When next they meet she is Pirate King, and James can hardly contain the pride he feels for Elizabeth as he stands beside Lord Beckett, Jones, and William Turner on a spit of a sandbar, attempting to appear unmoved. She holds herself with the bearing of an outlaw monarch, straight and tall and with daggers in her eyes.
He has never wanted her more.
Beckett killed her father, and for that slight she intended to see him dead. She tells him so in no uncertain terms, and an armada of rag-tag pirate vessels armed to the teeth await to back her word.
Beckett has an armada too, of course, but most of it is just for show.
What looks like an impressive fighting force is actually mostly merchant vessels pressed into this errand, for appearance is all at sea, and filled with men who are not accustomed to the fury of battle. James wishes there was a way to tell her this, but he suspects she will call Beckett's bluff no matter the odds.
However, before they may get on with their war they make a trade: the Whelp for Jack. James sees this for exactly what it is: a way to get The Trickster close to the heart. But Beckett and Jones both thirst so for revenge upon Sparrow that they fail to see the danger. James has learned the hard way not to underestimate Jack Sparrow; they have yet to learn that hard lesson.
As they turn to go James pauses to look upon Elizabeth, for what he hopes is not the last time, but he has seen enough war at sea to know nothing is certain. He affects a sweeping courtly bow, the feathers in his hat brushing the sand. "Your Highness." She sees the sparkle in his emerald eyes, and for a moment she allows the smallest smile.
"Admiral Norrington," she acknowledges, nodding her head with all the dignity of a King. There is warmth in her voice; perhaps too much, but such heartfelt emotion is a hard thing to hide even for her. Her hand strays to her belly as she looks upon her Admiral, so tall and handsome in his blue and gold uniform.
All that braid really did become him.
There is so much she wants to tell him, but there is no time and too many ears.
Of course, Jack Sparrow misses nothing, and he flashes a silent look of ahaaa at the Admiral as they turn to follow Beckett and Jones. James glares in a silent plea of stow it.
Jack, bless him, is if anything a master of anticipating the opportune moment. He will exact a price, no doubt, but not until its worth is at its peak.
As their cox'n steers their launches back towards The Dutchman and The Endeavor a storm begins to brew overhead, the sky turning a malevolent bruised shade of blue black, inexplicably seeming to form only above them.
Jack made a face as a fat rain drop smacked into his cheek. "Not good," he muttered to himself. The wind picked up speed as they climbed aboard the Dutchman, and several hats went flying across the deck.
"What's going on," James demanded in a low tone of Sparrow, knowing very well this was no natural gale. A sweat began to form on his palms; he doubted he would ever be able to face a storm at sea again without the cold fear of doom weighing like a stone in his guts.
"Possibly a recently freed Goddess of the Sea," answered Jack. "And she ain't the forgiving and forgetting sort."
James frowned, but enough strangeness had passed on this adventure that James knew better than to doubt such a tale. It would only waste time. "Meaning?"
"We'll see."
Sparrow was taken to the brig, and James continued to watch the darkening skies spiraling above. The Endeavor gave the semaphore signal for give no quarter, and the Admiral felt his blood run cold. Jones was all too happy to oblige on that score, and eagerly he gave the order to make sail towards the Black Pearl.
Then it was as though the sea opened up beneath them, a spiraling whirlpool of epic proportion appearing, and Jones the madman sailed into it. James no longer had command of this ship; not really. And so he was not missed when he made his way down to the brig.
Sparrow was still there, seemingly examining the hinges of the door and muttering over his shoulder. James peered closely, almost expecting to see someone else in the brig with the pirate, but no. He was alone, and he was apparently talking quite emphatically to himself.
The Admiral suppressed a sigh. Somehow, he still knew that Jack was the best weapon they had.
"Dare I venture that you have a plan?" he asked in a low voice from the other side of the bars.
"S'pose that depends on whose side you're on."
"You bloody well know whose side I'm on," James retorted, already exasperated with the pirate.
Jack chuckled in reply, leaning against the barnacle encrusted bars. "It's as though she's the only woman in the Caribbean, innit?" No doubt he thought of the list of her admirers, seemingly long as his arm. Will, James, Sao Feng, Jack himself, even Beckett seemed interested in Elizabeth Swann.
James sighed resignedly. "She might as well be." For him, she was the only woman in the world.
A long moment passed in which the two men who usually stood in stark opposition of each other shared a moment of mutual understanding. Quite uncomfortable, James changed the subject, "How the devil did she become King?"
"Why, by my humble vote." Jack's words were smug, but also laced with pride, and something else. Something surprisingly close to tenderness, and in that moment James understood that Jack not only coveted Elizabeth, but he loved her too.
"Excellent. There will be no winning an argument with her now," James deadpanned.
Jack laughed, then seemed surprised that the Admiral had managed to inspire his mirth. "Was there ever?" His next words came slightly more serious, his coal black eyes glinting in the low light of the hold. "I would have that heart if you could get me there."
"You? You would take on this?" James swept his arm out, gesturing to the decaying tub around them.
"Sail the seas forever? Ain't such a bad fate for a bloke like me." James realized this also meant that Jack had given up on her, and not having to feel that loss…James understood all too well. Jack smiled a sad half smile, then immediately sought misdirection. "So, the charming murderess is all yours. And good luck with that."
James raised an eyebrow, but thought better about making a joke of Jack's death and inexplicable resurrection. Somehow he sensed it might be too soon, and never in a million years did James ever think he would curb his words to spare Jack Sparrow's feelings.
Suddenly the ship took a drastic tilt, as though suddenly they were sailing on its side. Something unexpected was happening already, and James bit down on the raw thrill of panic that galloped down his spine.
He bloody hated storms.
Both men gripped the iron grate of the brig to stay upright. Holding on with one hand, James produced a key with the other, and freed Sparrow. "I can get you to the chest, but Mercer has the key."
"Then that will be a step in the right direction," Jack acknowledged.
They made their way through the sea-life infested ship, approaching the room where the chest with the heart was kept under close guard. Ten Marines stood on guard detail and James knew if he waltzed in with the pirate at his heels things would not go smoothly. "Hide," said James, shoving Jack towards a darkened alcove. "I'll be out shortly."
All too happy to let the Admiral do the dirty work, Jack did as he was told.
The Marines started as James entered the room, scrambling to stand at attention. James suppressed an eye-roll, instead fixing them with a firm stare. "At ease, men."
They relaxed only slightly, exchanging questioning looks among themselves. "Sir?"
James stepped up to the closest man, a marine named Forester. "Tell me, Mister Forester, and I give you leave to speak plainly. Do you like wearing this?" He tapped upon the silver badge upon his baldric that boldly displayed the EITC insignia.
The marine pressed his lips, then looked to his feet. He thought maybe this was a trap, but James Norrington had a reputation as a fair commander. "Not particularly, sir."
James nodded, and the tension in the room abated a little. "And you? Do you like it, Mister Burroughs?"
Another shake of the head.
"Me neither," James confessed. "Last I checked we signed on to protect the King and his interests, not Lord Cutler Beckett and the East India Trading Company. And he is about to lead us into a blunder of epic proportions that will no doubt see us court martialed." His men visibly paled at the mention of that dreaded proceeding. "So if you do not care to hang by the neck until dead for Beckett's personal vendettas, I suggest you listen to me."
Their expressions were rapt.
"What will we do, sir?"
"We must take back this ship, for starters. I want you all to go topside and wait for my signal. Be careful, we're sailing through a bit of weather."
That was the understatement of the century, but the thought of losing more men to a storm left him cold.
"And the heart, sir?"
"Leave it to me."
In no time, pretty as you please the Marines shuffled out of the room in single file to await Admiral Norrington's further orders. James turned to the chest, an eerie feeling overtaking him as he gazed upon the ornate box once more. It was almost pretty, and yet its contents were nothing less than wicked. A chill ran down his spine as he touched the lid.
Sensing a presence behind him, he said, "How will you get the key?"
"Already got it, Admiral." James turned with narrowed eyes to find not Jack Sparrow, but that wicked villain Mercer pointing a pistol in his direction. "I knew you would be the ungrateful sort," spat the assassin. "Suspected you since your little pirate chit got clean away with the Empress. And this is how you repay Lord Beckett's generosity?"
James turned completely to face Mercer, and ignored his accusation. "Was it you who killed Weatherby Swann?" That was the question that had burned every time he looked at the man, but had never had the privacy to demand satisfaction.
"So what if I did?" spat Mercer. "Some of us know how to obey an order."
"He was a kind old man who never harmed anyone," said James, the blackest rage boiling in his belly. He wanted to wring Mercer's neck with his bare hands for the indifference in his voice as the toady spoke of taking Weatherby's life.
"That's not entirely true," said a voice from the corridor. "He did try to have me hung once." Jack appeared from the shadows and immediately Mercer's pistol swung towards the pirate. It was just the window James needed to pull his own pistol, aim, and fire in one smooth action.
He was a dead shot, to be sure, and there was no great surprise when the ball took Mercer directly in the heart. The assassin fell back onto the deck, surprise in his glazed eyes and blood forming a large pool beneath them. James stared at the body, eyes wide, adrenaline coursing through his veins making the world sharper somehow.
"World's a better place without 'im, believe me," said Jack, crouching down to yank free the key from round Mercer's neck.
James said nothing, same as he felt nothing. No remorse, no regret, no compassion. No relief either though, of the weight of guilt upon his shoulders. He should have protected Elizabeth's father. He should have found a way…
"Are you coming?" taunted Sparrow, that grisly appendage now in hand, the open empty chest at his feet. Even Jones' heart had barnacles upon it.
"In a moment." James shook himself from his brown study and quickly made to reload his pistol, powder patch and ball, a thing he could have done in his sleep from so many years of practice, before following Sparrow to the companionway.
The real battle still awaited.