So we all know that there will be a lot of fics like this out right now, but I can't help it. James Norrington was one of my favorites, and then he dies, and apparentlty no one cares... I wrote this fairly quickly, so I apologize if there are errors. Kindly let me know and I will fix them. Please enjoy, and please review!
-Elle
His eyes were heavy, groggy. It took effort to open them, and then longer to adjust to the light before him, which wasn't much. A solitary lamp sat before him, rocking back and forth. It took him a moment to realize he was rocking back and forth as well. It was comforting though, it reminded him of the rock of the sea… He straightened at the thought.
Cold eyes took in his dark surroundings. He could see other lights in the distance, surrounding him on all sides, shadows of figures and hunched shapes. His hands gripped the sides of the small rowboat he was in, and it was clammy to the touch.
It took him some time to remember what had happened, but he mused silently on his own as he continued to rock with the gentle waves that bore him forward to what he could only assume was the afterlife.
He remembered being disgusted with himself as he saw Elizabeth refuse his quarters, furious for not seeing through the schemes of Cutler Beckett. Furious that Wetherby Swann, a man who only wanted to best for everyone, had been mercilessly thrown out. Furious at himself for joining hands with Davey Jones, even if only because he'd been ordered to. He remembered Elizabeth's cold words about choosing sides and was, if possible, even more disgusted with himself.
He reached atop his head, holding the exquisite hat he'd been given when he had been taken back into the service of England. The gold thread seemed to mock him.
He'd sunk as low as Jack Sparrow, playing each side for his own gain. And what did he get, for his treachery? He was an Admiral—or, he had been, he reminded himself—but he was an Admiral who was totally under the control of the East India Trading Company. He told himself he did what he did to get his old life back, but what he got was nothing like his old life. He would have preferred scrubbing the decks of the Black Pearl under the despised Sparrow rather than be summoned like a lap dog to Cutler Beckett.
And so, he stolen the keys, set them free, and in doing so, had gotten himself killed.
But for a just reason, he thought. After months of chasing Jack Sparrow, stealing the chest for his own gain, after serving the Company and taking orders from a man he could not stand, watching hopelessly as the Governor fell more under Beckett's control, he, James Norrington, had chosen his side. And he stood firmly by his decision, he realized as he continued to sway with the boat. He had looked Death in the eyes and taken it willingly, content with his choices, refusing the offer of servitude from Jones.
He set his hat on the floor of the meager boat and his hands found their way to his chest and he groped for the wound that had ended his life. He couldn't feel a heart beat beneath his hands, but he was not at all surprised. He knew by now he was dead. He started though, when he found the rough patch of flesh that now covered the hole that the Dutchman crewman had stabbed through him.
He looked down, pulling his still stunning coat and shirt aside. Both were stained with blood. The flesh was grotesque, purple in color, forming a perfect, round hole right below his left breast. He knew there to be a similar mark on his back, he could vaguely remember the feel of the blade exiting him. He shuddered, removing his hands from his chest and resting his elbows on his knees.
He felt the air around him thin and he refocused his eyes to his surroundings. He realized it was getting lighter. The light of his lamp wavered and the other figures became clearer to him.
Every manner of person seemed to be flowing along with him, all silent, all dead. He watched as a pair of Naval officers drifted past, he thought he recognized them, but he couldn't be sure. They didn't notice him, their eyes were glazed and they stared blankly ahead. On his other side, a young woman sat in a remarkable gown, tears streaming down her cheeks, her knees pulled tightly to her chest. Behind him, an old man, rubbing what looked like a necklace between his fingers, murmuring to himself.
Were all these people so resigned to death, he wondered, fixing his eyes back to the lamp in front of him. Was he resigned to it? He didn't fear it, he knew that for certain, had he been, he would have taken Jones' offer to serve like a coward. No, he wasn't afraid of death. But still… he didn't quite feel that he was ready for it, nor did he want it.
With a determined flick of his wrist, he picked the mocking hat up from the ground and flung it into the water, where it made no sound, but continued to float forward. He stood then, slowly, unsure if his legs could hold his weight still. He was relieved to discover they could. He turned his head from side to side, watching the two soldiers, then the young woman who still shed silent tears. Finally, he turned his back on the lamp and stared at the old man who now held the necklace to his heart.
He removed his coat then, and threw it in the same manner he had his hat. It too began to drift eerily forward.
He had no more use of such things. They now reminded him of something he despised, something that he had been. He thought about kicking off his boots as well, but dismissed the idea. He wasn't sure if it would work… but he found no harm in trying.
With the agile grace of a seasoned swimmer, he propelled himself up and out of the small boat and into the dark water, where he made no sound as he broke the surface. Then, with determined, strong, practiced strokes, he swam.
Away from the boats, away from the lamps. He swam away from the coat and hat he had received for his own treachery and greed. He swam past the other boats, past the old man, none of who took any notice of him.
He could feel the inexplicable pull towards the afterlife in the water as he cut through it, feel the calling of a peaceful rest. But he plowed onward in the opposite direction.
He swam for what felt like an eternity. He didn't know where he was going. He didn't know if he could even go anywhere. But it wasn't as if he would die for trying.
He began to feel warm again, he realized as his arms finally began to weaken, and he found it odd that a dead man would feel warmth or fatigue. But he ignored both sensations and continued.
Out of no where, he found himself being drawn under the dark water, pulled down by a force he could neither see nor grasp, though he tried futilely to relinquish it's hold on him. He could feel himself running out of oxygen, feel the strain against his chest. He wondered if it mattered, since he was already dead, but the feeling still worried him, causing him to clutch at his mouth, his eyes wide.
Then, as suddenly as the force appeared, it disappeared. He could see a bright light ahead of him, and he realized it might be his last chance.
With all the energy he had left, he propelled himself towards it, kicking with all his might. And at last, with a flash of green light, James Norrington broke the surface of the water and knew at once he had come back to the land of the living.
Well, as you can see, this could go just about any where. Which I admit, I like. Please review!
-Elle
Edit: I really appreciate the response I'm getting from this. I am pretty willing to continue this, but if I do I feel like I should warn you that it will be a Norrington only story, with a variety of OC's. I think James needs a break from piracy and Britain... and Elizabeth. If continued, it will be a Norrington x OC pairing. You are forewarned.
As always, please review and let me know your thoughts!!!