Fic: (PotC) True North 1/1
Feb. 3rd, 2004 01:22 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mimesereTITLE: True North
AUTHOR: Sheila (mimesere@earthlink.net)
RATING: PG.
SPOILER: Um. Duh?
SUMMARY: Will chooses a direction.
DISCLAIMER: House of Mouse.
*
Already Isla de Muerta feels like a nightmare, and there is a moment upon waking when Will can tell himself that's all it was: a horrible dream that will drift away under the Caribbean sun. He listens for Mr. Brown's groans or the quiet babble of Port Royal in the morning, but all he hears is the somber rat-a-tat of drums and the slow rustle of movement around him.
He sits up carefully, but the hammock swings drunkenly beneath him and it takes more effort than it should to keep from spilling out across the deck. No cabin for him, a poor blacksmith, and Norrington had waved him away, put him in the hands of a lieutenant for safekeeping, and the lieutenant had left him here among the sailors and marines.
And it is the lieutenant who comes for him after the others have shuffled off, saying, "You're wanted on deck."
"A trial?" asks Will.
"Make yourself presentable," says the lieutenant, and he must be new to the fort because Will knows most of the officers by name.
Will nods and the lieutenant melts away into the gloom belowdecks. It could all still be a dream.
And even if it is, which it could be, as there's no saying what parts of life are lived dreaming or waking, nor does it much matter since living is living whether one is sleeping or--
God help him, Jack Sparrow is *catching*.
Will tumbles out of his hammock and the shock of landing trembles up his legs. He is graceless at sea and that is just one more reason to avoid ever setting foot on it again. He searches for his stockings, filthy and torn though they are. Presentability demands them and he would so hate to refuse an order.
*
Everyone is assembled on deck. The marines are fair to blinding in the brightness of their coats and the sailors are all pressed and neat in their uniforms. The officers are a solid rank of blue and white and glittering gold, and were Norrington any less than he is, he would be lost among them. But Will knows better, and Norrington is easy enough to pick out, standing, as he does, in a space all his own.
And then there is Jack.
Will's stomach clenches when he sees that Jack's hands are free. Surely Norrington would not be so stupid--
But no. Norrington is not so stupid, and Will is not sure if the marines flanking Jack are a relief or a cause for dismay. It is a measure of Jack's charm that Will had not even noticed them until panic set him looking.
Two guards and his hands free, and Jack is nearer the railing than anyone save Norrington. But he makes no move toward escape and Will is half-considering what possible distraction he can cause that would help when he sees the twelve sewn hammocks in front of Norrington and realizes that his purpose is not to stand witness, but to bear it.
The door to the main cabin opens, and Governor Swann steps out, looking as dignified as Will has ever seen him. He holds out his arm and Elizabeth places her hand on it. She is so beautiful that Will's heart twists in his chest, and he fears that he will not be able to breathe. And even so, he does wonder who had the presence of mind to bring her dresses.
Elizabeth doesn't look at him. Her eyes are only for her fiance.
Norrington begins. "'I am the resurrection and the life...'"
Will steals another glance at Elizabeth, who looks near tears. He's taken a step towards her before he realizes it. Norrington does not look away from his book and it burns to know that she could fall weeping to the deck, and Norrington would go on, rolling out the words like the tide and never a break in his voice. Will clenches his fists at his sides. How can he not *see*?
Jack catches his eye and shakes his head. The expression on his face is unusually still and sober. No talk now of the opportune moment or of rules and ability. Will bows his head and looks away from Elizabeth for what time he can.
Norrington has not seen any of it, which is not to say that it has gone unnoticed. Will's mysterious lieutenant frowns darkly at him and several other of the crew's faces look less than friendly.
Realization is a blow with a cutting edge.
Will looks around at the men surrounding him; those that are not focused on their captain and the service are looking at him and Jack and Elizabeth. He can feel the weight of accusation settling onto his shoulders. Elizabeth's head is high, but she's pale and her hand on her father's arm is shaking.
The service continues.
*
The day heats almost unbearably, and even those sailors not on watch find their way out into the fresher air. They mill about until Will is lost in the crowd, and it is only when he hears a muttered comment that he realizes Elizabeth is out with them.
She walks beside Norrington, her arm tucked neatly through his as they stroll about the quarterdeck. Will is too far to hear what they're saying, but there is no smile on Elizabeth's face and there is a small part of him that is glad of it. There is no smile from Norrington and Will wonders, unkindly, if the man has any idea of how to smile, or if he has a heart at all.
He wants to run up and pull them apart, to drop to his knees and profess his love for her, to steal away with her in the night and find an island where they can imagine themselves in a Paradise of their own, without duty or obligation binding them--
The opportune moment. And Norrington took it.
*
Will finds Norrington by listening to the officers grumble about their wardroom. There is a marine posted outside the door, but Will holds out his empty hands and he is let through.
"I thought I--Mr. Turner." Norrington has, at some point, discarded his jacket, waistcoat, cravat, and wig. It's been years since Will has seen Norrington in anything less than full uniform, and longer still since he's seen the man without a wig. His hair is cut almost brutally short and it looks a great deal as if Norrington has been clutching at his head in frustration, for his hair sticks up in sweatdamp tufts.
Will feels, rather inexplicably, embarrassed. "Ah," he says intelligently. "Your quill is dripping."
And it is, all over his paper, leaving large blots of ink to mar the careful writing.
"Damn!" says Norrington. He sets the quill aside and dabs at the ink, but whatever it is is ruined. "What is it, Mr. Turner?"
"What's going to happen when we reach Port Royal?" That is not what Will had intended to ask, but it will do just as well.
"You and Jack Sparrow will be put on trial. Given the number of witnesses to your actions, I have very little doubt that you will be found guilty."
"And then?"
Norrington's smile is humorless and thin. "And then Elizabeth shall plead for your life and Governor Swann, being the doting father that he is, will no doubt grant you a pardon for *treason* and you will not be hanged by the neck until you are dead, as you so richly deserve."
"You would have done the same in my place," says Will. His voice does not shake and that is a thing to be proud of. "If you love her as you say."
"I would not have done the same, Mr. Turner, and therein lies the difference between us." Norrington settles back into his chair.
"You were just going to let them take her--" Will is cut off when Norrington's hand slams down onto the table.
"You will apologize," Norrington snaps. "And I will accept it, and you will not speak of things you clearly do not understand."
Will leans forward, bracing his hands against the table. "My apologies. Commodore."
Norrington's jaw clenches. "Accepted," he says tightly.
"And what would you have done?"
"Exactly. As. I. Did." Norrington sits back slowly, but does not relax. "There are advantages and disadvantages to being a commodore in His Majesty's Navy. One of those advantages is ready access to any number of ships." He pauses. "Astonishing, really, how everyone seems to have realized that but you. Or do you really think that I consult maps and assemble the fleet simply for my health?"
Will says nothing.
"Hm. No? Interesting," says Norrington, sounding as if he finds it anything but. "You are not the only man who cares for Elizabeth. Nor, in fact, are you the only man capable of swift action. But we are not all so free in our choices as you are, Mr. Turner, nor are we all so blessed with luxury in our consequences. Elizabeth...cares for you, and as a result, you will not be facing the gallows as you have earned. I do not even find myself regretting that. But do not act as if yours was the only action to be taken and do not presume to tell *me* what I would have or should have done." Norrington leans forward again and picks up his quill. "You may leave."
Will takes a step back, and another. "What about Jack?"
"Mr. Sparrow will hang for crimes against the Crown." Norrington pulls a sheet of paper toward him. "Is that all?"
"It's not right," says Will fiercely. "He's a good man."
Norrington's expression is...interesting. "Being a good man is rarely enough to warrant the smallest kindness," he says. "It is certainly not enough to redeem a wicked life."
Will takes another step back.
"Good evening, Mr. Turner."
"Commodore."
*
They're holding Jack in the master's cabin. Happily, Will knows both the marines on guard duty from nights in the King's Arms, sharing pitchers of ale until the ground seems as steady as a ship in a storm. Roberts lets him in, "but only for a bit, mind?"
Norrington is no fool, and Jack's hands have been chained behind his back. But he flashes Will a grin and from behind him comes the heavy jangle of iron links. "Don't suppose you've got some clever trick hidden in that head of yours."
Will shakes his head and sits down abruptly. "I'm sorry, Jack."
Jack shrugs with one shoulder. "If there's not a thing to be done, then there's no sense in worrying 'til there may be."
Will huffs a laugh and buries his face in his hands. "It's all gone so wrong."
"Going to hang you, are they?" Jack's voice is rough with sympathy. "Well, it's to be expected. You made a fine pirate and it'll be an honor to die beside you."
Will shakes his head. "They're not going to hang me. Or...I don't know. Norrington--"
"Ah, well, *Norrington*," says Jack. He half shrugs again. "He's a tricky one."
"It's not *right*, Jack. You don't deserve--"
"Here now, I do deserve." Jack glares at him. "I've not done everything that's said I've done, but I'll claim most to my credit. It's no easy thing being an enemy of the Crown, young William, and I'll not have you slandering my name with 'don't deserve.'"
Will briefly considers banging his head into the wall. "You're a good man."
"And goodness will get you less than you deserve and no amount of joy at all." Jack shudders delicately. "I'm a thief and a scoundrel, and I'll thank you to remember me as such."
"Jack--"
"Will--"
Will considers hitting him. Jack would not expect it.
But then, it *is* Jack.
"What are you going to do?"
"Bit of praying. Bit of drinking if I can convince someone that no man should meet his Maker without a bit of rum to soften theblow." Jack settles himself down next to Will and nudges him in the shoulder. "There's no situation so dire that it cannot be repaired by the liberal addition of alcohol."
Will does laugh then. "You are--"
"Despicable," offers Jack. "Reprehensible. Immoral. Thorougly irredeemable. A black-hearted scoundrel and scalawag."
"And a good man."
Jack tsks and shakes his head. "Are you still on about that? A bit of advice, being as it's the only thing of value I've got at the moment. Are you listening?"
"Yes."
"Ah--"
"Get *on* with it."
"You've a good heart and a good head. Use them both," says Jack, and he pauses a moment before continuing. "Preferably together."
"That's it," says Will. "That's your valuable advice."
Jack nods.
"You want me to think."
Jack nods again. "Don't forget about your heart. That's a part of it."
Will opens his mouth. Closes it. He stares at Jack, who looks back at him peacefully.
It's *unnerving*.
"I'll get you some rum," says Will finally.
"Good lad."
*
Will does procure the rum. He steals it, in fact, and when he tells Jack, Jack just laughs and thanks him and eases him on his way. It's in him to offer to stay, but the words die on his tongue.
Instead, he winds his through the crew quarters and back to his hammock. Maybe he'll go to sleep, and when he wakes up, he'll be back in the smithy and he will never have heard of Captain Jack Sparrow or seen the undead and his father will have been a merchant sailor.
Maybe he will wake up and the world will make sense again.
The ship creaks around him. Somewhere below, there is a hold filled with the undead. He has done all he can, and the curse is broken.
Elizabeth is going to marry Commodore Norrington.
Will swallows hard and ignores the ache in his chest.
And then there is Jack.
*
end.
So, I think I've worked out many of my Will issues. Go me.
AUTHOR: Sheila (mimesere@earthlink.net)
RATING: PG.
SPOILER: Um. Duh?
SUMMARY: Will chooses a direction.
DISCLAIMER: House of Mouse.
*
Already Isla de Muerta feels like a nightmare, and there is a moment upon waking when Will can tell himself that's all it was: a horrible dream that will drift away under the Caribbean sun. He listens for Mr. Brown's groans or the quiet babble of Port Royal in the morning, but all he hears is the somber rat-a-tat of drums and the slow rustle of movement around him.
He sits up carefully, but the hammock swings drunkenly beneath him and it takes more effort than it should to keep from spilling out across the deck. No cabin for him, a poor blacksmith, and Norrington had waved him away, put him in the hands of a lieutenant for safekeeping, and the lieutenant had left him here among the sailors and marines.
And it is the lieutenant who comes for him after the others have shuffled off, saying, "You're wanted on deck."
"A trial?" asks Will.
"Make yourself presentable," says the lieutenant, and he must be new to the fort because Will knows most of the officers by name.
Will nods and the lieutenant melts away into the gloom belowdecks. It could all still be a dream.
And even if it is, which it could be, as there's no saying what parts of life are lived dreaming or waking, nor does it much matter since living is living whether one is sleeping or--
God help him, Jack Sparrow is *catching*.
Will tumbles out of his hammock and the shock of landing trembles up his legs. He is graceless at sea and that is just one more reason to avoid ever setting foot on it again. He searches for his stockings, filthy and torn though they are. Presentability demands them and he would so hate to refuse an order.
*
Everyone is assembled on deck. The marines are fair to blinding in the brightness of their coats and the sailors are all pressed and neat in their uniforms. The officers are a solid rank of blue and white and glittering gold, and were Norrington any less than he is, he would be lost among them. But Will knows better, and Norrington is easy enough to pick out, standing, as he does, in a space all his own.
And then there is Jack.
Will's stomach clenches when he sees that Jack's hands are free. Surely Norrington would not be so stupid--
But no. Norrington is not so stupid, and Will is not sure if the marines flanking Jack are a relief or a cause for dismay. It is a measure of Jack's charm that Will had not even noticed them until panic set him looking.
Two guards and his hands free, and Jack is nearer the railing than anyone save Norrington. But he makes no move toward escape and Will is half-considering what possible distraction he can cause that would help when he sees the twelve sewn hammocks in front of Norrington and realizes that his purpose is not to stand witness, but to bear it.
The door to the main cabin opens, and Governor Swann steps out, looking as dignified as Will has ever seen him. He holds out his arm and Elizabeth places her hand on it. She is so beautiful that Will's heart twists in his chest, and he fears that he will not be able to breathe. And even so, he does wonder who had the presence of mind to bring her dresses.
Elizabeth doesn't look at him. Her eyes are only for her fiance.
Norrington begins. "'I am the resurrection and the life...'"
Will steals another glance at Elizabeth, who looks near tears. He's taken a step towards her before he realizes it. Norrington does not look away from his book and it burns to know that she could fall weeping to the deck, and Norrington would go on, rolling out the words like the tide and never a break in his voice. Will clenches his fists at his sides. How can he not *see*?
Jack catches his eye and shakes his head. The expression on his face is unusually still and sober. No talk now of the opportune moment or of rules and ability. Will bows his head and looks away from Elizabeth for what time he can.
Norrington has not seen any of it, which is not to say that it has gone unnoticed. Will's mysterious lieutenant frowns darkly at him and several other of the crew's faces look less than friendly.
Realization is a blow with a cutting edge.
Will looks around at the men surrounding him; those that are not focused on their captain and the service are looking at him and Jack and Elizabeth. He can feel the weight of accusation settling onto his shoulders. Elizabeth's head is high, but she's pale and her hand on her father's arm is shaking.
The service continues.
*
The day heats almost unbearably, and even those sailors not on watch find their way out into the fresher air. They mill about until Will is lost in the crowd, and it is only when he hears a muttered comment that he realizes Elizabeth is out with them.
She walks beside Norrington, her arm tucked neatly through his as they stroll about the quarterdeck. Will is too far to hear what they're saying, but there is no smile on Elizabeth's face and there is a small part of him that is glad of it. There is no smile from Norrington and Will wonders, unkindly, if the man has any idea of how to smile, or if he has a heart at all.
He wants to run up and pull them apart, to drop to his knees and profess his love for her, to steal away with her in the night and find an island where they can imagine themselves in a Paradise of their own, without duty or obligation binding them--
The opportune moment. And Norrington took it.
*
Will finds Norrington by listening to the officers grumble about their wardroom. There is a marine posted outside the door, but Will holds out his empty hands and he is let through.
"I thought I--Mr. Turner." Norrington has, at some point, discarded his jacket, waistcoat, cravat, and wig. It's been years since Will has seen Norrington in anything less than full uniform, and longer still since he's seen the man without a wig. His hair is cut almost brutally short and it looks a great deal as if Norrington has been clutching at his head in frustration, for his hair sticks up in sweatdamp tufts.
Will feels, rather inexplicably, embarrassed. "Ah," he says intelligently. "Your quill is dripping."
And it is, all over his paper, leaving large blots of ink to mar the careful writing.
"Damn!" says Norrington. He sets the quill aside and dabs at the ink, but whatever it is is ruined. "What is it, Mr. Turner?"
"What's going to happen when we reach Port Royal?" That is not what Will had intended to ask, but it will do just as well.
"You and Jack Sparrow will be put on trial. Given the number of witnesses to your actions, I have very little doubt that you will be found guilty."
"And then?"
Norrington's smile is humorless and thin. "And then Elizabeth shall plead for your life and Governor Swann, being the doting father that he is, will no doubt grant you a pardon for *treason* and you will not be hanged by the neck until you are dead, as you so richly deserve."
"You would have done the same in my place," says Will. His voice does not shake and that is a thing to be proud of. "If you love her as you say."
"I would not have done the same, Mr. Turner, and therein lies the difference between us." Norrington settles back into his chair.
"You were just going to let them take her--" Will is cut off when Norrington's hand slams down onto the table.
"You will apologize," Norrington snaps. "And I will accept it, and you will not speak of things you clearly do not understand."
Will leans forward, bracing his hands against the table. "My apologies. Commodore."
Norrington's jaw clenches. "Accepted," he says tightly.
"And what would you have done?"
"Exactly. As. I. Did." Norrington sits back slowly, but does not relax. "There are advantages and disadvantages to being a commodore in His Majesty's Navy. One of those advantages is ready access to any number of ships." He pauses. "Astonishing, really, how everyone seems to have realized that but you. Or do you really think that I consult maps and assemble the fleet simply for my health?"
Will says nothing.
"Hm. No? Interesting," says Norrington, sounding as if he finds it anything but. "You are not the only man who cares for Elizabeth. Nor, in fact, are you the only man capable of swift action. But we are not all so free in our choices as you are, Mr. Turner, nor are we all so blessed with luxury in our consequences. Elizabeth...cares for you, and as a result, you will not be facing the gallows as you have earned. I do not even find myself regretting that. But do not act as if yours was the only action to be taken and do not presume to tell *me* what I would have or should have done." Norrington leans forward again and picks up his quill. "You may leave."
Will takes a step back, and another. "What about Jack?"
"Mr. Sparrow will hang for crimes against the Crown." Norrington pulls a sheet of paper toward him. "Is that all?"
"It's not right," says Will fiercely. "He's a good man."
Norrington's expression is...interesting. "Being a good man is rarely enough to warrant the smallest kindness," he says. "It is certainly not enough to redeem a wicked life."
Will takes another step back.
"Good evening, Mr. Turner."
"Commodore."
*
They're holding Jack in the master's cabin. Happily, Will knows both the marines on guard duty from nights in the King's Arms, sharing pitchers of ale until the ground seems as steady as a ship in a storm. Roberts lets him in, "but only for a bit, mind?"
Norrington is no fool, and Jack's hands have been chained behind his back. But he flashes Will a grin and from behind him comes the heavy jangle of iron links. "Don't suppose you've got some clever trick hidden in that head of yours."
Will shakes his head and sits down abruptly. "I'm sorry, Jack."
Jack shrugs with one shoulder. "If there's not a thing to be done, then there's no sense in worrying 'til there may be."
Will huffs a laugh and buries his face in his hands. "It's all gone so wrong."
"Going to hang you, are they?" Jack's voice is rough with sympathy. "Well, it's to be expected. You made a fine pirate and it'll be an honor to die beside you."
Will shakes his head. "They're not going to hang me. Or...I don't know. Norrington--"
"Ah, well, *Norrington*," says Jack. He half shrugs again. "He's a tricky one."
"It's not *right*, Jack. You don't deserve--"
"Here now, I do deserve." Jack glares at him. "I've not done everything that's said I've done, but I'll claim most to my credit. It's no easy thing being an enemy of the Crown, young William, and I'll not have you slandering my name with 'don't deserve.'"
Will briefly considers banging his head into the wall. "You're a good man."
"And goodness will get you less than you deserve and no amount of joy at all." Jack shudders delicately. "I'm a thief and a scoundrel, and I'll thank you to remember me as such."
"Jack--"
"Will--"
Will considers hitting him. Jack would not expect it.
But then, it *is* Jack.
"What are you going to do?"
"Bit of praying. Bit of drinking if I can convince someone that no man should meet his Maker without a bit of rum to soften theblow." Jack settles himself down next to Will and nudges him in the shoulder. "There's no situation so dire that it cannot be repaired by the liberal addition of alcohol."
Will does laugh then. "You are--"
"Despicable," offers Jack. "Reprehensible. Immoral. Thorougly irredeemable. A black-hearted scoundrel and scalawag."
"And a good man."
Jack tsks and shakes his head. "Are you still on about that? A bit of advice, being as it's the only thing of value I've got at the moment. Are you listening?"
"Yes."
"Ah--"
"Get *on* with it."
"You've a good heart and a good head. Use them both," says Jack, and he pauses a moment before continuing. "Preferably together."
"That's it," says Will. "That's your valuable advice."
Jack nods.
"You want me to think."
Jack nods again. "Don't forget about your heart. That's a part of it."
Will opens his mouth. Closes it. He stares at Jack, who looks back at him peacefully.
It's *unnerving*.
"I'll get you some rum," says Will finally.
"Good lad."
*
Will does procure the rum. He steals it, in fact, and when he tells Jack, Jack just laughs and thanks him and eases him on his way. It's in him to offer to stay, but the words die on his tongue.
Instead, he winds his through the crew quarters and back to his hammock. Maybe he'll go to sleep, and when he wakes up, he'll be back in the smithy and he will never have heard of Captain Jack Sparrow or seen the undead and his father will have been a merchant sailor.
Maybe he will wake up and the world will make sense again.
The ship creaks around him. Somewhere below, there is a hold filled with the undead. He has done all he can, and the curse is broken.
Elizabeth is going to marry Commodore Norrington.
Will swallows hard and ignores the ache in his chest.
And then there is Jack.
*
end.
So, I think I've worked out many of my Will issues. Go me.
Re:
Date: 2004-02-04 08:54 am (UTC)mmm...Sparrington...*happy place*