Categories > Movies > Pirates of the Caribbean > Of Sinners and Saints
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His whole life, James Norrington has striven to be a man of honor. Those around him sometimes make this task difficult. Jack/Norrington (AU for DMC)
?Blocked
So much blood. There was so much of it. James been in battle, seen countless men bleed to death. Seen limbs severed and gaping wounds that revealed what God had intended to remain hidden. Had skewered men at the end of his sword. And never once had he felt this... this sickness within him. This heaviness and despair, the completely helplessness and fear that he felt now.
And it wasn't simply because it was a woman he was looking at. In his time in the service, James had seen too many women butchered and bleeding for gender alone to cause this feeling within him.
This wasn't just a woman and it wasn't just blood. It was a perversion. A twisted mockery of what was supposed to be a beautiful miracle of life. This was supposed to be natural. Childbirth. Women did this all the time with nothing more to show than a squalling babe and some stains on the sheets easily dealt with.
But not this woman. No. Not this woman, the woman' who'd never brought anything but trouble to James's life. Oh no. She could not give birth without a spectacle like every other women. This woman simply had to go out in a torrent of blood that soaked the linens and spread over the floor. That stained Elizabeth's dress and face and pooled at James's feet, leaving nothing but a desiccated corpse behind.
Mary Black. May she rest in peace. Rich auburn hair, muted green eyes, freckles. In life, she had been a very pretty girl. Even James had to admit that. Not beautiful, nor radiant, like Elizabeth, but pretty in her own way.
Not anymore. Now she was nothing but a body, skin waxy from blood loss. Her hair was damp, dark with sweat, body shriveled. Eyes forever closed.
She was gone. After everything she'd done. After all her planning an scheming to get exactly what she wanted out of life, she was gone. Brought down by a power greater than her own clever mind.
James held no hatred for her. No anger. What was done was done. He'd dug his grave as deeply as she'd dug her own and now, like her, he was prisoner of it.
Perhaps things might have been different. Perhaps there had been some moment where he could have made another choice and not lost the honor he so needed. If only...
"James," Elizabeth said from behind him. Her voice quivered. She trembled. Her eyes held a dazed expression and she wrung her bloodstained hands helplessly.
He should enquire as to her well-being, he knew. She'd been in the room during the birth while he'd been oblivious to the occurrence. And this was Elizabeth; she'd never seen a proper birth. And this... this had been a travesty.
The words didn't come, though. When he opened his mouth, he only could say, "The child?"
"In the kitchen. The midwife sent for a wet nurse when it became clear.... Oh James." Her hands flew to her mouth and tears started falling from her eyes.
Awkward, James stepped into her. His arms were stiff around her thin shoulders as they shook. His mind was not on the woman in his arms, but on the child. The orphan.
"What was it?"
Elizabeth didn't answer. She shook harder.
"It's a boy," Will answered from the door.
A boy. "And..."
"And he will live." Entering the room, Will gently pried Elizabeth away from James and held her. "They are in the kitchen, if you wish to see him."
Grateful, James smiled at Will and left the room. Elizabeth, for all her goodness and strength of heart did not understand James's behavior in all of this. She thought him a fool for not denouncing Mary's claims from the onset. She knew him well, but not deeply enough.
Will was a man after his own heart. Will understood.
The child was squalling fitfully when James entered the kitchen. Querulous wails filled the air, refusing to be soothed by the nurse's shushes and rocking.
"You the father?" the midwife asked.
He blinked, tearing his eyes away from the child to the unfamiliar woman. The midwife, he knew, lived in the outskirts of town, within an hour's ride. He'd never seen her in town, only her assistants. It was possible she hadn't heard the rumors.
James did not answer her question. "How is he?" he asked instead, returning his gaze to the baby.
"He is a strong one," the midwife answered. She took the child from the nurse and bounced him. "Strong lungs, strong constitution. Beautiful. He'll live a long and healthy life, mark my words." She placed the baby into his arms.
"I'll drop him," James protested, but he did not try to give him back.
"No, you won't. Father's always think they will, and I've never seen anyone drop one yet." She patted the child's head and looked up at him. "Any ideas for the name?"
He's not mine, James thought. I've no right.
"Gavin." The name fell from his lips easily, without a thought. "His name is Gavin."
"Gavin Norrington," the wet nurse said from her seat. She smiled at James, an admiring look in her eyes. "What a lovely name."
This woman James knew. Beautiful, with a dusky rose complexion, doll-like blue eyes, and golden hair. Mariah worked at a tavern nearby. She was, reportedly, of loose morals, but had a friendly and open temperament that event the most moral of men found her inoffensive. Even James. They'd flirted on occasion, but neither had pressed, James because such things were beneath him, and Mariah because she understood he was not interested.
He'd forgotten she'd had a child a week or so ago. Stillbirth. He'd sent the local doctor to make sure she was all right when he'd heard. Later, he'd sent meals from his own kitchens to help aid in her recovery.
"Mariah," he said.
"One friend to another, Commodore," she said. "When I heard that it was Mary's child that needed aid, I came as soon as I could." She rose, straightening her skirts as she did. "I knew her, gave her work when she first came. I know the circumstances she's been living under the past nine months. And, James." She put her hand on his arm. "I feel honor-bound to make an offer to you. To... to relieve you of the burden. I know that this child..."
"Is my son," he cut her off gently. "This child is my... my son."
Her mouth opened for a moment to protest--no doubt she knew a more likely suspect--but then closed it again. An understanding smile crossed her face and she nodded. "Of course," she said, returning to her seat. "He's your son."
And it wasn't simply because it was a woman he was looking at. In his time in the service, James had seen too many women butchered and bleeding for gender alone to cause this feeling within him.
This wasn't just a woman and it wasn't just blood. It was a perversion. A twisted mockery of what was supposed to be a beautiful miracle of life. This was supposed to be natural. Childbirth. Women did this all the time with nothing more to show than a squalling babe and some stains on the sheets easily dealt with.
But not this woman. No. Not this woman, the woman' who'd never brought anything but trouble to James's life. Oh no. She could not give birth without a spectacle like every other women. This woman simply had to go out in a torrent of blood that soaked the linens and spread over the floor. That stained Elizabeth's dress and face and pooled at James's feet, leaving nothing but a desiccated corpse behind.
Mary Black. May she rest in peace. Rich auburn hair, muted green eyes, freckles. In life, she had been a very pretty girl. Even James had to admit that. Not beautiful, nor radiant, like Elizabeth, but pretty in her own way.
Not anymore. Now she was nothing but a body, skin waxy from blood loss. Her hair was damp, dark with sweat, body shriveled. Eyes forever closed.
She was gone. After everything she'd done. After all her planning an scheming to get exactly what she wanted out of life, she was gone. Brought down by a power greater than her own clever mind.
James held no hatred for her. No anger. What was done was done. He'd dug his grave as deeply as she'd dug her own and now, like her, he was prisoner of it.
Perhaps things might have been different. Perhaps there had been some moment where he could have made another choice and not lost the honor he so needed. If only...
"James," Elizabeth said from behind him. Her voice quivered. She trembled. Her eyes held a dazed expression and she wrung her bloodstained hands helplessly.
He should enquire as to her well-being, he knew. She'd been in the room during the birth while he'd been oblivious to the occurrence. And this was Elizabeth; she'd never seen a proper birth. And this... this had been a travesty.
The words didn't come, though. When he opened his mouth, he only could say, "The child?"
"In the kitchen. The midwife sent for a wet nurse when it became clear.... Oh James." Her hands flew to her mouth and tears started falling from her eyes.
Awkward, James stepped into her. His arms were stiff around her thin shoulders as they shook. His mind was not on the woman in his arms, but on the child. The orphan.
"What was it?"
Elizabeth didn't answer. She shook harder.
"It's a boy," Will answered from the door.
A boy. "And..."
"And he will live." Entering the room, Will gently pried Elizabeth away from James and held her. "They are in the kitchen, if you wish to see him."
Grateful, James smiled at Will and left the room. Elizabeth, for all her goodness and strength of heart did not understand James's behavior in all of this. She thought him a fool for not denouncing Mary's claims from the onset. She knew him well, but not deeply enough.
Will was a man after his own heart. Will understood.
The child was squalling fitfully when James entered the kitchen. Querulous wails filled the air, refusing to be soothed by the nurse's shushes and rocking.
"You the father?" the midwife asked.
He blinked, tearing his eyes away from the child to the unfamiliar woman. The midwife, he knew, lived in the outskirts of town, within an hour's ride. He'd never seen her in town, only her assistants. It was possible she hadn't heard the rumors.
James did not answer her question. "How is he?" he asked instead, returning his gaze to the baby.
"He is a strong one," the midwife answered. She took the child from the nurse and bounced him. "Strong lungs, strong constitution. Beautiful. He'll live a long and healthy life, mark my words." She placed the baby into his arms.
"I'll drop him," James protested, but he did not try to give him back.
"No, you won't. Father's always think they will, and I've never seen anyone drop one yet." She patted the child's head and looked up at him. "Any ideas for the name?"
He's not mine, James thought. I've no right.
"Gavin." The name fell from his lips easily, without a thought. "His name is Gavin."
"Gavin Norrington," the wet nurse said from her seat. She smiled at James, an admiring look in her eyes. "What a lovely name."
This woman James knew. Beautiful, with a dusky rose complexion, doll-like blue eyes, and golden hair. Mariah worked at a tavern nearby. She was, reportedly, of loose morals, but had a friendly and open temperament that event the most moral of men found her inoffensive. Even James. They'd flirted on occasion, but neither had pressed, James because such things were beneath him, and Mariah because she understood he was not interested.
He'd forgotten she'd had a child a week or so ago. Stillbirth. He'd sent the local doctor to make sure she was all right when he'd heard. Later, he'd sent meals from his own kitchens to help aid in her recovery.
"Mariah," he said.
"One friend to another, Commodore," she said. "When I heard that it was Mary's child that needed aid, I came as soon as I could." She rose, straightening her skirts as she did. "I knew her, gave her work when she first came. I know the circumstances she's been living under the past nine months. And, James." She put her hand on his arm. "I feel honor-bound to make an offer to you. To... to relieve you of the burden. I know that this child..."
"Is my son," he cut her off gently. "This child is my... my son."
Her mouth opened for a moment to protest--no doubt she knew a more likely suspect--but then closed it again. An understanding smile crossed her face and she nodded. "Of course," she said, returning to her seat. "He's your son."
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