Author's Notes: This fanfiction is nearing its conclusion; this chapter and the successive ones will commence resolution. It's all written out in my notebook, all that's left is to type it up and have my sister proof-read. Thanks to all who have read, and to those who have reviewed. I hope the story continues to be enjoyable- though I'm not sure all will appreciate the direction it goes in. But not all can be pleased; I wrote what I believed to be true to the characters. The last chapters will be up in good time, for I must be sure to get them all uploaded before college starts (which is September 4th), before all my avocational writing time is thrown out the window! But for now, I'll have fun writing this, and I hope you have fun reading it!
When the late-November day that James had expected to return home by came and went, Elizabeth had no realization of it. Ever since she had seen William, her mind constantly roiled like the waves of the coast during a storm. She carried through the days in a stupor. She kept to the house, for fear of any soul perhaps detecting her misery and doubt, her secret and scandal.
She dreamed of kissing Will nearly every night, even when she concentrated to clear her thoughts, resting on her pillow. Elizabeth slept in her own room- for going into James's would seem adulterous, even in his absence. For she cared for James, but loved Will.
She was cheating James, and she cheated Will as she harbored severe affections that she could not express. Elizabeth was cheating herself; like a ship deliberately sailing further into a maelstrom.
When Thomas the butler announced that the Dauntless had docked at Fort Charles about an hour ago, Elizabeth had been sitting in the parlor, slipping into a shallow slumber. Upon receiving the news, she immediately felt terrible. She had not kept track of the days, dreading the Commodore's return. For when he came home she would have to lie again.
The state of their marriage was worse off than when it had begun. It had been good for a while- when Elizabeth had been sincerely trying to move on and love James. But she relapsed. One could change their mind easily enough, but the heart was another matter entirely.
Elizabeth rose from her chair and looked at herself in the mirror above the fireplace. Her weary expression stared back. A good wife would make herself presentable and attractive for her husband. A bad taste filled Elizabeth's mouth. In every possible way, Mrs. Norrington was deceiving the Commodore, putting forth a façade. She couldn't stand her reflection- she turned quickly away to go to her room and change.
James Norrington did not arrive at his home until late in the evening. Before he could leave Fort Charles, he had to oversee the imprisonment of the pirates and begin to complete the necessary records- Gillette and Norrington would be pouring over papers for days. But distraction was affecting James acutely, as the source was such a small distance away.
Sitting across from the Commodore in his office, Gillette smiled sympathetically at his friend, noting the lines on his face and the way he fidgeted with his pen. They worked past sundown, until Gillette suggested they retire. He insisted to escort Norrington home, all too wary of his weakened state. James objected initially, but agreed to it, on a compromise that Andrew would just walk with him to his street.
When in sight of his door, and the lighted windows, the Lieutenant bid his Commodore goodnight and made his way to his own residence.
Elizabeth had been sitting at a cold dinner setting when she heard the door open. She stood and listened; there was an odd rhythm to Norrington's footsteps- there was an odd sound to his walk, an added step. She went to the hall and saw the Commodore leaning on a cane. She gasped and hurried forward.
"James!" she exclaimed, rushing to take his arm. "What happened?"
Relief and contentment flooded James upon seeing Elizabeth, and he momentarily forgot about his injury until Elizabeth was so alarmed.
"I was injured in combat," he said. "We fought and defeated a pirate ship that had been preying upon merchant ships." Norrington allowed himself to be led to the couch in the parlor.
"How did it happen?" Elizabeth had him sit beside her.
"By a sword," he began, and thus recounted a brief synopsis of the battle. "It will heal in time," James concluded.
Elizabeth looked at his leg, the wound hidden by his breeches for the most part; the fabric was raised and tight around the bandaged around his thigh. She tried to remember the last time she had seen Norrington hurt in service- but she could not. To see the weakened state of James, one normally so composed with posture rigid, was alarming. Elizabeth wondered what other scars were hidden beneath his uniform.
The Commodore did not tell his wife about the cut on his back until they retired. Getting into bed was a struggle for both of them- his, physical; hers, mental. James climbed into bed and hissed in pain when lying himself down, and he told her the cause.
"You're not hiding any other wounds, are you?" Elizabeth asked, her voice unsteady.
"No, there are no others."
She sighed, pulling the covers up to her waist and facing James. "I am glad you are not harmed in any other manner."
"As am I," James said. In the dark, he then told her of the fear he had on the Dauntless, the fear of not seeing her again. He refrained from confessing that it had been this fear that earned him his injuries. He would not instill any sort of guilt in her.
But she had already sufficient guilt. Elizabeth swallowed the urge to cry. To her, it seemed that her actions regarding William had called for this- Norrington's suffering- as a kind of retribution. So long as she maintained the insincere matrimony, the worse the outcome would be when things fell apart- if they fell apart. Perhaps Elizabeth could try again? To forget her heart as she had previously and begin anew when Will left for the Americas? But that night, when she had woke from a dream in which she shared a bed with William Turner, not James Norrington, she began to sink into real depression.
The spark of free spirit had never shown as brightly in Elizabeth ever since what had took place involving the Black Pearl pirates. Those who were generally acquainted with Elizabeth had said that, indeed, the ordeal had been terrifying and sobering to the young woman. But those who knew Elizabeth and had experienced them even as well- namely James Norrington- knew that barbaric pirates and ghosts were hardly enough to scare her and break her spirit. In some corner of her mind, Elizabeth was most likely grateful that she had been thrown into the whole adventure. What was weighing upon her shoulders was something else.
And though she reassured him again and again that she was alright, that she was satisfied, James knew Elizabeth was hiding something. He feared, not without reason, that it related to the relations of certain persons, specifically her and he. He did not want to make assumptions; he placed a great deal of trust in Elizabeth's word. He would not interrogate her, for some part of him did not want to find out, in case it broke his heart.
Apathy enveloped Elizabeth as she went through the days inclined to silence. With the truth of her heart realized and confessed, every hour was deception. It was plain to William and to her, but concealed from James, who did not deserve falsehood.
A storm that fell upon Jamaica brought a change in the winds that blew Elizabeth and the Commodore off their course, into a fateful new direction. It started to rain just before dinner time one night, preceded by hours of dark skies and choppy waves. Ships came in to anchor, shutters were secured over windows as everyone prepared for the wind and the rain.
James was caught in the weather on his walk home from Fort Charles. As the walk took longer than usual due to his inhibited gait, he was soaked to the bone upon reaching his door. He took a bath immediately to stave off illness, and Elizabeth ate dinner without him. James ate alone, feeling a chill that did not entirely relate to the rain. He listened to the heavy raindrops fall upon the house. Rumbles of thunder came from the distance, getting louder with each crash. The storm became their lullaby when a sense of weariness came to occupy the house, and all retired early.
James eased himself into bed beside Elizabeth, who already had crawled beneath the covers and sank into her pillow. She was still with her back to him. Norrington extinguished the lamp and was able to lie gingerly on his back; the gash was healing. Lightning flashed and streamed in through the shutters, and the sound of the storm filled the void of communication that hung over the room.
"Elizabeth," James spoke softly in the lull of the thunder.
She hummed in response. "Hmmm?"
"You haven't been yourself as of late" –she hadn't been herself for a long time- "I'm concerned for you." He paused, and then sat up and turned to see her dark profile. "Elizabeth, please tell me what is ailing you."
Elizabeth did not answer. Assuming she was no longer awake, James laid back down to sleep as well. But there was no rest to be had for the Commodore's wife.
She lay still with her eyes wide open throughout the night, listening to the storm. The house shook from the thunder, and rattled with the wind. An hour passed, and James was sound asleep when Elizabeth left the bed, hearing the gale's effects increased in severity.
She did not feel at all apprehensive as the forces of nature threatened the Norrington's house. In previous years, she remembered that she would always feel a little nervous, but this storm brought nothing. Lately no occurrence could rouse any significant feeling from the constant sadness weighing on her mind.
Elizabeth tied her robe around her waist and walked through the house. Her feet led her downstairs to the sitting room, where the results of the weather conditions were fully visible through the glass of the large front window.
The palm trees were bending to an extreme angle, risking a fall. The choppy, white-capped waves of the ocean crashed at rapid intervals on the beaches. As the wind blew the rain onto the glass creating a constant fall of water, the view was made opaque, creating the illusion that the house was submarine.
An immense thunderclap sent a quake through the house and woke the Commodore in his room upstairs with a start. He sat up quickly, unsure of his surroundings for a moment, the noise had sounded so much like a barrage of cannon-fire. James noticed Elizabeth's absence immediately, and his concern took him out of bed. Getting up, his leg especially hurt. Grimacing, he took his cane that leaned against his bedside table and made his way to the hall.
Thunder crashed again and the electric light of the storm filled the house. James made his way down the staircase a step at a time. He found Elizabeth in the sitting room, watching the rain. She looked as if she was underwater, as the shadows rippled, filtered by the sheets of rain.
"Elizabeth?" James called over the din.
Elizabeth jumped slightly in her seat and looked up to see him. "James," she breathed.
James stepped further into the room. "Why are you out of bed?"
"The storm woke me up," she lied. Elizabeth kept her eyes averted from the Commodore.
"Elizabeth," he said. "I'm concerned for you," he repeated. "You are not yourself."
"You're right James," she said, barely audible above the storm.
"Then could you please tell me why you are so dispirited?"
"No." She shook her head, wearing a sad smile.
"Explain for me," James persisted, his jaw clenched.
The rain came down against the window harder, and Elizabeth raised her voice. "I can't speak to you without lying!" The shouting lured the truth out, not allowing for any hesitation. "I'm incapable of being honest with you! Every day, James, I've lied," she choked out, not letting tears stop her. If it was to all end now, then let it be. She could not tolerate it any longer.
Norrington's face was stony, and he only looked at Elizabeth. How could he proceed after such a proclamation?
All was interrupted when a sound not unlike the strained creaking of a ship came above the roar of the tempest. A narrow shadow fell across Elizabeth's face as lightning flashed, and James turned to see just in time the a tall palm tree, broken at the base, falling toward the house.
Norrington dropped his cane and leapt forward, seizing Elizabeth. The top of the tree fell through the window, sending shattered glass, water and leaves across the room. The wind tore through the air as the storm was inside the house now. The spray of it and the nearby sea covered the room and the two figures lying in the corner, against the wall.
Elizabeth was prone, and James held her close with his arms about her, trying to cover her as best he could. Her long hair whipped about them in the fierce wind, tangling with his own, slick against his skull. Elizabeth's cheek was against James's chest, and even above the immense roar of the storm, she could hear his heart rapidly beating.