The wedding day's dawn broke into the glorious bright day the previous night's sunset had indicated to Norrington's weather eye. He washed and dressed with especial care, pleased at Mrs Dower's clever alterations to his dress uniform. The heavy wool held to the lines of his body, imparting a bulk to his wasted fame that kept him from looking as emaciated to others as he truly seemed to be becoming. Instead he was dashing; a slim, bladelike physique enhanced by the dangerous smart brocade of one of the King's naval officers.
Mrs Dower swept an invisible speck of lint from his shoulder and looked up into his pale, stoic face. 'You'll be beatin' the ladies off with a stick.' She declared, her uncultured voice thick with satisfaction.
James stepped out with a heavy heart, ready to face the day and wishing he were out fighting pirates over the more unnerving prospect of making small-talk with society.
Jack tugged at his collar and rummaged under the curls covering his neck, scratching furiously. The Governor had said his second-best wig was thoroughly deloused, but Jack wasn't convinced. He turned to sit sideways on his allocated pew, one leg turning sideways to rest on the bench and his foot resting in the crook of his other knee, watching the chapel fill up. He chortled wryly to himself when the Commodore turned up, accompanied by one of his fellow officers - Jack thought it was the one called Groves. Norrington looked as if he was entering on the point of a sword, his face set in a determinedly polite expression, but his red-rimmed, dark-smudged eyes and greyish pallor gave lie to the façade.
Norrington didn't last the service. Half-way through the second hymn he bolted for the exit. Jack slid out of his own pew, weaving past the other members of the congregation; the desire to taunt at how the mighty had fallen warred with the simple desire to ensure a man he was rapidly coming to be fond of was alright.
He wasn't alright. Jack watched in fascinated horror as Norrington convulsively folded at the waist, slumping to cough and spit and choke as bright blood and gore-streaked phlegm spilled from him. Jack froze as a thick-set, short figure bustled past the weeping angel statue he was lurking behind.
'Ach Sir! I told ye to take care o' yerself!' he exclaimed in a thick Scottish accent as he adroitly slipped under his superior's arm to support him and rubbed his back in firm, soothing strokes. Eventually Norrington managed to straighten up and the pair of them leant against the chapel wall.
'If I'd known yer condition had deteriorated so quickly I'd have told ye not to come.' The older man said, causing Jack's ears to prick up.
'Sparrow, you are here to watch the wedding, not to bear witness to yet another indignity in my life!' Norrington rasped, causing the Scot to startle. Jack emerged from where he'd been lurking behind the lachrymal angel and stuck his hands in the pockets of his brocaded coat, treating the pair of them to a rare serious look.
'That's Captain Sparrow!' he shot back, but his heart wasn't really in the usual banter. He sighed and his voice softened as he couldn't help but bend a pitying look on the taller man. 'An' that's why yer after regainin' yer old title of The Scourge isn't it? You've no sons, but a man must have his legacy.' Their eyes met and Jack was treated to the rare spectacle of seeing Norrington's true emotions painted vivid in his eyes. The anger, humiliation and scathing pain in those green eyes made him wince and suck in a shocked breath. He turned away, mumbling something about seeing them at the wedding breakfast. He heard the Scot strike up his chatter again in low soothing tones.
Lizzy and young Will looked proud as punch, staring into one another's eyes with the dazed expression of a couple who still couldn't quite believe their luck. The ageing vicar rambled his way through the service as the happy couple stood staring at one another looking away only at his prompts. As Will set the ring on Lizzie's finger they glowed with a joy brighter than the light pouring in through the gaily coloured stained glass lining the chapel. The whole shindig had an exuberant joy to it and they all spilled out into the Governor's gardens where the wedding breakfast was laid out in the bright sunlight.
'Scuse me ladies, I'm just gonna borrow yon Commodore fer a moment.' The two society ladies shrunk aside in scandal as a scruffy ragamuffin cut in between them and grabbed a handful of the Commodore's uniform jacket hauling away Port Royal's most eligible bachelor after him, heading in the direction of the food. They were even more scandalised when Jack made a show of patting the Commodore on the bottom and winking at them over his shoulder. Jack grinned cheekily, safe in the knowledge that Norrington was too polite to gut him on the spot in mixed company,
'What the Devil are you playing at, Sparrow?' Norrington hissed the demand through gritted teeth as the pirate towed him in the direction of a maid carrying a tray of sweet sherry (courtesy of the privateers). He smiled at the maid and accepted a drink, before scowling again at Sparrow.
'Doin' you the favour of not havin' to find all kinds of tactful ways of keeping' them young harridans at bay.' Jack shot a sly sideways glance up at his grumpy companion and smirked. 'Y'see I'm the evil pirate who's swooped in and just dragged a prominent, nay even prestigious naval officer away from the nice young gels he was politely hob-nobbing with and am now holing' him hostage at me pleasure. Savvy?' The grin he punctuated the end of his explanation with was utterly feline. Then he tossed back the drink and grabbed Norrington's sleeve again to drag him off in the direction of the buffet. 'Oooh! Look at them lovely liddle bits o' sweetmeat here!'
Norrington went in the direction of his yanked arm, scowling and wondering what the Hell the half-daft pirate was playing him for. He was about to catch up with Sparrow and demand he start talking sense for a change when it all went to Hell.