A/N: Thank you to my faithful few who are actually reviewing. You guys are the best! And without further ado (since I have already kept you waiting) on to chapter six! EDIT: I just noticed that my page breaks were not showing up when I upload the chapters, so I apologize if any of you have been perplexed by the abrupt shifts in character POV.

Chapter Six

"It is so wonderful to have you home safe, Admiral…ah… Mr. Norrington."

James wondered when Alice, his housekeeper, would get used to omitting his former title. He had arrived at his estate only an hour before to find the elderly woman and her husband, Nathaniel, still living in and attending to his estate. The couple had been with his family since before he was born, and they said they "just couldn't bear to leave the place."

"Thank you, Alice," he replied. "It's good to be home." And for the first time since the ship docked in Port Royal, he really meant it.

The familiar interior and grounds of his home comforted him in a way that was difficult to describe. Yes, it brought back some painful memories of his life before fate had turned it upside down. But even so the comfortable domestic sounds of Alice and Nathaniel as they bustled around made him feel less lonely than he had in a while.

He spent a little while that night looking over his accounts. He had enough funds to cover his living expenses and provide Alice and Nathaniel their usual salaries for some time. He knew he needn't worry for the time being, but he was a cautious man and felt that soon he would need to establish a new source of income. He shook his head and put his papers away. I'll think about that later.

After that he still could not sleep. Nathaniel and Alice had long since gone to bed, so he could not while away the hours in conversation. He was more in the mood for solitude anyway. He decided to take a walk in his garden. Horticulture was something of a hobby of his. He didn't have much time for it after his promotion to commodore then admiral, but Nathaniel had tended the garden for him and kept it up during his absence. The hibiscus, heart flowers, the crab claw, and the various shrubs all looked well kept.

Moonlight glinted off white blooms and the small pond as James walked into the garden. His first love was the sea, but he had also been taken by the beauty of the land at a young age. It was almost a secret. No one knew of his love for planting and tending what he had planted, watching it grow. It was also here where he came to do most of his serious thinking. He strolled over to an old mahogany tree in the center of the garden and placed his hand on the rough, gnarled bark. He had been there, beneath that tree, when he first realized he wanted to propose to Elizabeth Swann.

He plucked up a white hibiscus flower and spun the bloom on his fingertips. He had been so sure of himself then, of what he wanted, and who he was. Now, he was adrift. At least one thing was certain: he was no longer Admiral Norrington. Now he was just plain James Norrington, but who was that? Maybe he should just leave Port Royal forever, join the crew on some merchant liner. He could find a vessel that would take him on. He knew his way around a ship. Better than most men, in fact. But then he recalled Tia Dalma's charge. It complicated matters as it usually did, and as James knew it would for some time. Could he disregard the words of the woman who had brought him back from Davy Jones' Locker? No. He would have to stay in Port Royal, at least until this business with Bartholomew Beckett was taken care of. Then he could leave forever and the whole place be damned.

He crumpled the petals of the flower in his palm and thought about the bottle of whiskey he knew Nathaniel kept in a cabinet in the servants' quarters. James hadn't kept liquor in the house since his stint in Tortuga. In fact, he hadn't kept much even before then. But Nathaniel professed to "take the draught for 'is achin' bones," and James knew where his stash was, could access it easily. It was so tempting. That mindless, liquid oblivion called his name like a lover.

James was about to leave the loneliness beneath the aged mahogany tree in favor of the numbness at the bottom of a bottle, but then he saw himself. He saw himself as he was those weeks in Tortuga: disheveled and rum soaked. He recalled the way he had staggered from bar to bar, reeking of liquor and slurring his words. He recalled Bartholomew Beckett's sneer earlier that evening. He expected James to fall into disgrace, expected him to make a fool out of himself. He would not be that man again. James let the ruined petals fall to the ground, walked back into his home, and went to bed.

…

"Easy now," Rosalie soothed as she trotted the horse around the ring. It was early morning, only an hour after dawn, but she hadn't been able to sleep longer. Before retiring to her room the night before Jane, her maid, had mentioned that she should go have a look at the young green-broke stallion who had been giving the stable hands a little trouble. From her education in England she hadn't improved her measly artistic ability, and all musical instruments practically screamed in protest if she so much as touched them. But in her time there, she had honed her equestrian skills and was proud to consider herself a master horsewoman.

Before his death, her father had had a passion for horses as well. He raised a few of them, and built a modest barn and riding arena on their small property. Although she had no great love for them, Rosalie's mother had hired stable hands to keep the barn and stock maintained after her father's death. The horses were mostly bred and sold for profit, but currently there were four horses on the property. Rosalie was happy to have the chance to work with this one before her mother sold him off.

She had christened the fiery young stallion Ares, and although she loved taking jumps and weaving in and out of obstacles, there was something even more fulfilling in taming something wild. She could work him up to the jumps. Ares had shied away from her at first and bucked violently when she finally got him saddled. But after years of shirking her studies to sneak out to the stables, Rosalie had learned how to use her voice and demeanor to soothe a horse. It didn't take long before she was in the saddle, walking him steadily around the ring.

"There you go, Ares," she crooned as she rubbed his neck affectionately. "This isn't so bad, is it?"

The dun colored stallion snorted in assent, and Rosalie grinned. "Alright, baby, now we're going to pick up the pace. Get ready!" She gently tapped his sides with her heels to urge him forward, but just as he was about to break out into a canter….

"Miss Gillette!"

Rosalie pulled Ares to a stop and looked to the back of the house where the call had come from. Jane was shouting and running out to meet her.

"You better hurry, Miss," she breathed. "You're mother has worked herself into a frenzy looking for you. She says you will be late for the hanging."

Rosalie had to bite back a curse. Instead she just growled under her breath. "Tell Mother I will be in shortly, Jane."

"I wouldn't tarry, Miss Gillette," Jane replied nervously. Then she exclaimed: "oh! She will have my head if she finds out I told you to come out here!"

"No need to worry, Jane," Rosalie assured her. She sighed. "I'll be in right away then. Just let me drop Ares off at the stable."

Jane had been right. As soon as Rosalie walked through the door, her mother rushed up to her like a whirlwind.

"Where on earth have you been, Rosalie? The stables, I'll wager! Just look at your face- all covered in dust and grime! If the horse stock didn't bring in good money I would tear it down, board by board. You have to get washed up and dressed! We are going to be late."

"Stop it, Mother," Rosalie growled as she tried to avoid her mother's attempts to brush the dirt off her face and dress. "I will go up to my room and dress right now if you insist, but must I go to Fort Charles for the hanging?" She scrunched up her freckled nose in displeasure. She had no love for pirates, but the thought of any man in the hangman's noose disturbed her terribly. Having to actually see the execution take place…. The thought of it made her stomach turn.

But her mother was already nodding her head emphatically. "Yes, you must go. The whole town will be there. And don't you want to support the navy and the E.I.T.C. in the war on piracy?"

"Well, I suppose…."

Her mother snorted. "You suppose!" She shook her head. "Plus, Lord Beckett will be there."

Rosalie glared at her through narrowed eyes. "And why would I care where Lord Beckett is or where he is not?" she asked coolly.

"Because I have spoken favorably of you to him and…." She trailed off with a sigh. "Well, you're quickly approaching an age when it will be hard, if not impossible, to make a good match. This may be your last chance."

Rosalie's jaw dropped indignantly, but Jane rushed into the foyer and hurried her up to her room before she could conjure up a scathing reply.

Dressing was another torturous process. Her mother had selected a new gown with a corset that made it nearly impossible for her to breathe. Jane pulled the laces so tight that Rosalie thought she might faint.

"Honestly, Jane!" Rosalie exclaimed with a gasp as the other woman tried to tighten the laces of her corset once more. "Why don't you just put your knee in the small of my back there for better leverage? Wouldn't be any more painful."

"Calm down, Miss Gillette," Jane replied, and Rosalie could practically hear the eye roll in her voice. "All the fashionable young ladies are wearing them. I would think you would know that coming from London as you are."

"I wasn't exactly the most 'fashionable young lady' in London. I prefer my simple frocks… and a good supply of oxygen."

Jane muffled a giggle. "Well, this is what your mother told me to make sure you wore. And after all this is your first public outing since your return to Port Royal. You want to look your best." One last tug on the corset. "There now, let's get you into this… and…. Ah, look! You look positively lovely."

She turned Rosalie so that she had a good view of herself in the mirror. With the corset and dress finally secure, she had to say that she was quite pleased with the finished product. The dress was lovely. It was an understated silvery blue with light lace detail at the sleeves. She was thoroughly surprised that her mother had not forced something gaudy and pretentious on her. Jane had styled Rosalie's hair in an up-do, leaving a few pieces of her hair strawberry blond hair to fall in gentle curls around her face and neck. Suddenly a thought stole into her mind unbidden: what will Mr. Norrington think when he sees me? Instantly her cheeks warmed and she glanced away from the mirror. What on earth brought such a thought on?

"Rosalie, are you ready yet?" Her mother's shrill cry came ringing up the stairs to her room.

Jane chuckled. "You better go, Miss." Rosalie nodded in assent and started toward the door, but she paused when Jane added: "If it's not too bold of me to say, you will certainly catch Lord Beckett's eye today."

Rosalie gripped the silver knob of her bedroom door hard in her anger. She looked over her shoulder at Jane. "Just how much has my mother been talking of her matchmaking plans?" she demanded. "Does the whole town know?"

Jane grimaced. "I'm sure not the whole town."

"Rosalie, now, dear!"

Rosalie shook her head and opened the door. "This is going to be mortifying."

"Oh, wait, Miss Gillette! Don't forget your hat." Jane handed her a matching hat that wasn't horrid but was still too large and obtrusive for her tastes. Still, she took it with a sigh and started down the stairs.

…

The sun beat down relentlessly on the ramparts of Fort Charles that afternoon. Society ladies took out their fans, and their husbands discreetly dabbed at their foreheads with bright white handkerchiefs. Not one of them seemed to be bothered by the fact that they were about to witness a man's death. James didn't take any pride or pleasure in this execution as he once might have done. The whole thing was tasteless and vulgar, and once again he asked himself why he even came.

Because he expects you to crawl away with your tail between your legs.

He knew it was true. Beckett had taunted him with the hanging because he knew James'… complicated… history with pirates. He wanted to do anything and everything to drive him over the edge. Well, it wouldn't happen. James had had to come to the execution that afternoon and look just as stern and steady as he had when he was an admiral.

"Ugly business, this," Phillip said as he came to stand by James' shoulder. "But it has to be done."

"Indeed," James murmured with a clear lack of enthusiasm.

Phillip tried to study him discreetly out of the corner of his eye, but James noticed. "It's odd to see you here at the fort dressed as a civilian," he finally said.

James smiled wryly. "I am a civilian now, Phillip. You might as well get used to seeing me out of uniform."

Phillip shrugged. "Are you sure you haven't been too rash?" he urged. "Surely you could talk to Lord Beckett again and reclaim your title. Most of Port Royal has not even heard of your resignation yet. It would be as if nothing happened."

"Phillip," James warned.

"I know. I know." Phillip sighed but dropped the subject. "So, did you enjoy meeting Lord Beckett last night?"

"I don't think… "enjoy"… quite captures the sentiment," James replied stiffly. He had caught sight of Beckett standing on a raised partition to the left side of the scaffold. With the amount of brocade and adornments on his uniform he looked like a strutting peacock. James curled his lip in distaste. The man looked more like his late brother this afternoon, and James could see the eagerness in his eyes as he anticipated the coming execution. While he couldn't be completely honest about his true motives for resigning his position, he decided to be somewhat frank with Phillip. "I do not get a good feeling about that man."

Phillip shrugged. "I don't know, James." He scratched the edge of his wig then laughed a little nervously. "I just follow orders. And this has always been our duty, to rid the seas of pirates and to protect citizens under the crown. It's still a noble cause, isn't it?"

He peered up at James, and he remembered that Phillip was a few years his junior and had looked to him for guidance for many years. If only James still knew what guidance to give. He looked away. "I don't know what I believe anymore."

"But…" Phillip began in a startled voice, but Rosalie had walked over to them and he stopped.

"How… dare you… leave me alone… with Mother… again," she scolded him between labored breaths.

To save Phillip from her wrath and avoid another bout of sibling warfare, James broke in. "Miss Gillette, are you quite alright?"

She fanned herself furiously, stirring the delicate curls resting on her neck. James caught the light fragrance of lavender. "Yes… thank you, Mr. Norrington." She seemed to be catching her breath again although her cheeks were still tinged pink. "It's just so hot out today, and I've been frantically searching for my brother since he deserted me with Mother when we first arrived."

"There is a spot of shade right over here," he offered. "It should provide you with some respite from the heat. Shall we move?" She nodded gratefully, and he offered her his arm. As she rested her small hand lightly in the crook of his arm, he studied her and noticed how the pale silvery blue of her gown complemented the fair cream tones of her skin.

"Thank you," she breathed as she looked up at him with a smile when they reached the shady spot. "This will be much better." Her brows drew down and her eyes darkened as she looked up at the scaffold. "I just wish I didn't have to be here at all. Not for this."

James felt refreshed and grateful that she didn't relish the excitement of attending a hanging like many silly young ladies did. He suspected that Rosalie was not a silly young lady. "I must say that I agree with you wholeheartedly, Miss Gillette."

Again, she glanced up at him and gave him a smile. This time it was smaller and a little sad. "You mean to tell me you aren't glad to see the seas rid of another dangerous pirate? You surprise me a little more every time I speak to you, Mr. Norrington." She glanced away, and James saw that her cheeks had darkened with a blush.

"Come now, Rose," Phillip said, breaking the slightly awkward silence that had descended upon them. "You couldn't have stayed home today. Mother would have missed showing you off to your potential suitor. And, I must say, you do look lovely this afternoon."

Rosalie glared at him. "Phillip," she growled. "Do shut your mouth, if you please."

Phillip laughed and turned to James to explain. "Mother has her eye on Lord Beckett for my dear sister here."

James raised his eyebrows in part surprise part disgust. Beckett would be far more suited for one of the mindless ninnies who would throw herself at him simply for the wealth and the station his name could give her.

"Ugh," Rosalie groaned before James could construct a reply, "Don't torment me, Phillip." She looked over to where Beckett was standing, and James watched as the same dislike he felt registered on her face. "Just look at all those embellishments!" she exclaimed, shaking her head. "Who on earth would dress like that willingly?" She threw a sly grin at Phillip. "Though you're not much better, brother."

James laughed, and Phillip rolled his eyes at both of him. "I wouldn't be so snide, Rose," he replied after a moment. "Look who has gone to converse with Lord Beckett."

James looked back over and saw that Mrs. Gillette had made her way over to where Beckett was standing. He seemed to greet her amiably, and she instantly began what looked like an in-depth conversation.

"Oh, no!" Rosalie exclaimed. "She'll be looking for me, wanting me to go flirt with him. I cannot do it. Especially not in this heat and this accursed corset! Bloody fashionable London ladies."

"Language, Rose!" Phillip exclaimed.

James laughed again, enjoying the reproachful look of indignation on Phillip's face and Rosalie's boldness. But then the drums began to roll. All eyes lifted to the scaffold as two naval officers led a man out.

He was tall and straight-backed with short, disheveled brown hair and a dark, neatly trimmed facial hair. He held his head high and looked out, unflinching, at the spectators in front of him. His eyes were hard and proud, and for an instant they locked with James'. There was an accusation in them. It was as if the man knew him, knew his thoughts, and was asking: "how could you let this happen?" But that was impossible. James had never seen the man in his life. Still, it was an uncomfortable feeling, and he had to look away.

As the executioner slipped the noose around the man's neck, another officer began to read from a scroll, detailing who the man was and why he was to be executed. James learned that he was called Chevalle, one of the fabled nine pirate lords, and his list of crimes was extensive. But James couldn't concentrate on the words. All he could think about was why this bothered him so much. Then he remembered Elizabeth as he last saw her, a pirate captain. This could've been her. If she was still alive it could very well be her in the future if Beckett continued this war. But his angst stemmed from more than that. He had an unshakable feeling that this wasn't right. The weeks leading up to his… death… had taught him much. On that night that he aided Elizabeth and her crew in escaping the Dutchman, he had decided that life wasn't as black and white as he had once thought it was. He had seen things that had made him decide that maybe the real evil wasn't the pirates after all.

Echoing his own thoughts, Rosalie murmured, "This is wrong." James looked over at her and saw that her brow was creased. She shook her head. "Wrong."

"Wrong?" Phillip repeated, giving her a perplexed look. "I agree this isn't a pleasant occasion, but wrong? Of course it's not wrong, Rose. The man's a pirate – a thief, a murderer. He committed his crimes, and now he must be punished." He looked to James for confirmation.

James continued to look at Rosalie. He saw genuine compassion and worry in her eyes. No, she would never be happy with Beckett. He looked back at the condemned man on the scaffold choosing to ignore Phillip for the moment.

The officer who had been reading out Chevalle's offenses fell silent, and Chevalle was given the opportunity to voice any last words. The proud Frenchmen remained mute, continuing to stare defiantly out at the crowd who would judge him. After a moment's pause the drums began to roll again, and at the crescendo the trap door in the floor of the scaffold dropped. Chevalle fell, and the rope pulled taut.

…

Rosalie couldn't watch as the pirate fell through the scaffold's trap door. She immediately turned away and buried her face in her hands. She felt hot tears stinging the corners of her eyes, and she couldn't fathom why. Phillip was right after all. The man was a pirate! Still, the brutality of the whole situation pained her. When she felt sure that the tears wouldn't escape the prison of her eyelids, she glanced up at the crowd around them. The other townspeople were not even phased. Adults and children alike looked up to the scaffold with a kind of morbid fascination in their eyes. She could not bear it.

She heard James make a sound of disgust deep in his throat, and she looked up to see him turning away from the sight also. "Excuse me, Miss Gillette," he said, turning back to her and offering her a graceful bow. He nodded to her brother. "Phillip." Then without another word, he turned and walked away.

Despite his sensible words about justice and what was right, Phillip looked a little uneasy at the execution. "I'm sorry, Rose," he said as he straightened his jacket, "but I'm afraid I must return to my post. You should join Mother now." He took her hand and gave it a quick but tender squeeze. "And I am truly sorry you were forced to come here today. You should not have had to witness that. I know that now." And with that, he too left her.

Rosalie looked around helplessly for a quiet alcove she could tuck herself into until most of the crowd, and Lord Beckett for that matter, dispersed. Maybe her mother would remain distracted.

"Rosalie, darling! There you are!" No such luck. She turned to see her mother bustling toward her, red cheeked and waving. "I've been looking everywhere for you. Do come let me introduce you to Lord Beckett."

"Mother…!" Rosalie protested, but her mother had her by the hand and began to lead her away from her shady, secluded spot. Her eyes found Lord Beckett again well before they reached him. He was hard to miss in his heavily embellished uniform. He was a small man, only slightly taller than her. Although he wore a powdered wig beneath his hat as most men of high standing did, the shade of his eyes and complexion suggested dark hair. Rosalie supposed he could be attractive enough, but he wore a smug smirk, and his dark eyes were arrogant and condescending.

"Lord Beckett," her mother began in a fawning tone, "I'd like to introduce you to my youngest daughter who just returned from London."

"Ah, Miss Gillette," he said, taking Rosalie's hand and bowing slightly. "It is my pleasure. And I am very pleased that you could make it to my little…." He paused with a slight grin as he searched for the word. "Party…" he finally finished, resuming his superior smirk.

She should've constructed a diplomatic reply. Even if she wasn't at all interested in Bartholomew Beckett, she could've kept her mother appeased. But Rosalie uttered the first words that came to her mind. "Actually, I find it barbaric."

Her mother looked as if she might faint, but Beckett surprised her by laughing. "You speak your mind. I can appreciate that," he conceded after a moment. Then his eyes turned cool as ice. "But I urge you to understand one thing about me, Miss Gillette. I will eradicate piracy in the Caribbean. This is only one small first step, so you had better prepare yourself."

Rosalie looked at him defiantly. "Well, we all do appreciate you, Lord Beckett," her mother continued. " 'tis a noble undertaking. That is certain."

Beckett resumed his genial demeanor and began to prattle on with her mother about everything and nothing at all while Rosalie was forced to listen and seem somewhat interested. She was not very good at the latter. While they talked she glanced around the battlements, searching for some kind of amusement. Then something at the scaffold caught her eye.

The dead pirate's body had already been removed, and everyone's attention was elsewhere by now. But a lone man now stood on the scaffold, and when he turned slightly towards Rosalie recognized that it was James. He stood tall, but there was a slight slump in his shoulders that suggested sadness. Rosalie felt a pang for him, again wondering what his real story was. He bent down, and she saw him grasp something in his hand and examine it in the light. When he did this Rosalie was struck by the view of his strong body silhouetted by the sun. She blushed but did not look away. As she watched, he shook the item and held it to his ear, seeming to listen to something.

"Rosalie? Didn't you hear Lord Beckett speaking to you, dear?"

"I apologize, my lord," she said tersely, turning back to them. "I was simply… lost in thought."

"Hmm." Beckett glanced at the scaffold then turned shrewd eyes to her. "I see. Well, I merely stated that I hate to take leave so soon, but I do have duties to attend to. If your dear mother does not object, I will take the liberty of calling on you so that we may become better acquainted."

Before Rosalie could form a reply, her mother spoke up. "Of course I do not object! I – I mean we – would be delighted if you called upon the house from time to time." Rosalie gaped at her. She was practically gushing and blushing like a school girl. "Oh, isn't this exciting!" she gasped after Beckett left. She clasped Rosalie's hand. "Play your cards right, and you might be matched with the most powerful man in Port Royal." Rosalie rolled her eyes.

…

James couldn't put into exact words what had urged him to walk up to the scaffold. He didn't want to go there… but… he had to.

He stopped and stood only centimeters away from where Chevalle had fallen to his death. Laying there on the pale, cracked wood was a Spanish silver dollar, also known as a piece of eight. What compelled him to pick up the coin, he couldn't say, but when James' fingers touched the cool metal… he heard….

James brought the piece of eight closer to his eyes, examined it in the sunlight. It was inexplicable. Now, he was sure of it. He heard something coming from the coin. It was a low humming, almost more of a vibration of power than an actual sound. But now it was unmistakable. The piece of eight was… singing.

Amazing! Though, James supposed he had witnessed more unbelievable things in his final years as a naval officer.

He knew he couldn't leave it there, and somehow he sensed that he was meant to take it. The piece of eight was his. He started to tuck it into his pocket but decided against it. He left it safely curled into his fist.

…

Captain Elizabeth Swann briefly leaned against the railing and closed her eyes, silently praying for a bout of nausea to pass. She felt more at home on a ship than on land, and she had never been seasick until the past few days. She didn't know what was happening, but she wanted it to stop.

The men aboard the Empress had been reluctant at best and downright furious at worst when Sao Feng relinquished captainship to her upon his death. But after the battle at Shipwreck Cove, she had earned the respect of her crew. Now, she couldn't let them see her weak.

"Keep a weather eye on the horizon, Huang!" she called in a strong voice to her first mate. "We're in unfriendly waters."

Elizabeth also peered out into the distance. She hadn't been in contact with Jack Sparrow or any of the other pirate Lords since she had called them together days after the battle at Shipwreck Cove. She had commanded them all to gather again to reissue pieces of eight – and this time they were actual pieces of eight – to be used as a means to link them all if the need so arose in the future. They had performed the ritual as described in the Pirate Codex and once again went on their separate ways. No contact surely meant no problems of import, and for that she was thankful. Still, she had been feeling uneasy the past few days, and she suspected that there was more to it than her traitorous stomach.

The uneasiness within her grew. She looked around to make sure none of her crew was watching her, thinking she was going to have to lean over the railing and relieve her stomach. But the nausea did not come. Still, she felt odd. The hairs on the back of her neck began to prickle, and goose bumps sprouted all over her arms. She shivered.

Then she heard it.

Eyes wide and mouth agape, Elizabeth groped within her pocket, searching for the coin. She hoped that her ears deceived her, but she knew before her fingers closed around the piece of eight that they did not. She felt it in her very soul. The song had been sung.

"Huang!" she shouted, inwardly cursing the frantic tone of her voice.

The urgency was not missed by her first mate. "Captain Swann?" he queried, looking at her with concern.

"We must change course." She held up the piece of eight.

Huang was speechless for a moment, his jaw working soundlessly. "To Shipwreck Cove?" he finally managed.

Elizabeth almost assented, but something within her halted the words. Not to Shipwreck Cove. That wasn't right. When she realized where they were to go, her heart sank. She could hardly bare it.

"No," she murmured. She met his eyes then raised her voice to address the rest of the crew. "We make for Port Royal!"

…

A/N: So what did you guys think about Elizabeth's first appearance in my story? Or any other part of this chapter for that matter Review and let me know!