Author's Notes: I offer my apologies to the reader for the extended hiatus I've taken on writing fanfiction. My final year of high school and other creative writing projects took up a deal of time, and I must confess to a lack of inspiration and ambition on my part for this story. But I haven't forgotten it; I still have plot outlines scribbled out in a notebook. I do hope to complete this story, but I can't make any promises. I'll try my best, and in the meantime, here's the next chapter. I hope you enjoy it. And remember – feedback is always welcome! Thank you for your time.
When Elizabeth awoke, she opened her eyes to a sight she would get used to in a short time. The bedroom Norrington had given her had been previously guest quarters, of elegant whitewashed furniture and pale green walls. Now it was her own, with her dresses filling the wardrobe, her stationary placed in a desk, and her other trinkets waiting to be moved from their trunk to a new place in the room.
The lacy curtains were swaying in the breeze, coming in through the tall, floor-length windows. Elizabeth rose from her bed to look out and learn the view. In close proximity to the beach, she could see right to the water past the pathway and trees. Boats and ships could be seen bobbing on the waves, their sails and ensigns fluttering. Fort Charles was visible off in the distance, down the road. She breathed in the salty air, and closed her eyes, trying to calm her nerves.
There was a knock on the door that startled Elizabeth. "Yes?" she called. The door opened, and a servant girl with stringy blond hair entered.
"Good day, Misses Norrington," she said. The title momentarily stunned Elizabeth.
"Oh… Good day." She recovered herself. "Is it after morning?"
"It's nearly noon," she said, pouring water from a pitcher into the porcelain washbasin by the mirror. She stood to the side, and curtsied with towel in hand. "My name is Clara, madam. I'll be your lady's maid."
Elizabeth stepped back from the window and went to the washbasin. "Thank you Clara," she said and washed her face.
"The Commodore is at the fort, but he will return for dinner." Clara handed over the towel.
Elizabeth patted her face dry and sat down before the vanity. "He left?"
"Yes madam. Early this morning, as always."
Elizabeth didn't know whether she was glad Norrington was gone, or dismayed that she had just been so left alone. Clara began brushing her mistress's hair, humming quietly. The girl's reserve was a contrast to Elizabeth's last maid in her father's house, Estrella. Without the idle chatter she was left to her own contemplation.
James Norrington returned home at dusk. Elizabeth had been sitting in the parlor, hardly reading a book. She had not turned a page for the last quarter hour, but just sat waiting to hear the front door open. When it did open, she remained rooted to the spot. She glimpsed the man's form passing the doorway. After a hesitation, she rose as quietly as she could to stand in the hall to see James's heel disappearing up the stairs. They did not see one another face to face until they sat down at the table.
Fish, vegetables, bread and wine were set in between them, as they took places at opposite ends of the table. For the majority of the meal their eyes remained fixed upon their plates. All apparent practice of social interaction disappeared and conversation was stunted.
"Commodore?" Elizabeth finally dared to speak as her meal was nearly finished.
"Yes, Elizabeth?" Norrington did not look up at her. He cut a piece of fish and brought it to his mouth.
How could she proceed? She replied with a question; if it was rhetorical she was not entirely sure of herself.
"Why are we like this?" She barely whispered, setting down her fork.
Norrington was still impersonal. "Could you please elaborate, Elizabeth?"
She almost bit her tongue in frustration. "Commodore," she started again, this time with more force in her voice. "We are now husband and wife. But we were more amiable when we first met eight years ago!"
He looked up at her now, his jaw set. "We are husband and wife, but still you address me no differently as you did those years ago. I have hardly ever heard my given name spoken from your lips." His voice was raised and harsh.
Elizabeth was so reminded of herself in Norrington that she could not retort. For the memory of Will Turner flooded her mind, when it was she who had pled with him to call her "Elizabeth" instead of "Miss Swann." Now Norrington was asking the same thing of her, and the empathy hurt.
"I'm sorry Comm-" she stopped. "I am sorry, James. I am too used to addressing you in formal circumstance."
Norrington took his napkin from his lap and folded it beside his plate. "Well we might as well retain the formalities. It is clearly the most comfortable kind of relation between us."
"James, I-"
"Don't lie, Elizabeth. Especially to yourself. It is quite apparent that any intimacies attempted at the present time would be egregious."
"What evidence compels you to speak from such a position," Elizabeth pressed, though she already knew the answer. But she had to have all uncertainties eliminated, with all the realities in plain understanding.
Norrington spoke quietly, sadly. "I saw your tears at the ceremony. You know I did, and do not try to disguise them as happy tears. They were honest, at best." Then he rose from his chair. "If you would excuse me, Elizabeth, I'm afraid I must retire."
Elizabeth nodded, fearing if she said anything, she would start to cry. Even being a man so practiced in concealing his emotions, Norrington had allowed the hurt to seep into his voice. Guilt plagued Elizabeth, that such unhappiness was brought to such an undeserving man.
This marriage had not brought either of them much joy for the time being. Together they had taken that fateful step- or more accurately described as a leap- into married life. They had not landed safely on the other side yet; they were stuck in mid-air, but not plummeting into a chasm below. Elizabeth was yearning for the old, familiar ground that she had left. But James was hoping for new land, and to reach it with the love of another.