-Matters of Duty-
Author's note: This is an idea that's been swirling since last November, which is also when I started writing it. I hope this lives up to the quality of Little Miracles and that it's enjoyed as well.
Disclaimer: The party of the first part (this author) hereby swears that she owns nothing previously owned by the party of the second part (Disney and their film-making associates). The party of the first part also agrees to take no money for the writing of this fanfiction, and also agrees to take no credit for the lines of dialogue and scenes as heard and seen in the movie Pirates of the Caribbean.
Secondary Author's note: I've been making revisions and corrections (among them being Lt. Groves, and little mistakes I didn't catch before), and hopefully will be able to get writing on this again. I have not forgotten about this story, though, so don't worry about it not getting finished.
Do your duty in all things. You could not do more. You would not wish to do less. - Robert E. Lee
Chapter 1
The sun had risen with the promise of a beautiful, clear day. As he made his way down from the top of the battlements after his morning stroll, Captain James Norrington found himself partially dreading the ceremony later in the day. It wasn't the promotion he dreaded; indeed, he looked forward to taking the next step in his career. It was the ceremony of the whole affair—which the governor insisted on—that he would have preferred to do without.
The various members of society would be attending at Governor Swann's invitation, and all would likely try to speak with him of things he had no desire to know. Topics such as how much money they made in the last month from their different plantations or how many barrels of rum or tobacco they shipped out held no interest for him when lives were at stake. And it wasn't just business they spoke of, nor was it just the men trying to gain his attention. Men and women alike were all constantly harping about how fair their daughters were and how much their dowries were.
If he had wanted to hear such things, he could simply request a return to England and listen to the prattle of his own parents and their friends. It would be no more enjoyable than it was here, though perhaps much worse. He had a feeling the attention would only get worse with his promotion.
He wanted nothing more than to have the day pass so he would have all the obligatory pleasantries over with. Briefly, he went over which members of society were likely to be there, which ones he would have take more care in avoiding, and what to do should one of society's leeches corner him.
As he slowly worked his way back down into the fort's corridors for breakfast, he wished now, more than ever, that he were out on patrol. Instead, with the untimely death of Jonathan McDonald—the man previously stationed over Port Royal and the local waters—a little over five months ago, James had moved up, as the port's ranking officer, to coordinate the patrols at sea and on land as well as maintaining supplies and defenses and keep the general peace in the area until a replacement could be sent.
Imagine his surprise when that replacement didn't come in the form of another person, but in his own ascension to the rank of commodore.
The Admiralty must obviously have found his work and record to be satisfactory enough to promote him. The fact that he was fairly well placed on the captain's list after a short amount of time no doubt helped in influencing their decision to allow him the post. But while he would gain the benefits of having pay and uniform equal to that of a rear admiral, he was still just a captain—one with higher acknowledgement and responsibility, but a captain nonetheless.
The officer's dining room was nearly full as he entered, and he noticed several broad smiles on the faces of his fellow officers, as well as a few envious expressions. That was the way of things, though. Not even the Navy was immune to competition for position, as much as it irritated him. Everyone fought to get to the top of the list, and everyone was always trying to advance his rank and position by any means possible according to their own personal codes.
"Here he comes, Gentlemen. Commodore James Norrington," called Lieutenant Nathaniel Gillette as James made his way to the chair across from his long-time friend. "How does it feel, James?"
James removed his hat, hanging it on the back of his chair. "I wouldn't know, Nathan. I have yet to officially gain said rank," he replied as he sat down with his two closest friends. A marine brought his meal and after quietly thanking the man, he tucked in with dignity as befitted his stature.
"Ask him again this evening, Nathan. Surely he would know by then," said Theodore Groves, another close friend and lieutenant.
"To truly know, it would be best to ask me in at least several months," James responded mildly without looking up from his plate. "One can never tell by the end of the first day, you know."
"Ah, but you have already had several months of being a sort of unofficial commodore. I highly doubt your duties will be any different than what you are currently doing," said Nathan.
"Being a commodore would be much more dull, I should think," Theodore commented before taking a small sip of his coffee. "More responsibilities, more paperwork, more dinner parties and the like to attend."
"A higher pay rate, a more elaborate uniform, a larger share of prize money for captured ships, more freedom to get more things done as they should be, and did I mention more money?" Gillette returned.
Groves snorted in a rather undignified way. "I grant the money issue would, indeed, be an improvement, but it would just mean more men trying to shove their daughters off on you, more aspects of a uniform to keep tidy, more time stuck behind a desk, which could mean less time out at s—"
"Gentlemen, we are officers in His Majesty's Navy," Norrington cut in mildly. He calmly sipped his tea and looked to his friends before continuing. "We are not the local plantation owners quarrelling over whose export is better." His mouth twisted into a wry smile as his friends quieted down.
"And there is certainly no better career choice than to be an honorable officer of the British Royal Navy. Not only is it among the strongest forces in the world, but it gives one a way to enjoy the freedom of the seas with consistent pay," Gillette added, then amended himself. "Or fairly consistent pay, part of the time."
"Indeed," Theodore agreed. James also noted as he finished off his meal that several of the other officers had been listening in, and voiced their agreements as well. "Though I don't care so much for the money as I do the fact that I get to see new places."
"Ah, but without money—"
"Gentlemen, as much as I would like to listen to you continue this argu- -ahem- conversation, I must ask that you please excuse me. The morning's reports await me," he said as he reluctantly pushed his chair back and stood.
"But today is your promotion!" Gillette said.
"Which does not mean everything must stop, Nathan, you know that. The reports are still there, and must still be reviewed. It is unlikely I will find time later today; therefore they must be seen to now. I would prefer to be better informed, in any case." He paused, noting the appraising look on Theodore's face. "What?"
"You." The man smirked, then pointed a finger at James. "You, Sir, are merely thinking to review the reports to see if there is some way of wiggling out of some of the parties that will undoubtedly follow the ceremony."
James schooled his features into the mask he used for command, but it was the dry tone he allowed that countered the blank expression. "Of course, Theo, how ever could I be so careless as to let you see what my plans are. That is exactly what I am doing. And while I am trying to find a way out of today's events, I might as well send the two of you to the parties in my place."
"You would do no such thing to your friends," Gillette reasoned. "Especially two capable of nasty little things."
James raised an eyebrow as he pushed his chair back in. "You mean 'two who think they are capable of nasty little things' don't you? Until later, Gentlemen." He retrieved his hat and left the room, heading for his office further down the corridor.
The day was going to be far more busy than usual and it was in his best interest to get as much done now while he could. Aside from some of his usual duties, he had his promotion ceremony, the reception that would follow, where some of the plantation owners and merchants were certain to corner him in hopes of gaining favor and thus more protection for their shipments.
He also realized that Elizabeth Swann had begun to influence many of his thoughts of late. She was intelligent and had retained her child-like curiosity and fascination with things— though, usually all things concerning pirates, much to his chagrin—that endeared her all the more to him. She was more lively and daring, and, dare he even think it, passionate than any of her peers. She drew pleasure from simply living and that in itself made it difficult to keep his attention away from her. He had known her since she was a child but because of that, he wasn't entirely certain she would accept.
He knew of many young women on the island who all but threw themselves at him—or were thrown by their parents, for that matter—because of his social standing, but that hardly made them attractive. Miss Swann didn't seek his attention, which, admittedly, could be taken either way. That made him a touch nervous, though it was likely it was because of their differing opinions concerning pirates.
Though he knew he could be perfectly content to continue as he was, he was becoming…lonely. When he looked around and saw so many of his fellow officers, soldiers and sailors with families to return to and greet them, he saw and felt a void in his life, in his heart, that was ever-growing and more consuming with each passing day. He hated this feeling, but he was powerless to be rid of it without taking action of some sort.
All he needed was the courage to approach Miss Swann.
He entered his office, the largest in the fort, but still somewhat small, and paused a moment. He removed his hat, followed by his coat, and sighed in relief while he fought the urge to scratch at his head. With the hat off, the wig he was forced to wear didn't itch near as much as it did otherwise. He would have thought that he would have gotten used to it by now, but he hadn't. Not really. It bothered his ears where loose, stiff little hairs prickled his skin more than anything. It was part of his uniform, however, and he would continue to wear it despite the fact that he detested the thing at times.
He settled in behind his desk and glanced over what was before him. The leather satchel was on the far right that would contain everything to be sent to England next to the stack of reports he had gotten this morning. On the left were the month's budgets for food, gun powder, ammunition for the cannons, muskets and pistols, and other supplies like candles and what few medical needs they had. Next to that, was the fitness report telling the status of wounded or ill soldiers followed by a few disciplinary reports.
He focused first on the budget and supplies. Soldiers without the items they were entitled to were unhappy soldiers and thus more likely to revolt. Likewise, the English Navy couldn't operate properly without shot or powder. Pirates and opposing countries could run Jamaica over in a heartbeat without some way to fight back.
Later, he was just starting to read over the dispatches from England when a loud thumping startled him. "Sir! I have a matter of somewhat importance!" Gillette called out as he knocked on the door.
"I certainly hope you are not going to yell it to me from the other side of the door. You may come in." Gillette came through the door with two marines standing reluctantly in the doorway. James glanced up momentarily before looking back up and reclining in his chair as he forced a neutral expression. "What happened to your uniform, Lieutenant?"
"These two were arguing. They weren't paying attention. They threw a bucket of water on me!" Gillette answered, obviously indignant. He was typically very meticulous about his appearance, though one wouldn't expect it from the way he behaved at times, and to see him so discomfited was rather amusing.
"That's not entirely true, Sir," said one of the marines, a Mister Angus Mullroy, if he wasn't mistaken. "We were just having a friendly discussion and he walked into it."
"That's right, Sir. He just walked right into it," said the other. Murtogg was his name. Giles Murtogg. It was very rare to see one without the other, and after speaking with one on one of those rare occasions, he had found out that the two had been trained together. Through some strange luck or fate, they had somehow managed to have the same posts through all these years.
"And where, exactly did this…mishap occur?"
Gillette stiffened. "Near the main gate." James watched, secretly amused, as Gillette lowered his head slightly and continued, mumbling the rest.
"What was that, Lieutenant?"
"I said it was near the main gate during the change of the guards."
It took a few moments before James could manage to speak without allowing any sign of his amusement through. "And what would you have me do about this?"
"I don't know. Something. They shouldn't get away with dousing an officer with dirty water."
James glanced at the two marines. He could tell they were worried about what would be decided. He could also tell that everyone was at fault in some way and decided that all three should be punished in some form for not paying better attention. He wouldn't want them to pay for that later if they were caught unaware. James smiled.
"Very well. Lieutenant Gillette, for not paying attention to where you were going, you will be officer of the afternoon watch aboard the Dauntless for the rest of the week beginning tomorrow; you'll not be wriggling out of today's social gathering, either." He could see Murtogg and Mullroy trying to control their amusement. The afternoon watches could get incredibly hot and dull at times where the large ship lay anchored, and everyone knew it. "Mister Murtogg and Mister Mullroy, because you did not pay attention to where you were dumping the water, you will spend the rest of this watch today and the rest of the week guarding the Interceptor. No civilians are to set foot on those docks. Is that understood?" he asked, looking to all three men.
"Yes, Sir," they answered.
"Good. Now that that is settled, I am certain there are things needing done. You are dismissed." He returned their salutes and waited until they had shut the door behind them before turning back to the dispatches.
Like it? Hate it? Let me know. ;)
I know the beginning might seem a bit slow or strange, but please bear with me, as beginnings are sometimes not my strong point. Then again, neither are endings.
I'm also not entirely sure how my update schedule will be. I'll try to update every weekend at the very least, but I also have classes starting again in a little over a week, so I'll mostly be playing it by ear.
- Gaeruil