Author's Note: Hello and welcome to chapter eight of "Rubicon". I'd like to thank everyone who took the time to read and leave feedback for the last chapter, DemonicSymphony, Kitty, Tiera-Tarie, sudoku, ElfLuver13, Astraeas Dreams, NazgulQueen and Love Your Shotgun. Thank you all so very much! Your comments mean the world to me. As always, I do not have a beta, so any grammatical or spelling errors that occur in this fic are mine and mine alone. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean.

March 24, 1731

Log,

I have finally had enough rest to think and write coherently, though I fear my tremendous intake of spirits the night before may have forever damaged my mind.

And oh how my head still pounds. I am jealous of Anne. A woman she is and yet she drinks with ease. After a few hours of sleep, she was up and about, fluttering around the house and scolding the servants. I, however, was confined to bed for most of the afternoon. I shall conduct no business today.

But that matters little. I had an abundance of trouble with Swann and Norrington last night. Let them worry and be vexed for a good time. Perhaps then they will rethink their loyalties.

As most of the guests seemed to agree, we had a grand entertainment last night. A masquerade ball, as I promised Anne, of such opulent proportions as to make the Jamaica gentry quite envious.

I dare not go into useless detail now. We had dinner and dancing, fireworks and a candle-lit garden. Anne looked most radiant in her costume, that of a fox. And had I not been so weary last night, I would have seen her look quite radiant without it.

Most of the guests were polite and rightfully awed. Only a few mumbled and groaned. Anne had good enough taste to ignore them. She said they were all very common, but she managed to find suitable company in the person of Lady Jane Nesbitt.

The two seemed to enjoy the civilized talk of nobility and good-breeding. Perhaps Lady Nesbitt will prove a worthy friend for my wife. I do not wish Anne to be condemned to loneliness and boredom in Port Royal.

Thankfully, Lord Nesbitt is a good man and has cooperated magnificently with the East India Trading Company. If that is not a mark of nobility, I do not know what is.

I digress. My mind wanders so freely. To continue on about Weatherby Swann and James Norrington.

Norrington has long proved himself a good ally. The man is so terribly submissive. But I am not a shrewd man. I always reward initiative and devotion.

Mr. Norrington, while employed as a privateer, yearned for something more. I knew he missed his Navy days, the pomp and routine of martial life. After all, he is quite the military man, if not a bit disgraced.

And so, I saw fit to award him a commission. To return him to the rank of commodore would only remind him of his past failures. I do not want the man to dwell in the past, to ruminate on his downfall and other unsavory things.

I made him an Admiral, using my influence to secure such a lofty title and bestow it upon him. He seemed grateful in a sorrowful sort of way. I hope I do not come to regret my decision.

Last night, I called upon him again to ensure his steadfastness. He was invited to the ball, of course. And after seeing that Anne was quite comfortable as hostess, I slipped away to deal with Swann…with Norrington's aid.

Swann has grown bolder these days and I fear his loyalty is slipping. He questions me often, prods me and pressures me to reveal information about his daughter.

I have said very little so far…so far. But at last he pushed me until my patience slipped.

I called upon Norrington and Swann and brought them both upstairs to converse in private. But before I met with Swann, I drew Norrington aside.

He seems to have a good influence on the old man. I hoped he might talk some sense into him before I was forced to resort to less gentle means.

Norrington appeared hesitant, which troubled me. He said Swann was distraught, worrying after his daughter. I said I wanted Swann's continued assistance and that I was not above throwing him back in prison again.

After that, Norrington agreed to speak with Swann, in my presence of course. I should never wish them to be left alone. Their friendship runs deep and Swann might convince Norrington to turn against me.

Swann was escorted into my study. He looked quite small, cloistered between the dark shelves of books and the flickering light of the fire. I stood before the hearth and enjoyed the way my shadow lengthened against the wall. Norrington placed himself in a tight corner.

"Governor Swann." I addressed him politely. The man continued to look about, his eyes searching the room for some familiar object, I suppose, something to remind him that the house had once been his.

But I had long since purchased new furnishings.

"I will not delay you," I said. The sweet music from downstairs enticed me. I could almost smell Anne's perfume. "Yet I am concerned, your devotion to the East India Trading Company seems to have…lessened. Don't you agree, Norrington?"

I wanted to put him on the spot. Norrington appeared uncomfortable. He shifted and shuffled his feet, then finally replied.

"Yes, of course, my lord."

I smiled a bit then.

"Hasn't the Company rewarded you handsomely?" I directed this question at Norrington again, but he did not answer me.

"Weatherby, don't be an old fool," he said and stared at Swann.

Swann stuttered and I saw his face redden.

"How can you…? How can you…?"

"The Company is most generous…"

"You are the fool, Norrington!" Swann spat suddenly. He drew himself to his full height. "You have let yourself become a pawn, yes! A good man you were once, a good, honest man. Now you are nothing!"

"Old man you are delusion with grief." Norrington's voice hardened.

I said nothing all the while, though I did find some satisfaction in their argument.

"Grief! Ha!" Swann threw back his head and laughed coldly. Norrington seemed to shrink. "You have not even spoken Elizabeth's name since your return. No, I think you never cared for her."

I sensed the danger of the situation then. Norrington's body tensed and he balled his fists, his knuckles white.

I stepped forward, the warmth of the fire tickling my back. I thought it best to silence the both of them.

"Strange you should mention your daughter, Governor."

Swann's face twisted and paled. "You have news of her?"

"In fact, I do. I am sad to say that I received reports of the Black Pearl's destruction. She sank, so I am told, along with her crew. Your daughter was aboard at the time."

Now of course, this wasn't entirely true. Yes, I had heard the Pearl was no more. But I had also heard that Miss Elizabeth and Turner had survived.

But Norrington and Swann needn't know that.

Swann immediately collapsed into tears. Norrington crumpled against the wall, his head in his hands.

"But, they were sighted," he mumbled. His hands were shaking. "Both Turner and Elizabeth were sighted leaving Caribbean waters."

I glared at him and he fell silent.

"You are mistaken. Mr. Mercer himself reported seeing Miss Swann's body in the water. Hmm, he did not bother to fetch it."

Swann groaned. I smiled. My work was complete.

"You had best think about what I have said," I told Swann as I moved to the door. "Perhaps you might be inclined to strengthen your loyalty to the Company, in your daughter's memory."

Understandably, he said nothing. I left them there and proceeded downstairs to find Anne. But she was not in the parlor or the dining room or the garden. I thought perhaps she had returned upstairs to the ballroom.

Upon my way up the stairs I heard voices. Anne stood in the corridor. Swann wept before her, mumbling nonsense. With ease, I sent Swann away and took Anne's arm.

She was not at all bothered, but intrigued rather. I shall give her a full explanation tonight over dinner.

We spent the rest of the night in each other's company and shared many a dance. Anne simply glowed and relished in her role as the "Lady of Port Royal". Perhaps I shall make a queen of her yet.

Though as I sipped my final glass of port last night, my thoughts wandered back to Swann. I pictured him alone, still weeping and utterly distraught, whispering his daughter's name. I hope the man has learned his lesson.

Lord Cutler Beckett