It was mere days before James encountered Theodora Byrne again – although this time she appeared in much better shape, with more colour to her face and a great deal less swaying as she stood, and rather than traversing structurally unstable docks, she was in the town square. It was a fair day – sunny, but not stiflingly hot, with a fair breeze that kept winding its way through the settlement – and so there was little risk of her being overcome by the heat, as he suspected she had been last time. James also had to admit that seeing her milling about outside of local establishments made him far less suspicious than her scrutinising the build of the ships at the docks. All in all, it was a much more favourable state of affairs. Or so he thought upon first glance.

Then – to his exasperation – he began to notice the details. Most surprising of all to him was the fact that she could not be blamed for any of the aspects of her current situation that he found distasteful. She stood unmoving as a monument on the street by the jeweller's shop, her hands folded before her amidst fine skirts of a deep green colour that suited her far more than the white ever had. Her attention was fixed on the thin air before her eyes, and anybody who spared her just the one glance might be forgiven for thinking that she was lost deep in thought – or perhaps merely taking in the town.

A second glance, though, would find the steely set of her jaw, the fact that her knuckles where stark white…and that there were tears in her eyes. Slowing his stride, he looked about – mostly to see if others had noticed, for the last thing the Swanns needed was their guest having a hysterical breakdown in the middle of the street. Instead, he found the source of her tears. Amelia Simmonds and her gaggle of ladies, standing between James and Miss Byrne with their backs turned to him. Their ignorance to his presence could be the only explanation for the words twittering from their mouths.

"She's not bad looking – I was expecting a savage."

"Not bad looking?" Amelia scoffed. "Her nose is crooked, her eyes are too far apart and very beady, her lips are too thin, and she has a jaw more befitting a man than a lady."

It might have been difficult to gather how Miss Simmonds had put together such a thorough assessment with what appeared to be mere minutes of observation, were it not for the fact that none of it was true. Since her arrival, James had hardly been ignorant to the fact that Miss Byrne's good looks – which were becoming more apparent as she recovered from her misadventure – would only bode ill if she was a malevolent force. Plenty of fools were only too happy to believe that a fair face could conceal nothing ill.

"She's tall, too, for a woman – and doesn't carry the height half so well as Miss Swann does."

"I had noted her poor posture myself," Amelia replied, a smile in her voice. "Likely earned from a lifetime of shovelling excrement and hauling crops. That's all her sort is good for – and even so, an ox can do the latter with more proficiency. And grace. You can dress it up in silk, but you can't hide it."

"Not with that accent."

"They should fall on their knees and thank us for ever taking an interest in their miserable little country. How could they manage without the King's supervision? Instead, here they are, begging once again for our guidance. How the Governor can stand to have one in his home, I'll never know-"

James could hear no more of this. Whatever his suspicions of Miss Byrne were, they were far from set in stone, and so there was every possibility in his mind that he was currently bearing witness to needless cruelty against a woman who had already been through much. Sighing quietly, he squared his shoulders and comforted himself with the fact that any awkwardness that would soon arise could not match the regret he would feel in his home tonight if he sat back and did nothing.

"Miss Byrne."

His voice was unnaturally loud and bright even to his own ears – but it did the job. The women fell silent, turning with slack jaws and parting as he strode through their little group and straight towards the one they'd just been picking apart, knowing full well she could hear every word.

It was little wonder that, when she turned and caught sight of him, the stony façade slipped for a moment and clear dread fleeted across her features before she managed to bury it. Given their prior encounters, she likely thought he was here to make it worse.

"Captain Norrington," she greeted him softly, looking away and blinking furiously in an effort to dispel her upset. "Good afternoon."

"It pleases me to see you looking so well-recovered. Are you well?"

At that, she forgot her tears and stared at him like he had gone quite mad. In response, he glanced in the side using his eyes only, in the vague direction of the women behind him. She caught on quickly – although she still seemed barely able to believe what was occurring. Their shock, he suspected, was only matched by that of the one standing before him.

"I…yes. Thank you. Yes. I think I tried to push myself a bit too quickly last time, but I feel much recovered now."

He forced a smile, all too aware of the utter silence that had befallen those behind him. "I can sympathise – I often find it difficult to remain idle. Still, it seems to have done you good."

"It has. That, and the kindness of the Swanns. They've been very generous with me."

As she spoke, she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, nervously looking anywhere but in the direction of the women (nor at him, by extension), almost visibly searching for something else to speak of lest he go racing off and leave him at the mercy of her critics once again.

"And what brings you into town today, might I ask?" he asked, clasping his hands behind his back and trying – for the first time in his life – to appear as easy and sociable as Groves.

It didn't come particularly naturally to him. Nor did he wish it to.

"Fresh air…some window-shopping…and, well, an ill-fated errand."

His brow furrowed. "You wish to purchase a window?"

A laugh bubbled up and out of her throat at that – and it was difficult to say who was more surprised by it, James or Miss Byrne herself, for she quashed it quickly and he found himself oddly disappointed by that fact.

"Sorry – no. It's just a turn of phrase."

It was then that he became aware of the predicament he'd stepped into. He'd entered this small-talk expecting Miss Byrne to use it as a way of excusing herself and slipping away, but she showed now signs of doing so. However, if he said his goodbyes and left her now, as he would have without any outside factors, the chatter would resume. Likely twice as fiercely, at that.

The pragmatic part of him may have been trying to furiously insist that he'd given her ample opportunity to take her leave and that she had not, so her predicament was thusly her own fault. But though her hands had unfurled from the tight fists they'd been in, there was still a distinct sheen to her gaze, and her jaw was clenched so fiercely shut that it was a wonder her teeth had not begun to crack. Could it be that she was so distressed that she hadn't recognised the exit he was providing her with?

"Perhaps…" he hesitated, and then resigned himself to his fate, "Perhaps I might walk you back to the Governor's mansion, and you can tell me of this ill-fated errand."

She blinked at him with wide eyes, and it was of some strange relief to him when he found that she was as reluctant to accept the offer as he had been to give it. In fact, she even seemed tempted to ask if he really meant it. Thankfully, she thought better of it. And then, for better or for worse, and accepted.

"All right. That would be nice – thank you. Maybe I could use the advice of a real Port Royal expert."

There was no denying she'd piqued his curiosity with that, and so James turned and waited for her to step into place by his side before they would walk. The journey, unfortunately, would take them right alongside the women he'd just all but rescued her from, but James had faced greater perils – and if Miss Byrne's story was to believed, so had she. He had to admit, however begrudgingly, that he was impressed by how she raised her chin and walked by them as if they hadn't just come perilously close to driving her to tears. He'd half expected her to brave the steps with her gaze cast downwards and her fingers picking anxiously at the sleeves of her dress.

All the same, once they turned the first corner and were out of sight (and now, likely, a hot topic of discussion), her shoulders dropped a good few inches in relief and she sighed quietly.

"Thank you for that. Really."

He saw no use in playing coy and pretending he did not know what she meant.

"It was no trouble."

"It was kind. And it was highly appreciated."

It was then that James recalled words spoken to him by Governor Swann – as he fought Miss Byrne's case, following their unfavourable introduction.

It seems to me that Miss Byrne, through circumstances we are not yet aware of, has learned over the course of her life not to expect kindness, nor help. Perhaps not even decency. That is where her words came from, not disrespect. Elizabeth says Miss Byrne ties herself in knots every time we have the servants alter one of my daughter's dresses so that she can wear them once she is well enough, you know. Hardly the behaviour of one setting out to take what she can and give nothing back. And Elizabeth has a mind to adjust that sad world-view for the better, and I have no mind to dissuade her from that goal – especially not as she herself seems all the happier for it.

James had not the heard to argue with that. Not then, and not now. The Governor had referenced the fact, albeit tactfully, that Elizabeth had not managed to find any kindred spirits among the Port Royal ladies. Given the display he'd just witnessed, James could see why. If Miss Byrne proved to be a remedy to that fact, he could never begrudge her that. So long as Miss Byrne meant no harm. And he had not enough proof of that to be comfortable. Yet.

"You don't have to walk me back, you know. They can't see us – I can make the rest of the way on my own."

"I said that I would," he said, "And you have not yet told me of this ill-fated errand. I confess myself curious."

She sighed and continued walking alongside him. At first he thought she meant not to answer at all, but when he glanced at her again he found her frowning at the path ahead, and he could see she was trying to decide where best to begin.

"That sort of thing doesn't usually get to me," she said finally. "I don't usually…cry. It was ridiculous of me, I shouldn't have gotten upset – I shouldn't have given them any sort of reaction. It was what they were after."

James bowed his head, uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had unexpectedly taken. "It was understandable."

"Maybe, but it was also stupid. I'd just been in to see the jeweller, you see."

"The jeweller?" he frowned.

A strange destination for one who had washed up on their shores with nothing.

"Yes, it's…"

Trailing off, she sighed once more and then sifted through her skirts in order to find the pockets concealed within. Once found, she reached a hand in and withdrew what looked to be a necklace – and a strange necklace, at that. The chain was thicker than most, with a solid but cleanly cut heart-shaped pendant. It was flat, albeit just slightly thicker than a shilling, with no engravings or jewels adorning it. Still, simplistic or no, it was fine. Surprisingly fine. And were it a souvenir from past misdeeds, he doubted she'd be so foolish as to needlessly showcase it around Port Royal.

"May I?" he asked.

She handed it to him. Reluctantly. James was almost tempted to be amused by that – what did she think? That he would abscond with it? Or send it hurtling into the bushes? She trusted him enough, at least, to comply. He could work with that.

"This is all I have from home," she explained. "It was a birthday gift from my father a few years ago. Elizabeth is very taken with it, she says she's never seen anything similar around here. And you have to understand, when I eat it's from their kitchen, when I dress it's from Elizabeth's wardrobe, when I sleep it's under their roof, when I needed a doctor it was them that paid the bill, and I…I have nothing. I have no way to show my thanks in a way that could ever be sufficient."

Seeing that she was far from finished, James handed her the necklace back wordlessly. She accepted it quickly, holding it tightly in her fist as she brought it to her chest in a way that didn't seem entirely deliberate.

"If it wasn't so sentimental, I'd give her it in a heartbeat. But it was from my father, and I don't know if…well."

A moment was needed, then, for her to collect herself.

"Miss Swann would never knowingly accept it, given all that you have said of it, if indeed she knows how much it means to you," he said – aware of how the awkwardness seeped into his voice.

"I know that. And it wouldn't be much of a thank-you gift if she'd only feel guilty once she knew all of the facts. So I went to the jeweller today – I had a few coins from home and I knew that even if they weren't valued as money, they might be worth something. He pretty much laughed in my face and told me it would barely be enough to make a necklace of tin. Elizabeth doesn't seem like a tin kind of lady. Offering her nothing would be better than offering her that."

"I'm sure she would appreciate the gesture, if nothing else."

"Of course she would, she'd be very kind about it, but that would just make it even more embarrassing. Like when a child makes something and you pretend it's a masterpiece in order to please them."

James snorted, watching with curiosity as she opened up her palm again and frowned down at the necklace.

"Maybe I should just give her it," she sighed quietly. "It's only a thing. My dad would laugh if he saw how much sentimental value I was putting on it."

Something in that statement gave him pause. Could it be that she truly was the daughter of a soldier, then? How often had it been hammered into his men (and James himself, too, when he was a lad) not to place too much sentimental value on things. Things, after all, could be all to easily lost in the heat of battle – particularly when that battle was at sea. Even more foolish than falling apart over it was to risk one's life to try and retrieve it before the ship went down. It seemed a strange mindset for a man to pass down onto his daughter, but James could not pretend he was blind to the logic in it.

"The choice is yours. However…I would caution you against it."

"Yeah," she sighed, and then seemed to give herself a shake. "Yes. You're probably right. Anyway, the jeweller wasn't particularly kind about the whole thing – so I was grappling with the disappointment, the embarrassment of being treated like the world's biggest imbecile, and then…that. And worse, I couldn't even say anything in my defence because the last thing the Swanns need is their guest starting arguments in the streets. I'd just be giving those women what they wanted – and you know when they recounted their version of events, they'd conveniently leave out the provocation that preceded it."

A surprising amount of eloquence from one who purported to have such humble origins. It was of some small relief that he noted that it was hardly the speech of a pirate, either.

"Why not leave?"

"I didn't want 'em to think they'd run me off."

"And so your solution was to stand there and silently listen to it all."

"Well, when you put it like that it doesn't sound like the masterplan I believed it to be."

James laughed. Just a little one, but he couldn't help it – there was something oddly disarming about her humour that caught him off-guard. When he didn't have cause to find it tiresome.

"I'm sorry you got roped into it," she added.

"There are a number of people who should be offering their apologies for what just took place. You are not among them."

She nodded and offered a weary smile – although she may not have agreed, based on the fact that she said no more. There was still much of the walk to continue on with, thus far they had barely left the town behind them, progressing onto the dirt roads that the carriages used by those who lived further up the settlement. The quiet, at least, and the relative lack of eyes on them, gave James an opportunity to think.

Apparently, he took so long in doing so that he dragged her out of whatever thought she was lost in when he spoke again.

"The blacksmith."

"Sorry?"

"The blacksmith – or, rather, his apprentice. Not Mr Brown."

"Will- er, William Turner, isn't it?"

"The very one. You know of him?"

"I've heard of him. We've never met."

Uneasiness flitted through James at that, and he found himself hoping that she knew of him because of the similarities in their coming to Port Royal, and not because Elizabeth had taken to speaking of him often.

"He may be able to help you."

"A blacksmith?" she asked doubtfully.

"Think of the craftsmanship that goes into all of the elements of a sword's hilt. And a scabbard, oftentimes. Mr Turner is…well, he may be swayed. Should you bring him your coins and your tale of woe."

"My tale of woe?"

James snorted at the sheer disgust that laced her tone. "For lack of less melodramatic phrasing. Although melodrama is what I'm recommending, on this sole occasion."

"I'll practise my blubbering."

"You did not get the idea from me, should anyone ask."

"Of course not. Thank you."

They lapsed into silence then, and he was relieved to find that she didn't rush to fill it with inane chatter about the weather, or the walk itself. Nor of the eyes that seemed to follow them from behind the windows of the few carriages that rumbled by them. They drew fairly near to the Governor's mansion when she next spoke.

"I'm not keeping you from your work, am I?"

"No, I was at lunch."

"That's worse, I think."

"I do not ordinarily take it – I use the time to go walking instead, and so the time was spent as it ordinarily might be."

Even if it was with a touch more awkwardness and sociability than he'd usually opt for. Lunch was usually a break from people, but it seemed she was already grappling with the temptation to apologise again and so he disguised that fact. In any case, if she began warming up to him, he'd be more likely to learn more about her. Such would not be the case if he heaped guilt upon awkwardness.

"Don't they say an army marches on its stomach?" she asked instead.

"They do. Thankfully I am in the navy, and so I sail in place of marching."

She laughed quietly – a sound that was surprisingly soft and warm. "Touché."

By then they were at the gates that would lead up to the Governor's mansion, and James had already begun to slow when Miss Byrne stopped.

"If I can ask one more thing of you, Captain…" she hesitated, and James felt warier than he would show. "If you wouldn't mind not telling Elizabeth – or Governor Swann, for that matter – about this, here, today. With the women. They'd…she'd want to do something. Or say something. I don't want to bother her with it. She's done enough for me, and it's only as big a thing as I make of it, you know?"

James considered it a moment, and then he sighed. "Very well."

He had to concede that she had a point – and the smile he was rewarded with was not half to weary as the others, almost as bright as the hair that blazed atop her head in the warm afternoon sun.

"Great. Thank you. Really – you've been an utter legend today. I know we got off on a questionable foot, so I appreciate your stepping in all the same. And the advice."

I suppose I found her rather charming. That was what Groves had said, was it not? He supposed he could see why – but much of it was lost beneath the endless questions that surrounded her. More still, now that he'd seen her necklace, spoken properly with her, and begun to suspect that she really had been speaking truthfully when she claimed she was able to read.

Thankfully, he was a resourceful man. Answers, he did not doubt, would follow suit. He would see it so.

Notes: What's this? Amiability? Chivalry? Don't worry, it won't last. I know we haven't seen Elizabeth for a bit, too, but fear not – she'll return with a bang in the next chapter! She was originally going to be in this one, but the length was getting on a bit anyway, and the scene works better if I slot it into the next one, anyway.

As far as the status of Ireland and England as far as this time period is concerned, here is what Wikipedia says – "During this time, Ireland was nominally an autonomous Kingdom with its own Parliament; in actuality it was a client state controlled by the King of Great Britain and supervised by his cabinet in London." So while not officially under control of England, I find it feasible to think it would be common enough knowledge for the likes of Port Royal's upper crust to comment on it.

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