A/N: Remember, I don't own POTC...or Norrington, or anything really. (Except my characters.) Read and review. Thanks!
A short time later, after maps had been searched and courses chosen, the Guardian was set for Australia, and, as only James, Avery, and Sharpe knew—the end of the world, her sails illuminated in the bright South American sunlight. James sat at his desk, a working compass and coordinates lying out in front of him. He barely noticed the door swing open.
"Avery, unless you have word that we're on course, I would like to be left alone," he muttered. No one answered. Norrington looked up, to see no trace of a soul. He frowned, standing. "Who's there?" he called. There was no answer, and fear crept over him. Was the Dutchman on his trail? Had Jones stowed away? James listened, and heard breathing emitting from behind a tapestry. Cocking his pistol, he threw the heavy cloth aside to find Simon.
"Young Mister Simon," he said, relieved, "you should know better than to sneak into a man's quarters," he put his pistol away and put a kind hand on Simon's shoulders.
"I'm sorry Captain!" Simon mumbled, "It's just, I've never been on a ship before! I'm sorry!" he pleaded. Norrington smiled.
"Ah, Simon, I'm not angry. I was startled, that's all, for unbelievably enough, I've had a nasty encounter with the same pirates of which you spoke of. Now come, have a seat," he gestured to an empty chair.
"Captain, why are you sailing for Australia?" Simon asked, staring blankly at the maps and coordinates.
"Simon, do you question my authority as captain of this vessel?"
"No sir!" Simon seemed frightened. Norrington laughed.
"Just playful banter between sailors, my boy."
"Sailors, sir?"
"Simon, you prove yourself to be a worthy shipmate. I'd say you're ready to be a sailor," "James smiled—the boy reminded him slightly of himself at a younger age. Simon was beaming.
"Me? A sailor! I never thought it possible!"
"Granted I'll have to train you up a bit, myself of course. You'll be my personal assistant, my right hand man." There was a gleam in the boy's eyes.
"Oh captain, thank you! I've always wanted to be a sailor. To be like you! I've got to go and tell Miss Ginny," he rushed off, up to the main deck. Norrington sighed.
To be like you. The words echoed around in his head.
"No," James sighed to the aura of the boy which remained in the room, "you don't want to be like me," Norrington stood and looked at his reflection in the window of his quarters. "I'm a pirate."
Looking away from the window in horror and anguish, James shook his head. He eyed the desk, the coordinates taunting him, damning him to this life. He brought a heavy arm across the desk, ink bottles crashing to the floor, their contents flowing as blood would from a wound. Avery came running.
"Captain?" he asked. Norrington averted his gaze from the floor.
"I'm fine, unsteady hand. I'll have it cleaned myself, there's no need to send anyone." Orrington's eyes went back to the floor, the ink running with each rocking motion of the ship. He felt two wet, burning streaks run down his face and he hissed. "I am no longer James Norrington. That part of me is dead," he told himself, and he laughed cruelly. He had indeed perished in the hurricane with the rest of his crew. James blinked a few times, and then eyed his stately captain's jacket, one of the few things left to tie him to the Navy. Without a second thought or glance, he tore the jacket to rags and began to clean the spilled ink. He smiled at the blue robes turned black, and Norrington could feel his heart swell. The black-as-the-pit color that had once represented his heart was now overtaking his past-what he had been. He threw the rags into a corner to rest, forgotten, and eyed himself in the window once more and smiled, a burden lifted.
"So, this is the path I choose. The once revered James Norrington has switched to a life of piracy—a life on the run."
James knew the crew wouldn't adapt to such a change lightly, and he shook his head. For the moment, they would remain uninformed, unaware they were no longer sailing a ship of the fleet, but now under command of the scum of the sea. As evening drew nearer, James reappeared on the deck as though his transformation had not occurred. He was living a double life, one of honor and a brave nature, and one of his own selfish greed and want. The part which unnerved him was that he was unsure of which was which. Avery approached him.
"Your meal is in the lounge, sir, and I hope you don't mind, I took the liberty of inviting Miss Shields and the boy to dine with you," Avery smiled. Norrington nodded and entered.
"Captain, glad to see you," Simon stood, greeting his master, his leader. James nodded to him curtly, then took Miss Shields' hand and kissed it.
"It's a pleasure to have you in our company, Miss Shields," he smiled politely, as though she were the common governor's guest. Ginny was put off slightly by this.
"Captain, I appreciate all you are doing in effort to keep us safe. Have you any thought to a port?" she questioned. Simon looked dejected.
"But Miss Ginny, I am to be a sailor! To be the captain's personal aide!"
"And run the risk of the pirates running you through," she scowled. "We are using the hospitality of the Royal Navy quite enough as it is, there is no need to wear out our welcome," Ginny smiled. "Now, shall we get to supper, Captain?"
James was not used to being spoken to in this way, least not by a woman, and his sharp tongue got the better of him.
"Miss Shields, if I may, I will not tolerate being informed of what to do with passengers on my ship. I would suggest you be thankful I stopped to pick you up at all, and that you learn to allow the boy his freedom. He wishes to be a sailor, and I will apprentice him with or without your consent." He smirked at her, and poured himself a drink.
They ate the rest of the meal in silence, until Ginny excused herself to go and rest for the evening. When she left, Simon walked over to James.
"Captain, I fear she only behaves in this manner for her hate of the Royal Navy, forgive her, please." James looked down at the boy.
"Why would she hate the Navy?" he asked, though his mind knew. They take your life away, he thought.
"That I don't know sir. But she has always harbored a hatred for the Navy and all those under its command."
"Simon, I suggest you rest up. Your training begins tomorrow." Little did the boy know, he was not training to be a sailor—but a pirate.
