Author's Notes: I again apologize these updates are tending to be few and far between. I haven't gotten the chance to type up and post the new additions, but I promise that I haven't abandoned the story- it is being written out in a notebook during my free time. School is almost done, and then leisure time will be abundant. Thanks to those who are reading; any comment/criticism is much appreciated.

It became a common occurrence to see the Commodore call for Elizabeth and walk the hills with her on clement afternoons. The strolls were always slightly formal- there was laughter and smiles, but the conversation remained markedly friendly. It was fairly easy, both persons having years of experience exchanging civil dialogue in various circles of society.

Elizabeth noticed the lack of romantic manner on Norrington's part, but she never brought it up. She did not desire such affections, but she could not help but wonder- was he conducting himself for the sake of propriety? Was he being shy? In her worst moods she had condemned Norrington as an ill-tempered, unfeeling uniform, but she knew that wasn't true. He had spoken to her in utmost sincerity that one day, and she remembered the moments when she spotted fire in his eyes- that fateful day on the docks when Jack Sparrow stood over her had his irons about her neck.

It hurt Elizabeth, that the Commodore felt so much for her; she doubted her own emotions would never measure up to half his amount. But where were his affections now? They were getting to know each other better, Elizabeth had to credit that. But they were to be wed, and they were not playing the part of fiancées.

Elizabeth did not want to dance around the situation. Avoiding the subject wasn't getting them anywhere, not making it any more bearable. Anxiety was one of the worst things in life, and the only cure was acceptance and resolution. Elizabeth was going to try this medicine.

She resolved to confront it. She would also try to measure up to the Commodore's affections. There was no where else she could direct her efforts; there was nothing else she could to.

Commodore Norrington came for dinner one night after he retired from his post a late afternoon. Governor Swann met him at the door and bid the servant girl Estrella to alert his daughter that their guest had arrived. She curtsied and hurried up the stairs to Elizabeth's room.

"Milady, the commodore is here."

Elizabeth turned from her reflection in her mirror. "Thank you Estrella. I'll be down in a minute." She had just finished fastening an ornamental piece in her hair, tied up in back. The barrette had been a gift to her from the Commodore two Christmases ago. The design of the metalwork was not unlike the feathers of a bird. Elizabeth hoped the Commodore would notice. It was a step towards trying to fill the role of bride to be, no matter how reluctant she actually was.

Estrella lingered at the door. "Do you need assistance with anything, miss?"

"No, thank you," Elizabeth replied as she smoothed out the folds in her light blue dress and turned about. "I'm all ready." She made her way out of the room.

Her father and the commodore had been in the sitting room when Elizabeth met up with them. Norrington stood from his chair when she entered the room. "Good evening, Miss Swann," he greeted, bowing at the waist.

"Good evening, Commodore," she replied and curtsied. "I trust your day has been well?"

"It has been well." He nodded, then said, "Miss Swann, I have been looking forward to seeing you all day."

Elizabeth just smiled a little, unable to express the sentiment shared. Her father saved the awkward moment.

"Well then, let's not hesitate. To dinner, shall we?"

The walked to the dining room, where the table was set for three. "Let me tell you," Swann babbled, "that my cook makes the best roast duck on the island." They took their seats, Governor Swann at the head of the table, with Elizabeth on his right and Norrington on his left. As the night and courses proceeded, they all held light, pleasant conversation, including a rather funny story shared by the Commodore about Lieutenant Gillette and the jailhouse dog.

The night did not drag on as Elizabeth had feared, but was quite enjoyable. There were no trivial relations brought up, no gossip that reared its ugly head regularly at other social gatherings. It was all of good humor- until dessert.

Governor Swann took advantage of a brief lull in the conversation to ask- "So have you two decided on a date yet?"

Elizabeth and Norrington looked at each other. Both remained silent for a moment, sitting rigid like two teenagers who had just gotten in trouble.

"Well," Norrington started in a cautious tone.

Elizabeth interrupted. "September," she said. "September."

Norrington nodded, in attempt to hide his confusion. "Yes. September," he repeated.

"I've always liked September," Elizabeth carried on, notably avoiding the gaze of the man across from her. "It's the month of mother's birthday after all."

"Yes, that it is." The Governor smiled at that.

"But," Elizabeth continued. "I'm afraid we haven't decided on anything else. We've just been discussing, enjoying the planning."

Norrington just sat, trying to maintain a regular expression.

"That's nice to hear," Swann said. "We can finally start pushing ahead and making things happen now for this occasion."

"Yes," Elizabeth said quietly, smiling slightly, her eyes dropped to the silverware.

James didn't say much for the rest of the dinner. He occasionally stole glances at Elizabeth, wondering at her. She had taken the initiative. The wedding had gone unspoken between them for a couple of weeks. James hadn't wanted to rush Elizabeth and end up pushing her way.

After dinner Elizabeth came outside with Norrington for a brief private moment.

"Elizabeth," the Commodore spoke earnestly. "I-"

"Don't worry Commodore," Elizabeth interjected. "I want this," she said softly, looking at the buttons on the officer's coat, catching the light of the setting summer sun. "I said yes to you that day. Surely you haven't forgotten?" she jested, trying to make lighter the mood.

"I assure you Miss Elizabeth, there is not a day that goes by when I do not recall it."

"Then if we are to do this, we must put our best foot forward and step into this great mess of planning. Don't you agree?"

"I do, Miss Elizabeth."

There was a quiet moment; James tried to read into Elizabeth's eyes, past her seemingly glad expression. In his head he ran through all the possible doubts, hesitations, and reservations streaming through either of their minds. The loud caw of a nearby bird refocused his mind on what was before him.

"September?" he voiced.

Elizabeth nodded. "Yes. September." Then she smiled at him, and after the final exchange of good-nights, waved him off as he headed down the drive.