If A Pirate I Must Be

Summary: When Sir James Norrington, Scourge of Piracy and First Royal Governor of the Bahamas, catches the Pirate King Elizabeth Swann in his net, he finds his loyalties torn asunder. He has been charged with the task of pardoning or hanging the pirates of New Providence, but Elizabeth is a hard egg to crack. The two leaders of men engage in a dangerous game of wills, and James is tested at every turn when the only woman he ever loved also proves to be his greatest adversary.

Author's Note: This is not a Black Sails crossover, though it does deal with historical events that are portrayed in the show. You can google Woodes Rogers and the Bahamas if you're curious about the real history, but I will certainly explain in context what's going on.

I. A Nightmare & A Dream

The green-eyed gentleman seated at Mr. Christopher Pike's table had been known by many names over the years. Midshipman, Lieutenant, Master and Commander, Post-Captain, and Commodore in His Majesty's Royal Navy. Buccaneers and law-abiding citizens alike once labeled him as the Scourge of Piracy in the Caribbean. Many years later, after a most honorable discharge from the service with highest honors, he'd been dubbed Sir and Civilian in nearly the same breath. It did not sit easily with a man so accustomed to the rigors of duty, no matter how jaded he'd become, so when an enticing offer came from Parliament he seized upon the chance to assume the title of Sir James Norrington, first Royal Governor of the Bahamas.

At that moment, Sir James was taking a well-earned moment of respite from the rigors of reforming New Providence Island, accepting an invitation to afternoon tea at the inland domicile of his friend Mr. Pike. They sat in the shady garden and spoke of literature, music, and the price of sugar, the thing that would render this island a success if her Governor could manage to tame its unruly coastal inhabitants.

The clatter of hooves on cobblestones approaching paused their discourse, and James was quite taken aback as soon after the maid showed in his very own nephew and lieutenant, Sheridan Norrington, who was red in the face from the merciless sun and wide eyed from some unknown exhilaration. "Uncle James!" he wheezed, gasping for breath from his race to the house. "You must come…back to town…"

"Good God, man, spit it out," encouraged the Governor in his characteristic deadpan, exasperated by the excitable young man. Despite his cool façade, James feared the worst. A riot? An uprising of the convict laborers at the fort? Had the prisoners escaped? A thousand unlikely but entirely possible disasters raced through James' mind, but he never could have guessed what Sheridan said next.

"It's the King," Sheridan managed, bending over to lean on his thighs. "She's here."

The sound of James' teacup shattering upon the ground echoed through the garden like a shot. "Are you certain?" he asked gravely, annoyed to find his usually steady hands suddenly would not stop shaking.

"Never more so," rasped Sheridan, standing upright. "And if you don't come now I fear Fitzwilliam will kill her. He wouldn't listen to me—"

The rest of Sheridan's words were lost as James leapt to his feet as though his chair were on fire, and after a hasty apology to his host, dashed out to the stables for his horse.

XXX

Sir James had a weakness for a fine horse, and never had he been so grateful to have as fast a mount as money could buy beneath him that day. Sheridan followed as close behind as he could, but his own horse had already been put through its paces on the ride to Mr. Pike's inland abode and could not pace James' fresher steed in the Bahamian heat.

Though it was perfectly unseemly to appear so frantic, Governor Norrington barreled through the middle of town and past the gates of the fort, dismounting with the agility of a man a decade his junior. "Where is she?" he demanded of Sergeant Marshall, the first marine to reluctantly siddle his way. Everyone looked quite uncomfortable at their post, like naughty children caught plucking the wings from a fly. The Governor had a wild look in his flashing green eyes, as though he was ready to execute anyone on the spot who so much as looked at him askance.

"This way, sir."

James pointed at five more Marines, signaling for them to follow.

They passed through a corridor and into the bowels of the fort, where the holding cells were located. Wretched laughter drifted down the halls, and the echo of a voice James had not heard in more than a decade. "Is that all you've got? God, in my day they only let real men put on the blue, and far handsomer than the likes of you, you toad-eyed son of a bitch."

A sharp crack travelled down the corridor, and despite the distance it was a thing any man who had ever witnessed a flogging before the mast could not mistake. James quickened his pace, and before he knew it he was running.

There was another crack, and more defiant banter. "Please, a little to the left, it tickles."

Another crack, and this time she groaned, a sound of pain but not quite a scream.

"What the devil is going on here?" demanded James, bursting in on the scene.

A young lieutenant clasped a cat-o-nine in hand, arm reared for another strike. James wrested the whip from the lad's hands, and narrowly resisted the urge to beat the boy across the face with it. But he had not come so far by giving in to his first urges in a crisis, no matter how tempting.

The lieutenant did rather resemble a toad, if one was generous in one's assessment.

A woman was shackled to the gratings of a cell, the back of her black shirt in tatters, blood pooling at her feet. A hank of golden hair had come loose from her queue, hiding her face, but James would have known the form of that lithe female body anywhere.

He saw it often enough in his dreams. Far too often to ever forget.

James cast his eyes about the dimly lit room, until finally he found the true orchestrator of this beastly tableau: Captain Richard Fitzwilliam, with a look of barely-banked fury upon his terrible visage.

"Do you have shit in your ears?" demanded James, a barely banked fury thinly disguised by a cool façade, his course language the only indicator of his temper on edge. "I asked what do you think you're doing? Your orders were to inform me immediately if she was captured."

"I lost fifty good men off Barbados thanks to this uppity little pirate bitch," answered Fitzwilliam in his gravely voice without the slightest mind for rank or decorum. His father was high in the Admiralty, and he flaunted the advantage at every chance. "So she owes me fifty good lashes, for a start."

James' hands clenched hard upon the handle of the cat. He'd had problems with this man's inconvenient temper before, but this was unprecedented insubordination. If word of thiscruelty got out they would have an uprising on their hands in a trice.

"That's King pirate bitch to you," Elizabeth chimed raggedly, eliciting a hellish snarl from Fitzwilliam. The Captain's hand went to his sword, and James ever so calmly drew his pistol, cocking the hammer.

The sound echoed through the cavernous chamber, filled with the promise of more violence. The room already bore the acrid iron tang of Elizabeth's blood. "That will be quite enough," said James. "You'll be lucky if you don't see court martial for this, mark my words."

"Court martial?" protested the Captain incredulously. "For whipping a pirate? She is a fugitive! A thief, a knave, and a murderer."

"I was not aware you were qualified to preside over the sentencing of criminals in my custody."

Fitzwilliam huffed. "I'm as qualified as any doddering fool in a wig with a gavel. I know this devil of a woman, she's slipped through my grasp for years, and a slow death is the least she deserves."

James appeared unimpressed, even if he very badly wanted to have Fitzwilliam tied to the grating and whipped himself. That too, he feared, may inspire an uprising of a different kind. He wondered if Weatherby Swann ever found himself walking such a precarious line in Port Royal, and reckoned the canny old man must have balanced his share, God rest his soul.

"That's well and good, but aside from her auxiliary titles, she is actually a member of the peerage, and can only be tried in Parliament. And even if she was not, the fact that you would treat a prisoner, a woman, this way says novels about your character to me, Captain Fitzwilliam. I will not forget this day."

He gestured to the Marines behind them. "See the Captain and his Lieutenant to a cell where they may cool their tempers."

Getting a hold of himself at last, Fitzwilliam bobbed his head in what barely passed for a bow. "As you like, sir." He turned to go with the Marines without a fight, intent on preserving what little dignity he had left.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" called James, causing the Captain to freeze in his tracks.

"Sir?"

"The keys?"

Begrudgingly Fitzwilliam dug the iron ring of keys from his pocket, handing them to Sir James.

As he approached her James' brow furrowed with worry; her back was a bloody mess, her shirt in shreds. Despite her brave words Elizabeth sagged against her bonds, her breathing erratic. Carefully he unlocked one of her manacles. "Dear God, I am so sorry," he whispered, and went to unlock the other. Perhaps a foolish thing to do with a notorious pirate in one's custody, but he couldn't imagine her getting far with her injuries.

Elizabeth's hand clenched upon the bars of the cell, holding herself upright. Slowly she turned to face James, and the sight of her face after so long hit him like a lead ball to the chest. She was still as beautiful as he remembered. Black kohl rimmed her large dark eyes, smudged from her recent misadventure. A trickle of blood ran from the corner of her mouth; someone had hit her, hard. In spite it all, a slow smile played over her full lips as she beheld her savior. "Why, James Norrington," she said in a low voice. "You've finally found me."

Her steadfast façade faltered, amusement turning to a grimace. She'd held out for Fitzwilliam and Lieutenant Toadface, but the ground below them was slick with her blood, and though she'd known worse injuries before, she didn't think she'd ever been in so much pain as at that moment. Pretty as the heroine in a vulgar novel, she fainted, crumpling into James' waiting arms. The Governor stood flabbergasted, this woman he had loved for so long finally in his grasp, his fondest dreams and his worst nightmares somehow come true all at once.

A/N: As I'm sure you well know by now, I love your comments and thank you kindly for your feedback! I hope you all enjoy this one!