Les pensées qui glacent la raison

[fan_elune]

I really like that piece of lyrics from Placebo's Protège-moi. I think I'll keep it tucked away somewhere and use it as a title for a fic some day.

Anyway. On to more important matters. Happy anniversary to the PotC fandom! Have posted Chapter Six of FoF to pirategasm in celebration. I just want to, again, rec the work of firesignwriter, who masters those characters unlike anyone else I've ever read. Her "Moonverse" series is particularly heartbreaking.

Anyway, here's chapter six of FoF.



A Flight of Fancy

Chapter Six: Lower the starboard anchor


James Norrington was pacing. He was well aware of the fact, and under any other circumstances would have remedied it. But the situation warranted some pacing. He had earned the right to pace some. He slid off his hat and wig and threw them on his cot in a careless gesture. They landed neatly on the pillow.

He was just back from yet another visit to Miss Calvet. Little good those visits had done, over the ten days or so, for no solution presented itself to him about what to do with her. Worse, visiting her invariably unsettled him. He had thought Sparrow a master at perturbing him, but it seemed as though Miss Calvet were just as good, if not better at it. However, unlike Sparrow, she did not seem to do it purposefully.

He ran a hand through his hair, then took off his frock coat and put it away neatly. He pinched the bridge of his nose, hoping to delay the impending headache.

Her attire was still that of a boy, she would not part from this guise. He had offered to have a tar's uniform brought to her so that she might at least shed her pirate clothes, and he had voiced his regret that they had no woman's clothes to offer, but she had huffed and refused to change. Such a refusal to accept her own nature perplexed the commodore. She reminded him of Elizabeth in a strange, painful way, an Elizabeth that had been born much lower than what she deserved, an Elizabeth driven wilder than she were by the choices she felt she did not have, an Elizabeth turned angry and bitter. It was partly Elizabeth's feisty nature that had called to him; while he had hoped for a wife in the very British sense of the word, he had also wanted a companion, someone who could challenge him. Elizabeth had seemed the perfect choice.

He had grown to love her, yes, driven by his rational choice. He had loved her as much as he could love, and he still did, if he were honest. Stepping back to let Mr Turner have her was proof of how rational his love was. He was as of yet stranger to passion, and hoped well to remain this way.

He was trying hard not to think of the face that haunted him during his sleepless nights when there was a knock on his door. He snatched his wig and put it on swiftly, checking his appearance in the mirror before straightening up. "Come in."

Groves walked in, the picture of naval obedience and strictness. The sight reawakened the feeling of betrayal and disappointment. Disappointment in himself, too, that he had misjudged Groves so, had thought him ready for captainship; but more than anything the dull ache announcing the end of a friendship that had started some twenty years ago. "We are in sight of the Antilles, sir. Captain Sparrow has signalled that he wanted a word with you."

"Heave to, Mr Groves, and tell Captain Sparrow he might join us aboard." Then, as Groves nodded: "Have Captain Gillette join us as well."

"Sir."

Yes, the wound was still fresh and raw. Norrington had not reflected on how much trust he placed in Groves until the sharp pain of betrayal brought his attention on it. What he had told Groves had been true. He could care less who he shared his cot with, as long as it did not interfere with his duties. It had, and yet Norrington could not bring himself to file a report. Could not bring himself to do this to Ted. The consequences would be disastrous.

Norrington checked his thoughts, shrugged on his coat and coiffed his hat. He strode on deck to meet the two captains. He stood by the bulkward, watching the two cockboats being rowed. Gillette's arrived first, and the gloating look on the captain's face was unmistakable. Any other day, Norrington might have been amused. On this day, however, it only irritated him. He felt he had no patience whatsoever, should it be for Gillette's misplaced hostility or Sparrow's antics.

"And how is Miss Claire?" Sparrow asked as they stood in Norrington's cabin.

"As well as could be expected," Norrington replied sternly. "I assume you had something of more importance in mind than asking about Miss Calvet's wellbeing, when you requested a word?"

"Aye, but I'd like a word with the lass first."

"To what purpose?"

"My purpose is my own, Commodore, but 'tis to be a word in private with the young miss afore I tell you of things of more importance."

"You cannot think that you can blackmail the –"

"That will do, Captain," Norrington cut in before Gillette could say anything more. The commodore steeled himself, eyes boring into Sparrow's. "Do not make the mistake to think that I trust you. You will have five minutes with Miss Calvet, not one more, and I shall ascertain that you have not been inappropriate in your conduct by asking her myself. You will then fully cooperate, Captain, else you wish me to revoke your privateer nature on the basis that you not follow orders."

"We have an accord," Sparrow agreed with a flash of golden teeth.

Gillette had the good sense to wait until Sparrow had been led away to express his disagreement.

"I must question the wisdom of indulging a pirate, sir."

"This pirate is the one that can lead us to Low, Captain. Moreover, Miss Calvet hates the man probably even more than you do, I find it highly unlikely that anything could transpire between those two that would turn to Sparrow's advantage against us."

"Yes, sir."

Norrington tried to chase the tendrils of irritation still rankling his chest. It seemed that anything could set him off these days, and he berated himself for his lack of patience. When he tried to go back to the source of it all, the same cheeky grin with the hints of gold and silver always came to mind.

***

She was going to turn crazy. She could feel the unfathomable depths of madness threatening to engulf her, could sometimes see shadows at the corner of her eyes, imagined them to be waiting to get their clutches on her. The commodore was trying, but there was no help for her, she knew it. Her restlessness grew with each passing day, whose monotony was only broken when the commodore or Lieutenant Groves came to take her up for a walk on deck. But even those short strolls were not helping much; her eyes kept darting towards the Pearl, and she hated herself for hoping to catch a glimpse of the unmistakable figure of her captain.

Her breath caught in her throat on the few occasions when she did.

Her attention was jostled back to the here and now at the knock on her door. She put a stop to her pacing and adopted a purposefully relaxed stance, looking out the small window. "Enter."

"Captain Jack Sparrow requested a word with you, Miss," the red-coat informed her, taking her by surprise.

And in swept the pirate, with his unbelievable boots, the sash across his waist with his pistol carelessly tucked in it, and his new Turner blade at his side, testimony to the loyalty of a young couple of honourable Port Royal citizens. His unbuttoned coat let her see a new shirt, identical to the one she had slashed, a hint of his chest's golden skin, and she wondered not for the first time if she had given him a scar. He took his hat off in a flourish to bow at her, a parody for which she wanted to tear those intense dark eyes out of their sockets.

"Miss Claire," he said mock-politely, before turning to the red-coats. "If you could leave us a measure of privacy, gentlemen."

The soldiers looked at him distrustfully, but closed the door. Claire checked herself while Sparrow's back was turned, straightening her spine and steeling her gaze into something cold and foreign.

The pirate turned back to her with a golden smile and a small motion of his hands, taking a step forward. "Ha, alone at last."

She instinctively retreated a step and cursed herself for it.

His face showed a mixture of confusion and hurt, too overdone to be sincere. "You can't be thinkin' I'm here to wrong you, luv. If that were my way, I'da done it much sooner 'n this."

She remained stubbornly mute.

"Oh, I see how it'll be then," he noted with another grin, but one that looked less genuine than the others. "Looks like I asked this small favour of Commodore James for nothing. You still haven't warmed up ter me, have ye?"

She wanted to answer, to tell him where exactly he could shove his propositions, such coarse language as a lass should never have come in contact with, but something in the light dancing off his dark eyes rendered her unable to trust her own voice. She remained silent.

He took a step closer, and she prided herself in holding her ground so steadily. He dropped his voice to a barely audible whisper.

"Give me something to work with here, luv. I'm tryin' to save ye from whatever option the good commodore will finally choose for ye." He looked steadily at her for a few seconds, then gazed out the window. "You'd make a fine pirate, I'm sure you would. 'Course, Gibbs would protest you be bad luck, but he always does, dunne? You'd give Anamaria a run for her money, too, and that wouldn't be such a bad thing. She needs to be kept on her toes, that she does." He tilted his head towards her, an inviting pout drawing out his bottom lip. "I'm offering ye freedom, lass. La liberté. Savvy?"

"La liberté?" she repeated the French words in a disdainful whisper, then snorted loudly. "If you're so free, Captain Sparrow, why do you hide behind all this? The beads, the clothes, the hair, the attitude?"

"Now –"

"I've been watching you. You're no freer than I am."

"I'm not confined to a cabin," he saw fit to point out, as if it mattered in the least.

She simply looked away from him, a disdainful sneer twisting her lips at his refusal to tackle what was of true import. Then, after a few seconds: "Why do you even care? I tried to kill you."

"You won't believe me if I say it's for your father, will ye?"

She levelled an icy glare at him.

"Yet it is," he pressed on nonchalantly. "In a manner of speaking. I –"

A knock on the door interrupted him, and immediately the commodore stepped in. "I believe you have had enough time to trouble Miss Calvet, Captain."

She hated the look of regret in Jack's eyes as he looked at her to answer. "Aye, Commodore. I believe I have." He put his hat on with the same lingering dullness in his eyes, so very opposite to the amused tone of his voice. "Good day, Miss Claire."

He walked out, brushing past the commodore who suffered it without the slightest hint of a frown, before looking back at her. "I trust he has behaved as a gentleman towards you, Miss."

"As much of a gentleman as he can be," she answered scornfully, then turned away to look out the window. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw the commodore nod, then step out.

The shadows seemed to be closing in on her.

***

James was not happy about it. Groves had not been invited to attend the meeting of the captains and commodore, but it was clear when James strode back out of his cabin and curtly led Gillette and Sparrow to their boats that he was not happy about what the pirate had had to say. And then he had given the order. Follow the Black Pearl. They should have known. Of course Jack would not want to lose his upper hand by revealing too much information; it was, after all, what had made him lose the Pearl to Barbossa. Groves suspected that the mutiny had done a lot in shaping Jack Sparrow into the man he now was.

It had now been a little over two hours. James had given the order and retreated to his cabin, trusting Groves to handle the Dauntless. Trusting... not so much. Groves knew better than to think James still trusted him, in the way that mattered. He had to wonder that he was even still an officer, that James had not confined him to the brig pending their return to Port Royal and his court martial. But it seemed that James was giving him another chance to prove his worth as an officer.

But as a friend? Groves was not sure he could ever make things right. He felt oddly accepting of the end of their childhood friendship. There had always been a rift between them, a rift between James and most of the world actually, no matter that Groves had lacked the maturity to note it until they had both been attending the Academy. Looking back on their childhood games now – their mothers had been friends and had always delighted in bringing the two of them together, the last Norrington and the only Groves – it was all too clear that the rift had always been there. James had always taken things so seriously. Making him laugh had been young Ted's mission statement on many a day.

Groves nodded to the two guards on duty outside of her cabin, then knocked on the door. "Would you care for a walk?"

As usual, she simply nodded and followed him on deck. As usual, he did not offer her his arm as James invariably did.

"Why was he allowed to visit me?" she asked after a minute's silent walking along the bulkward.

They stopped, standing side by side. She had her hands thrust in her pockets and was looking off at the sea, while Groves had a fist in his back and a hand laid on the bulkward and was studying her profile closely, trying to understand her.

"I was not present when the authorisation was granted, but I trust Captain Sparrow to be persuasive enough."

Her clear blue eyes glinted harshly as she turned to face him. Her whole stance spoke of defiance, but Groves had learned not to take offence. The defiance was not anything personal, simply the only way she found to function. "Do you fancy him?"

He raised eyebrows at her question, unable to hide his surprise, then regained his composure. "I fail to see how this is any of your business," he replied harshly.

She shrugged, absolutely unfazed by his tone. "He's strangely handsome."

Groves was about to ask, do you?, when she abruptly changed subject. "Do you trust him?"

"He's a pirate."

"Do you trust he'll fill in his end of the bargain?"

Groves took a few seconds to think. "Yes." Another pregnant pause. "Do you still wish to kill him?"

She turned away and leaned forward, her elbows on the bulkward. Not for the first time, he had to remind himself that she was not the boy she masqueraded as. Her answer was but a whisper that he could have thought another murmur of the wind. "No." And suddenly he had no trouble seeing the girl in her, in her frailty and vulnerability. He felt as if he were seeing her for the first time. She still would not meet his eye, but her whole face betrayed her openness. Another question in a whisper. "Do you know what the commodore will do with me?"

Groves' chest tightened uneasily and he shifted, suddenly restless. "No. The safest course would be to return you to your family –"

"I don't have any." Was it his imagination, or were her eyes shining with unshed tears? "My mother's dead. My uncle wanted to sell me. I ran away."

"I am sure the commodore would be willing to put in a good word for you, should you be ready to become a maid in –"

"Would you be satisfied being a servant when you've known," she straightened up and made a vague motion with her hand, encompassing the Dauntless and the sea around them, the waves, the wind, the setting sun, the salty air, the freedom, "this?" She did not wait for an answer but carried on. "What do you think of Jack Sparrow?"

Groves was taken aback by the question and wondered whether she again meant to enquire after his taste in men, then realised that the question ran much deeper than this. He took a few seconds to think it through, carefully phrasing his answer. "Captain Sparrow is a pirate. But as far as pirates go, I think there are many others more deserving of the gallows than him."

"But he deserves to be hanged?"

The pain was back in his chest as he thought of the men they had lost during the fight against Low. He went back to the pirate's aborted execution, the stubborn face of a Port Royal blacksmith, and a good man. Summoned up Jack's solemn eyes during his men's funerals. "Yes," he lied.

Her clear eyes seemed to lose themselves on the waves. "Do you think we always have a choice?"

His throat smarted and he tried to understand what they were talking about; or perhaps he knew exactly what they were talking about. He dropped his own voice to a whisper, switching to French, his mother's native language, to reduce the chance of any successful eavesdropping. "Did Jack have an offer for you, is that why he requested to see you?"

An undecipherable shadow fleeted across her features before she looked up at him, the hint of desperation glinting in her eyes. She laid a hand on his arm, a boy's hand on his frock coat, but the eyes were most definitely feminine. "If I could ask a favour of you, sir... Let him know that I said... aye."

Groves drew himself up. "I am an officer of the Navy, Miss Calvet, do not forget it. I think it is time for you to return to your cabin."

Her hand gripped the blue cloth, preventing him from moving. "Let him know. Aye." Then she looked away as if to hide her desperation and released his arm, allowing him to escort her back to her cabin without another word.

He closed the door on her, but his own discomfort only grew as he walked away, back to the deck. Despite his better judgment, he was already planning how to get the word across to Jack. Her helpless, pleading eyes left him no choice. Or, perhaps, gave him one.

***

Norrington woke up in a cold sweat, images of the same face dancing behind his closed eyelids. He opened his eyes wearily and swung his legs off his cot, running a hand through his hair. The moonlight filtered in through the window and his sight quickly got accustomed to the half light, enough for him to be able to make his way around the cabin. His throat was dry and he helped himself to some water, hoping against hope to quench his thirst. His hands were trembling, he realised with awe.

This was becoming absurd and, worst yet, it was getting out of control. He had not had a decent night's sleep since she had set foot on his ship. Her defiance... it rattled him to the core of his being. She was not beautiful, did not measure up to Elizabeth's charms by half, but she obsessed him in a way the governor's daughter had failed to achieve. She was everywhere he looked, a silent, relentless figure that could set him off with a look or a word.

It disturbed him greatly. She was much below him, she was not beautiful, even now she would not shed her boyish disguise, and yet he wanted her... fiercely. His desire surfaced most at night, during the shameful dreams that would not fail to wake him up. His violent urges scared him. It was so unlike him. James Norrington was a stranger to passion, he told himself numerous times. Passion had no place with an officer of the Navy. Passion had no place with an honourable man.

He dressed in a daze and was out on the deck before he realised where his feet planned to take him. He stopped himself short and took in his surroundings. The sea was calm, as was the whole ship. Two tars that walked by saluted him in a whisper, to which he replied by a terse nod. If they found it odd that the commodore should be up at this hour of the night, they made no sign of it. He frowned slightly, wondering when the taller of the two had been reassigned from the Contester to the Dauntless, but it was no more than a fleeting concern.

He strode to the forecastle and frowned when he saw Murtogg and Mullroy asleep on each side of the door of her cabin. His resolve melted. He felt a burst of anger that they should be asleep on watch, but his passion overtook and quelled the fury in a heartbeat. His heart was trying to beat its way out of his chest as he turned the key in the lock; the door opened without a sound; there was a loud beat at his temples; he stepped in and closed the door.

A beam of moonlight fell on her face, highlighting the planes and angles of her usually soft features and throwing the faint scar on her cheek into sharp relief. She was sprawled in the hammock as only a sailor who was used to sleeping in one could be. More than ever she looked like a boy, and more than ever the knowledge that she was not stirred something deep within Norrington. He was but a few feet from her, so close...

Yet he did not move. Did not make a single gesture in her direction. Simply watched her sleep, this girl-child who his reason knew to be a dangerous woman, a woman driven by her absence of choice. He ought to offer her a choice. He ought to be able to do better for her than life had chosen to. He could not stand by while she made a tragic figure out of herself. The moonlight seemed to drain all colour from her, shades of blue grey and grey blue defining her forms, and if not for her regular breathing he might have thought her dead.

She stirred and he tensed, but she settled down immediately, her thin lips slightly parted. They seemed to be everything to Norrington then, two grey blue touches on the blue grey face, open slightly as if waiting for something. He forced his eyes away from them, over the closed eyes and the fine eyebrows, the smooth forehead, the brown hair still tied back in a ponytail, the narrow shoulders and the arms he could picture too muscular for a lady despite their slimness, the calloused hands, the hips he could now guess at under the clothes, the lean legs, the small feet that balanced her so well on a ship...

"It's your turn, then?"

He stepped back instinctively at the sound of her contemptuous voice, his back hitting the door. He needed a second to acknowledge that he was not dreaming, that she had awoken. She had sit up in the hammock and her pales eyes were fixing him with disgust and, perhaps, hurt.

He frowned, gulped, licked his dry lips. Somehow managed to straighten his shoulders, calling to every ounce of dignity he still possessed. "I – apologise, Miss Calvet. I realise the impropriety of my presence here at this hour. It shall not happen again."

He made to go, but she held him back with one word. "Wait." Against his better judgement, he turned back to her, to find her standing just a few feet from him. A few wisps of brown hair had escaped her ponytail. "What were you doing here?"

The question was soft-spoken, and for the first time Norrington thought he heard a woman's voice. It shook him more than he cared to admit, for he had never heard her use this voice, save from the whispers in his shameful dreams. The beam of moonlight now lit but her midriff, and her features were softened by the shadows again. "I... was thinking that perhaps, you would consider another offer."

He surprised himself by the thought that had struck his fancy, wondered at his sanity. This was thoughtless, ridiculous, unlike him in all regards, and yet – there was something undeniably enticing in the thought as he watched the glint in her pale eyes. In knowing that he could offer her this, more, that he could be the one to save her from what she would turn herself into.

She frowned. "An offer for what?"

"Regarding your future life," he replied, gaining in confidence despite the warning a part of his mind was shouting at him. Madness, it said. Absolute madness. "It would greatly sadden me to see you going to waste for lack of opportunity; I am consequently here to offer you one." And he had mocked Sparrow's madness? It was as the blind mocking the visually challenged. But he had to be able to offer her something, something better. "It shall give you a better position than you could have hoped for. As you may not know, I am still a bachelor. I would be prepared –"

A dry chuckle escaped her lips, making the words die on his lips. "You propose to wed me?" Another humourless laugh which hurt Norrington's ears. "I'd make such a wife, wouldn't I? Not quite the kind a successful young Commodore could show off at receptions, though. More the kind you hide away for shame."

"I would not –" Norrington took a deep breath before resuming on a more gentle tone. "I would not take anybody to wife that I were ashamed of."

"You're in earnest."

"Of course I am," he replied patiently. "Have you ever known me not to be?"

"You're even dafter than Jack!" she exclaimed.

He ground his teeth and took a second to get his emotions under control. "This would be an excellent match for you. A match you could never have hoped for. I would be a good husband to you, I would be fair to you."

"No."

"I would, I assure you."

"I mean, no. I won't marry you, Commodore. I refuse your proposal."

He took the blow in silently. The part of his mind, the one he liked to call rational, the one that had been protesting most vehemently against this new development, was now doing its best to prevent him from a peel of hysterical laughter. The situation was preposterous. He, Commodore of the Royal Navy, had just been refused by the daughter of a pirate! He was equally relieved and saddened that she had denied him.

He needed some sleep. Yes. A couple of hours each night were not enough, and the lack of sleep had apparently resulted in delirium. Temporary madness. Dafter than Jack.

His tone was deliberately spiteful when he spoke. "I hope you do realise that you have just refused your best option, Miss Calvet. I apologise for having disturbed your rest. It shall not happen again."

"Commodore," she called him back, and he noted with surprise that her eyes were flooded with tears. Her voice was harsh as she spoke, the better to cover up her weakness, but there was no doubt in his mind that she meant every word. "A cage is still a cage, no matter how good it looks. I'd rather die."

His hand fumbled for the door handle in his back and he was outside, locking it and almost stumbling away. The pain and the force of his passion only caught up with him then with more violence, that he had previously held them at bay.

Around the corner of the hallway he ran into someone – Ted. His friend's face went through a quick succession of surprise, alarm, then concern. "James, are you all right? You look..." Norrington managed to straighten up and immediately Groves' whole attitude changed. "I'm sorry sir, I did not see you coming."

There was a gaping hole in Norrington's chest, but his cool Navy exterior remained well in place. "It's quite alright, lieutenant." He walked by Groves up on deck, torn from the inside although nothing on the outside would betray his agony. He made for his cabin and only once safely inside did he sink on his bed, draw his legs to himself, and drop the mask. Now perhaps more than ever, she held him captive against his will, inescapably drawn that he was to something in her he could not quite define.

There were no tears to be cried. Only shame.


-- End Chapter Six

Comments

Lyrics

[heikki-cheren.livejournal.com]

Hmmm...
Yeah, I like the image those words carry, but somehow it feels like something doesn't fit the way the idea is formulated. I dunno how to formulate it. It just sounds weird to me. Not the idea behind them, but the words themselves.

(And, huh, I guess it won't be such a happy fic, will it? ;-) )

Re: Lyrics

[fan-elune.livejournal.com]

Personally, it's the phrasing that really got to me, so...

As for the happiness of the fic, indeed, I guess not. I'll know when I've thought of it! ;)

Re: Lyrics

[heikki-cheren.livejournal.com]

Yeah, as parts of lyrics, it works fine, but as a title? I'll keep finding it odd. :-P

Which doesn't matter much. Your (future-) fic, your choice. So, I suppose it'll have to be in French, huh? ::eg::