore was relaxing in his bath, mulling over Alicia's words and his too-hasty tongue, which had barked such cruel and curt replies.
He was still thinking of Alicia, and of Armitage and his idiotic, condescending grin, while he ate cold morsels leftover from the night before, and swirled a glass of cold wine absentmindedly in his hand. So much for my resolve to tell her today, he thought dolefully. He was truly convinced that he had killed her regard for him forever, and wondered how he could ever call on his friend Theodore again without an extremely awkward encounter occurring.
He wanted Elizabeth – her calm, rational companionship and friendly advice. He knew she could be a salve to the wound left by Alicia's blinding, irrepressible beauty, and craved any other soul to share his lonely, echoing house. The night would be a long one, he knew, as he climbed the stairs, his footsteps reverberating in the empty hallway.
AN: we-ell…I must next chapter contains a pure moment of squee which makes me extremely jealous of Miss Groves. Hmph. Sadly I am going to Italy on Monday with my city Youth Orchestra, but I'm going to try to bribe my sisters so they'll update this every few days. They drive a hard bargain, though, those two…come back soon, my lovelies, dd xx