A/N- Yaayy, chapter two! I told you guys I'd update this story, didn't I? =D
I'm really excited so far with the reception this story has been getting. I'm glad so many of you have enjoyed it, added it to your alert list, reviewed, etc. Like I've said, I will finish this story eventually. That's a promise. =)
Also, I'd like to advise everyone to read 'Where Sea Winds Blow' before attempting this one. 'Sea Winds' covers this AU's version of Dead Man's Chest and this one, of course, covers At World's End. Some of the plot points may not make a whole lot of sense to you if you haven't read the preliminary story. I think if you're enjoying this one, you'll like 'Sea Winds', too (hopefully).
I'm beginning to think this will be the start of yet another longwinded story, as I was going over the plot outline of At World's End just last night and I realized how long and involved it is. On top of that, I'm trying to adapt it to fit the plot devices I've come up with and so on and so forth. Since I want to avoid making chapters longer than War and Peace, I'll probably end up with 20-something by the time all is said and done (which, to me, seems gratuitous, but not if the story is worth it. I'm hoping to make mine worth the time spent).
Also, Jack's sub-plot will return in the next chapter, for those who are interested. Try not to miss him too much ;D!
The weather was calm and pleasant for the day and a half it took them to reach Port Royal. The sun wasn't too overbearing, as they were every so often given a respite of lingering clouds, and the wind remained at a steady speed.
It seemed a rather positive omen, as did Alexander's gradually increasing health from the aid of Tia Dalma. She lingered over him the entire day on the first part of their voyage, murmuring unintelligible rhymes and incantations into his ear. Anamaria would sometimes notice her usage of different herbs from a satchel she kept around her waist. She observed as they were used in different ways, such as spreading a mixture with oil on Alexander's chest or waving a sprig to and fro beneath his nose. The three others who occupied the same boat- Pintel, Ragetti, and Cotton- would also observe her practices with a certain level of discomfort. When Tia Dalma would look up from her work, for whatever reason, all four would quickly avert their eyes in the hope that she hadn't seen them staring.
Regardless of how strange or foreign these methods seemed to be, they were effective in curing Alexander of his illness. By the morning of the second day, his fever had disappeared, the color in his face had returned, and he seemed alert enough to fully realize that an Obeah woman had been practicing her craft on him. Though he was noticeably perturbed, he didn't argue or refuse Tia Dalma's final treatments, perhaps having also realized that it was this foreign witchcraft that had cured him in the first place.
Elizabeth was the first to observe, out loud, that Captain Whitting was looking much better. This provided some mutual enjoyment from the crew of two longboats as everyone proceeded to commend his recovery.
"Good on 'yeh, mate," Pintel had said. "It'll be a might useful to keep yer' pair o' arms aboard."
"Yeah, and now we won't have to go to no trouble to dispose of a body!" Ragetti added.
Barbossa mentioned his gratitude that Alexander's extensive knowledge of the Port Royal ships would still be at their disposal. Alexander had to ask why this would be of any importance and Elizabeth was forced to explain, in the most persuasive way she could, the intended plan.
"Absolutely not!" he had exclaimed, nearly toppling the longboat. "It's one thing to sail in the company of pirates, another entirely to aid them in their malfeasance! I will not be a partied to this!"
Barbossa wasted no time in taking out his pistol, pointing it directly at Alexander Whitting's head, and cocking the barrel.
"Then I suppose yer' of no more use to us, are yeh', former Captain?"
Instead of immediately apologizing and consenting to abide by his role in the scheme, Alexander rolled his shoulders back and stuck his chest out in a display of courageous refusal.
"Sir, I decline to play a part in your treacherous activity. I would rather be dead at the bottom of the ocean than abet a band of pirates."
Elizabeth then lunged for Barbossa's shoulder, gripping it somewhat desperately as she begged him not to shoot.
"Please, you have to understand," she whispered through gritted teeth in the hope that Alexander wouldn't hear. "He's just trying to make a point. Please, let me explain things to him…"
Barbossa seemed less than willing to spare what he saw as dead weight, as well as somewhat uninterested in Elizabeth's pleas. It was Tia Dalma, however, who moved protectively in front of Captain Whitting and shot Barbossa a warning glare.
"Yeh will not harm him…"
This seemed convincing enough, as Barbossa proceeded to grudgingly lower and stow away his piece. He then turned to Elizabeth who still remained attached to his side.
"Yeh'd better hope you're as persuasive as you are a nuisance, Miss Swann" he warned bitterly. "For yer friend's sake as well as yer own."
Elizabeth was obviously offended, and William was clearly struggling to subdue a need to attack Barbossa. She nodded at him, as if to communicate that their Captain's forwardness should be overlooked. This caused him to grudgingly recoil back into the side of the longboat and refocus his gaze on the horizon, continuing to fume silently.
Elizabeth then cautiously stepped from the boat she shared with Barbossa, Will, Gibbs, and Marty, and into the already over-crowded one that housed the rest of the crew, including Alexander. The small craft shook a bit dangerously as she precariously added her own weight, however miniscule, and inched in a space between Cotton and Alexander to sit.
She talked to him in near whispers, and between her lowered volume and the rhythmic roaring of the waves beneath them, it was very difficult for the eavesdroppers around her to discern any definite words. Even Alexander's repeated exclaims of,
"No, I won't!" or "Miss Swann, I refuse!" were vague at best and thusly inconclusive.
It was when Elizabeth said something about her father in a tone that was considerably more pleading than before and Alexander proceeded to sigh and slump downwards, that Anamaria was able to gather what had occurred. She had to admit, Elizabeth's tactic was a clever one. Even more remarkable was the fact that she hadn't even been forced to lie.
The designated meeting spot was a strategically placed cove. It was located down a good stretch of beach from the docks and was completely out of Port Royal's sight.
The location was significant, as their times of assembly were also their alleged hours of naval practice with the ships. If sought after, it would be expected to find them in the general vicinity of the ships. It was also vital that their true activities be hidden, lest Cutler Beckett's suspicions be suddenly aroused and he felt prompted to do some long-distance surveillance.
As a deterrent, James had arranged for a select few of them to go out every night and continue the training procedures for the evening, as though everything were the same. The exact men chosen would be rotated and changed from meeting to meeting so that everyone would get a chance to hear the latest information. Once the private congregation had finished, the lot of them would discreetly exit the cove and disperse through the jungle, entering back into Port Royal and towards the dock at intervals, from different directions, and in varied numbers. This was also done to avoid seeming suspicious to select individuals, particularly Mercer.
In addition to this, a group of three was chosen every night to act as look-outs. One would be located directly in front of the cove, the second, in the crow's nest of the ship that would remain closest to the dock, and the third, on the docks themselves. If someone of importance was seen approaching, the dock lookout would issue a private signal to the man in the crow's nest. The man in the crow's nest would then repeat his signal to the one in front of the cove whose duty it was then to alert James. From here, James would dismiss the meeting and put the dispersion plan into effect immediately, relying solely on fate to return him to the dock in sufficient time. For this reason, it was also the duty of the dock lookout to keep the approaching person distracted as long as the Admiral needed.
Ever since it had been devised and put into effect, this plan had faired very well. James Norrington and the remainder of the Royal Navy, all of whom had agreed to be a part of his plan to overthrow Beckett and return Governor Swann to his former position of authority, had experienced no problems whatsoever with their secret rendezvous and Beckett, nor Mercer, had suspected anything, so far as they were aware. This didn't very wall calm James' nerves, as he felt it was only a matter of time before his effort hit a significant snag. The whole process had been suspiciously easy, after all, especially considering the immensity. For this reason, he tried not to get too comfortable or head-strong. If his past had taught him anything, it was when a person reached this point that matters became the most horrendous.
It was on this particular night that Theodore Groves, the Lieutenant immediately under James in rank, informed them that he was having overwhelming success in recruiting civilians for the cause.
"It's wonderful how many of them are willing," Theodore added enthusiastically. "Especially considering the amount of danger involved."
James nodded, relieved at the good news but not in the least bit surprised.
"As long as Beckett is in charge, they're all as good as doomed. I'm sure risking their lives in a struggle for peace seems a lot more attractive than resigning them to the gallows."
"This is true." Theodore agreed.
"Have you considered arranging a civilian sub-force for the cause? If not, I think we should make definite strides in that direction." James encouraged.
"I have not," Theodore admitted. "But you're right, Admiral. I'll get that project underway as soon as possible."
"What about a leader of said force?" Lieutenant Gillette asked. "Should it not be one of us that leads them in your stead?"
James shook his head, despite being somewhat reluctant to disagree with his second Lieutenant.
It had taken some effort to convince Gillette that Beckett was a negative authority figure and that his overwhelming allegiance was better given to Admiral Norrington and Governor Swann.
"I think it would be best if we eventually appoint another civilian to act as leader. In the meantime, however, perhaps you wouldn't mind assisting Groves in training and preparing them? I will also need your skilled minds to then elect one of them as head of the group."
Gillette seemed to be sufficiently pacified by this offer, though somewhat disappointed. It was still more faith than Beckett had ever invested in him.
It was at this moment that James' worst fears finally came true. In the past few months that the officers had been convening, they had yet to be even interrupted with a warning by the outside lookout- until now.
Murtogg, who was the chosen marine on duty for the night, came running from his hidden perch in some nearby jungle foliage.
"Admiral Norrington, sir, they've just given the signal!" he announced, somewhat out of breath.
James' heart leapt into his throat, though he strived to make his outward appearance seem calm.
"Alright, men, the meeting is over for the night. You're all hereby dismissed to assume the escape procedure. As we practiced, you know the routes. With haste, men, if you please!" he whispered urgently.
The crowd of officers then did as they were told, filing one-by-one silently out of the cove and into the surrounding jungle. James then rolled his sleeves back down and donned his discarded hat and coat before setting off down the beach as casually as possible. He had to make sure his overwhelming fear didn't make itself apparent in his demeanor, so as he continued his stroll towards the docks, he tried to focus his thoughts on more pleasant subject matter.
He imagined that he was not alone at the moment, but instead with Anamaria. He imagined that she had appeared suddenly out of the trees, much like that evening on Isla Cruces, and greeted him warmly with a lingering kiss. He imagined that they continued the walk together, arm-in-arm perhaps, and that she regaled him with stories of her present life on the sea.
'Where have I sailed recently, you ask? La Nouvelle-Orléans! Can you believe that, James? I don't suppose you've ever been there…'she'd tease.
'No, I haven't.' He would admit with a sarcastic sigh.
'Well, it's beautiful and certainly different from anything out here. I must take you there.'
'I'd go with you now, Ana, if you'd have me.'
'I will! Let's leave this place, James, just us two.'
They would then leave alone on a merchant vessel Anamaria had pinched. They would set off in the general direction of anywhere, leaving Port Royal and the remainder of their past behind them. Their ultimate goal would be to start their lives anew, nothing more or less. The most they would expect of one another is to be the closest of friends forever, and this would be neither difficult nor lofty for either one of them.
The fantasy was pleasant enough to make James seem more relaxed than he really was. He tried his hardest to keep a hold of it even as he caught of glimpse of the approaching offender- Mercer, of all people. Unsettlingly, the man's sharp, hawk-like eyes were fixated unflinchingly on him, even as Mullroy, the dock lookout, talked to him nonstop about something inaudible to James.
"That will do, Mr. Mullroy," James interrupted as he approached the scene on the dock. When Mullroy looked at him, James could see the amount of fear in his watery blue eyes. The visible sheen of sweat on his brow also stood as incriminating evidence.
"Admiral Norrington," Mercer addressed with false pleasantry. "You were missed from your post…"
"I was at my post, Mr. Mercer," James corrected him. "I had gone down the length of the beach for a moment to gain a more distant perspective on the naval patterns."
Mercer did not seem entirely convinced.
"That's a likely story, Admiral," he replied sardonically.
"Then I doubt you'll find any error with it. Is there anything I can help you with?"
Mercer smiled from the corner of his mouth.
"Not at all," he said simply. "I was simply supervising at the request of Lord Beckett. You may carry on, then."
As Mercer turned around to head back towards his quarters for the evening, James allowed his eyes to roll slightly.
"I appreciate it, Mr. Mercer," he lied.