Chapter I

A Grievous Error

"Having nothing, nothing can he lose."

–King Henry the Sixth, Part III (Act III, Scene III)

۞۞۞

Whore.

It wasn't even pleasant to listen to. Such a harsh, guttural term that grated on the ears… When spoken, it came out as more of a cough than a word, a vile hacking that one would prefer not to make in public. Yet he had. He had lifted his eyes from his tankard, spotted one of the…ladies of pleasure…and beckoned her to his table, openly addressing her.

And this was simply splendid: The jezebel had actually heard him – worse yet, she had decided to obey! Dear God, what had he been thinking? Of course, he was well aware that he, in fact, had not been thinking, the rum having diluted his mind as well as loosened his tongue. The idea to call upon this woman's services had occurred to him after his third drink: What if, rather than provoking the tavern patrons and starting a fight in another attempt to fulfil his wish for death, he aimed not to die, but to enjoy himself for one night?

He closed his eyes, regretting his ever-growing stupidity.

She was sauntering over to him, her hips swaying in a manner that must have been alluring to some men, though he failed to find it the least bit appealing. Lord, what he would have given for her to walk past him, for her to ignore him, the filthy drunkard, and tend to some other patron. It was a foolish hope, however, for her come-hither gaze and saucy gait were only for him.

A tenseness was building near his midsection.

He took a long swig from his tankard as she inched closer and for the millionth time he demanded to know what on this miserable earth had possessed him to call her over? He had no need for her…particular…talents. Every ounce of dignity had been stripped from him, yes, but that did not excuse him from behavior such as this! Of course, it was certainly not uncommon for a man of rank to indulge in sinful activities with a woman who was not his wife…however, he had always thought it below him. A despicable thing, whoring…one that should have been reserved for thieves, pirates, and other such scum of the earth, not a commodore of the H. M. Royal Navy.

Former commodore, he reminded himself, the word pounding scathingly in his head like a taunt that a contemptible child would adopt. It was then that he decided that 'former' was not a pleasant word either.

However, with this thought came a bitter realization: His honor was gone along with his title. If he were to spend one night – only one – with this woman…would his position be affected? Would society think any less of him than they already did? Hardly. Because of hisfoolishness, Andrew Gillette and Theodore Groves, his two closest friends, had been taken by the sea. His family, still living in England, most likely hadn't heard the news of the disgraceful scandal involving Lord Norrington's youngest son, and they certainly would never be aware of his one-night stand with a prostitute. He doubted that it would change his father's opinion of him, in any case, for the man had always seen him as a disappointment. Long dead, his mother would never know – yet another stroke of ill fortune that was his fault – and for the first time he found himself thankful for this. He couldn't bear the thought of shaming her.

Yet…none of them would ever know.

But he would. Even thought he had long since cared if God condemned him to eternal damnation, though he told himself that any wanton pursuits would go unnoticed in Tortuga, though he could not depreciate himself for the career path this woman had chosen…he knew that he would not allow his dealings with her to go past his table.

In spite of every hopeless aspect of his life, he was still a gentleman. A rancid, disheveled, intoxicated one but a gentleman nonetheless, and he knew that that damnable trace of rectitude, the lingering thread of who he once was, would keep him from sharing a bed with this woman. Of course, she would be furious when he informed her that he no longer needed her, sending her off without payment, but that attitude would quickly dissolve once she found a new customer. Yes, that was exactly what would happen, of this he was certain. After all, he had yet to have one of his plans go awry, save for the last two.

She sat down.

۞۞۞

As you may have noticed, I've chosen to write most of this from Norrington's viewpoint, which, unfortunately, means that I often have to refrain from lapsing into my normal writing style which is much more flowery. Damn James and his simplistic-yet-eloquent manner of speaking! But I suppose this is what I must do if I want to keep him in character – I hope I've managed to do that, by the way. If I'm not, I know I can trust you guys to tell me so. ;)

Notes

The Ring O'Bells – I finally decided that I wanted this story to be named after whatever tavern James and his wench met in. I knew that wanted something that was interesting but not cliché, so when searching for bar names, I came across this one and it just stuck with me. I'm assuming that the Ring O'Bells is an actual tavern, somewhere, though I am not entirely certain of this.

A despicable thing, whoring – I've always thought that, although it was normal for men to go whoring and keep mistresses, Norrington would disapprove of the idea – possibly because he respects women so much. Whatever the reason, I just have a difficult time picturing our darling former-Commodore with a prostitute. But maybe that's just me.

yet another stroke of ill fortune that was his fault – this story does not focus very much on James's past. However, eventually – most likely in the sequel – James's blaming himself for his mother's death will be explained.

After all, he had yet to have one of his plans go awry, save for the last two – the last two plans being marrying Elizabeth and capturing Captain Jack, both of which, of course, failed miserably.

A Simple Request from the Author

I would not like to have to take this story down and rewrite it again as I have done with my works in the past. Therefore, I am asking all of my readers to alert me at once if anything is historically inaccurate, anyone is out of character, words are improperly spelled, grammar isn't up to par, or if anything seems Mary-Sue-ish even in the slightest. Remember kids, praise may be nice and make the author feel good about him or herself, but constructive criticism is more helpful in the long run. Politeness is preferred, though you may be harsh if you like – sometimes a little severity is the only way to get the message across. But also take note that by merely writing "Dear God, you suck big time. You suck. Your characters suck. Your story sucks. My eyes are bleeding from how much it sucks. Don't write anymore, I beg you" you aren't helping me anymore than people who say "OMG! U rool i wanna mary u!!!11 this is the new OTP!!!!1one1!" are. So please, help me out, but be kind about it if you can. Merci in advance!