A Martyr's Choice – Chapter Five – A Beautiful Bird

A/N: I've posted the missing chapter, where Elizabeth goes to talk to Jack, separately, under the title 'Advice for the Martyred'. I recommend reading it – it helps to sort things out.

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"This is wrong." It was the first thing she had said the entire morning.

Governor Swann glanced at her. "Commodore Norrington is bound by the law. As are we all." They'd already had this argument.

Norrington looked down, not wanting to be reminded of this fact. The drums were loud in the hot morning over the restless crowd, a steady, anxious beat.

Jack wore a resigned expression, but no fear. Not yet anyway. Something the official said seemed to irritate him; he was muttering to himself. Even on the gallows the man maintained his cavalier insanity.

Elizabeth's eyes swept over the unpleasant expressions on their faces, then turned back to the lone pirate grinning faintly, ludicrously, on the narrow wooden platform. It wasn't right, but there was nothing she could do about it.

William Turner pushed his way through the crowd to stand before them, an elaborately plumed hat cocked upon his head. Norrington looked at him, wondering what he was up to now.

"Governor Swann."

Turner, what are you doing?

"Commodore."

Norrington nodded, as courtesy dictated, frowning at the man in front of him for distracting him from the matter at hand.

If this is some manner of attempt to save Sparrow, you're a bit late.

"Elizabeth." His face was young, open, pleading.

She looked at him with a haughty, faintly hysterical expression.

"I should have told you every day since the moment I met you."

Elizabeth stared at him, her head coming down, numb disbelief and amazement warring on her features.

"I love you."

Norrington and Governor Swann stared blankly at the wide, little-boy eyes of Will Turner then turned to Elizabeth, waiting for her reaction.

There was nothing but shock on her face as she opened her mouth to say something, but Turner had spun and walked away, shoving people aside.

Governor Swann sighed in exasperation and turned away but Norrington continued to watch Elizabeth, trying to interpret the chaos of emotions flickering across her face, trying to understand, to know exactly what this meant to her, to them. He swallowed nervously at what he saw there, his mind working frantically.

Elizabeth was gazing after Will with a longing, lost expression, completely frozen in place.

The drums were rattling out their death song, the noose was being fixed around Sparrow's neck; if Turner was planning something, he had better hurry up. Norrington figured he should have foreseen this; he had underestimated the rashness of the man.

The drums were beating a salvo on his brain, people were shouting in annoyance as Turner shoved past them, fighting his way toward the gallows.

Elizabeth's eyes were wide, startled worry filling them, and Norrington started forward, his eyes never leaving Turner, assessing, deciding. "Marines."

People were yelling, the drums kept pounding through his desperate thoughts, and he heard noise behind him, heard Weatherby exclaim, "Elizabeth!"

He turned, alarmed and distracted, to find that she'd fainted again.

There was a sharp noise of steel; Turner had drawn his sword, the crowd was screaming, Norrington didn't know what to do.

He crouched beside Elizabeth, too concerned to give a damn what was going on behind him or what Turner was up, not knowing what to do for her, afraid. There was shouting by the gallows, the distressed cries of the crowd, then the drums cut off and there was the sharp sound of creaking wood and rope, but Norrington did not have time to wonder if this meant Sparrow was dead, for Elizabeth had sat up with a gasp, her wide eyes like one seeing a ghost.

He stared at her, relief mixing with confusion.

"What..." started Weatherby, but Norrington couldn't wait to hear the rest of his question. He jumped to his feet and whirled around, Elizabeth's safety no longer a concern, and ran down the steps, Marines pouring down off the battlements.

Sparrow had not been hung, but was balancing precariously on something below his feet, while Turner in his stupid hat and cloak parried blows with the executioner over his head.

The crowd was milling about in a disarrayed mess, half scared and half excited, and he had to shove people out of the way to get through, the Marines behind him fighting past frightened women and yelling men, the bitter ring of metal on metal drawing them forward.

They finally reached the gallows as the noose-rope was cut, Sparrow disappeared through the trapdoor and the executioner came flying off of the platform toward them.

Norrington fell hard, cursing, tangled up with half a dozen Marines and a hysterically screaming woman. They finally sorted themselves out, bruised, undignified and grateful that no one had been accidentally bayoneted, to find that Turner and Sparrow had evidently eluded capture and were evoking a wild chase across the fort. Norrington followed the trail of battered, but chiefly unharmed, Marines at a run and finally found the two, cornered in a ring of pointed steel bayonets. Leveling his blade with Turner's throat, he eyed him coldly as more Marines came dashing up behind him, panting, guns at the ready. He had said it before, he would say it again. Rash, Turner, too rash. There'll be no getting out of this one.

"I thought we might have to endure some manner of ill-conceived escape attempt... but not from you."

Sparrow had turned about and was hiding behind Turner's shoulder, his unarmed hands vaguely placating in front of his face.

"On our return to Port Royal, I granted you clemency," Weatherby Swann was saying from behind him. Norrington hadn't noticed him arrive. That probably meant Elizabeth was here as well. He adjusted the angle of the sword. That would not make this any easier. Bound back for the gallows, they were, the both of them, and he could not picture Elizabeth finding forgiveness for him in a hundred lifetimes.

"...and this is how you thank me? By throwing in your lot with him? He's a pirate!"

"And a good man!"

Sparrow, who had been quietly examining his own fingernails, looked up at this, and turned to the expressionless Marines around him, seeming to disregard the weapons pointed his way. He gestured to himself proudly, as if that would somehow pardon his crimes. The Marines looked disgusted.

"If all I have achieved here is that the hangman will earn two pairs of boots instead of one, so be it. At least my conscience will be clear."

Norrington wanted to scream at him, to hit him, but he could not deny the logic, the rightness of that statement. What Will Turner was doing by trying to free Jack was exactly as right at what he himself was doing in trying to hang him, just not as lawful. Just because Sparrow deserved to hang did not mean he should. But all Turner had accomplished here was another death, and just as surely as he could not deny the honor of Turner's decision, neither could he keep him from the noose.

The man was a pirate, had been rescued for Elizabeth's sake, had been pardoned for Elizabeth's sake, and yet he had chosen to force the burden of another death on Norrington's conscience and throw away whatever he might have had, all for a bedlam pirate.

"You forget your place, Turner," he snarled helplessly, stepping forward, full of rage at the impossibility of the situation, wondering if he should just murder him on the spot.

"It's right here," Will told him calmly, prepared for whatever would follow, "between you and Jack."

Do you understand nothing!? I never wanted this, Turner, and I think you know that, but there's nothing I can do about that now!

He heard her footsteps as she glided forward, pushing aside musket barrels as if they weren't even there, brushing past his shoulder, touching him one last time on the arm, to stand next to Turner, her face sorrowed and resolved.

And Norrington knew what she would say before she even opened her mouth, but he could not control the emotions that he knew were printed clearly on his face.

"As is mine."

"Elizabeth!" Weatherby exclaimed behind him. "Lower your weapons!"

This last was directed at the Marines, who did not move; Norrington himself was in a state of minor inclarity as he looked at the helpless, determined expression on her features. She could not let the Lady be the Tiger.

"For goodness sake, put them down!"

Norrington heard the muskets lifted around him, his own arm coming down slowly, his eyes never leaving the perfect crystal of Elizabeth's as she clutched Turner's arm.

"So, so this is where your heart truly lies, then?" he asked, unable to keep his voice steady, knowing the answer yet needing the answer to really set her free, needing to cast away the question he had asked her yesterday and every day before.

"It is."

And so it was. He was not surprised, not really, and yet...

Her mouth twisted in pain, in regret, not for her choice, but for his pain, for playing him false, yet somehow he could not hate her for that.

Norrington found no words to say; he faltered, blinking away the burn in his eyes, unable to look at her anymore. There was no pain that could match this, no wound that had left him as hollow as those two, damning little words.

'I am' to 'It is', two sets of minor, vicious words that had the power to make or break love, respectively. And to do exactly the opposite.

"Well!" exclaimed Sparrow, darting out from behind the other two and startling them all, "I'm actually feeling rather good about this!" He leaned into Weatherby's face, saying, "I think we've all arrived at a very special place, ay?"

The Governor leaned away, but Norrington could not seem to take his eyes off of Elizabeth, even though the love on her face as she looked at Turner and he at her tore him apart inside.

"Spiritually?" Sparrow added, waving his hands eccentrically, "Ecumenically. Grammatically." Weatherby sighed in disgust, and Sparrow sidestepped over toward Norrington, jolting him out of his dark mood.

"I want you to know," he declared in his odd way of drawing words out, practically leaning on Norrington's chest, his be-ringed fingers sailing within inches of his face, "that I was rooting for you, mate." Norrington stared at him in disbelief. Sparrow continued to jab at him with the index finger of his bandaged hand as he backed away. "Know that."

He sashayed around again, and paused to gaze at Will and Elizabeth who were too absorbed in staring into each other's eyes to notice much of what was going on. His eyebrows creased and a plaintive look appeared there, even as a spark of mischief danced in his eyes.

"Elizabeth."

She glanced over her shoulder at him, drawn out of her contemplations of love.

"It would never have worked between us, darling."

Elizabeth stared at him like he was a complete lunatic and Turner cocked his head curiously. Norrington grunted sourly. Sparrow was having a last laugh.

"I'm sorry." He truly looked it. He waltzed off again, leaving Elizabeth still staring in shock, and spun about as if he was preparing to go somewhere. "Will."

They all looked at him. He seemed about to say something terribly profound as the two pirates shared a look, but his lips merely twitched in a nervous smile and he shrugged.

"Nice hat."

And then he lunged up the steps to the battlement, Norrington and the Marines right behind him as a broad grin broke across Turner's face.

"Friends," Sparrow yelled, turning, then seeing several blades at his back, including Norrington's, scrambled the final few steps and spun grandly about, one hand on the grey stone beside him, the other steadying him from the perilous drop, his wary eyes flickering out over the sea of bayonets.

"This is the day," he leaned forward, his right hand extended in a strange gesture, "that you will always remember," he took a step back, one hand still painting the air, a crafty grin glittering with gold, "as the day that-" His legs met the stone lip of the battlement and he toppled backward over the wall and out of sight.

They all rushed forward, Norrington cursing loudly in his head, and peered over the wall, as Sparrow landed with a terrific splash in the ocean far below.

"Idiot," Gillette commented with a mocking grin. "He has nowhere to go but back to the noose."

Except for the fact that he's Captain Jack Sparrow, Norrington thought with a roll of his eyes.

No sooner this thought than a sentry on the wall above them cried, "Sail ho!" and Norrington watched as a ship easily identifiable as The Black Pearl came sailing around the point. Below them in the water, Sparrow lit out for his ship with smooth easy strokes and Norrington did not know whether he should applaud or be furious.

"What's your plan of action?" When he did not immediately respond, Gillette glanced up at him. "Sir?"

Norrington hesitated, glancing out at the tall dark ship and back down at the stone below him. He did not think he could take any more misery this day. He was tired of pirates and indecision, he was tired of everyone looking to him. He wanted to go somewhere and scream himself hoarse, but Gillette was watching him, waiting, and the Governor was watching him, waiting and he really had no idea what to do.

He swallowed, thinking hard. Sparrow... did not need to hang today. And in some way, some small part of him was glad to see him bobbing out there in the water, no doubt grinning like a fool, bound for the helm of his sable queen.

He prided himself on being just and there was nothing just nor honorable in hanging Sparrow, any more than it was right to hang Turner. He had no desire to see another death today. The death of one soul was quite enough. Turner... had been nothing but honorably aimed since this whole affair started, and he did not deserve to hang for that, nor did he deserve Norrington's hate. But the law...

"Perhaps," ventured Weatherby from his right, "On the rare occasion pursuing the right course requires an act of piracy, piracy itself can be the right course?"

Norrington smiled weakly, a hollow, empty smile, at his old friend's words. Weatherby had always had a way of putting things into the right perspective, of seeing things just right.

He closed his eyes, calming now that a decision was reached, searching for the last scrap of control he knew was hidden somewhere inside him, knowing he would have to face Elizabeth one last time. His lips tightened sourly and he spoke in his coldest command tone to hide the break that was threatening in his voice, using the only restraint he knew. "Mr. Turner."

As he turned down off the wall, the Marines tightening in on their new quarry, he kept his eyes on the cold stone of the battlement pillars only, ignoring how close Elizabeth stood to him, the way she held Turner's arm.

"I will accept the consequences of my actions," he heard Turner mutter, as the man stepped away from her slender hands to face the sword at his neck, leaving her fragile and scared, silhouetted against the sky.

"This is a beautiful sword," Norrington said, refusing to look at Turner but speaking to the glimmering metal instead, examining it in the sunlight as though seeing it for the first time. "I would expect the man who made it to show the same care and devotion in every aspect of his life." He finally moved his gaze to Turner's, who smiled faintly but seriously, his dark eyes knowing, thoughtful, understanding.

"Thank you."

Norrington turned and started to walk away, and the Marines, realizing that they had been as good as dismissed, hurried to get out of his way.

"Commodore!" Gillette's cry stopped him short and he turned around to find Andrew regarding him with a mixture of indignation and amazement. "What about Sparrow?"

What about him? Norrington was past caring about any of this. He gazed at him indifferently for a moment, something akin to a smile trying to find footing on his face.

"Oh, I think we can afford to give him one day's head start." He lifted his eyebrows at him in a supremely non-caring gesture and kept walking at a deliberately unhurried pace.

Gillette seemed to realize that he was telling him quite clearly, Andrew, honestly, right now, I don't give a damn, and said nothing more.

Norrington's pace did not change nor did his expression as he walked, until quite suddenly, he broke into a run, scattering a group of surprised Marines, bolted into his office, shut the door and sank against it. So. It was done. He closed his eyes, leaning on his arm against the frame. Sparrow was free, Turner was free and Elizabeth...Elizabeth too was free. His eyes stung and he blinked in annoyance. It was done, unchangeable. But Sparrow being free? That was something he could change. He was looking forward to that, the kind of chase that madman was sure to lead them. Something good to do, an escape from the indecisions of his life. That was something he could do. And if he was lucky, the chase would last until after her wedding. Elizabeth's wedding.

He sank down against the wall, a ragged, gasping pain in his chest. It was done, there was no good feeling pain for it now, but unbidden, images of her beautiful eyes surfaced like dolphins in his head, the feel of her lips...

"Commodore?"

He ignored whoever was at the door.

"James, please."

Norrington stared at the door for a very long time, willing it to lock itself, before sighing and saying, "It's open."

It was Weatherby Swann, who did not seem at all surprised to find him sitting on the floor. He shut the door behind him and sat on a chair. For a long time, neither of them said anything. What was there to say?

"You will be going after Sparrow, I imagine?"

Norrington did not look away from the grey stone of the wall. "Tomorrow." He barely recognized his own voice; it sounded flat, dead.

Weatherby apparently thought so too, because Norrington heard him get up and then some sort of rustling and clinking. He found he did not care enough to turn his head.

The governor came and crouched beside him, holding out a glass. Norrington took it and drank, barely noticing what it was. Weatherby sat back down in the chair, and Norrington watched him stopper a metal flask with no real interest. Governor Swann looked at him and Norrington raised his eyebrows.

"I thought...well...that it might be called for in some way," he finished in a slightly flustered rush, taking a swig.

Norrington smiled humorlessly and finished his glass.

"Tomorrow?"

"Yes. Or next week. Hell if I know." He thought about adding 'or care', but decided not to.

Weatherby seemed quite aware of what he had almost said and refilled his glass.

"Something to do."

"Yes." He was grateful that Weatherby did not say any of the supposedly comforting things people tend to say during situations like this, but which really only make it worse. There was nothing that could be said that would make this better and they both knew that.

He realized a bit late that the drink Governor Swann kept refilling his glass with was Rum and that wrung the ghost of a smile from his lips. He sighed.

"Yes, tomorrow. I have some general theories as to his heading..." He drained the glass and stood up. There was something to having a mission, a plan. He touched his chest lightly, absently, surprised by how much he physically hurt. He felt Weatherby's hand on his arm and smiled. There would be a lot of open water between him and Sparrow come sunrise.

He pulled open the door and gazed out at the hall, filled with sunshine, that not so long ago had been filled with the sounds of rain, with two people, in love, or so it seemed, kissing.

"James?"

He shook his head, remembering it like some far off dream, pain like the tremble of distant thunder in his chest. To feel so alive...

The Governor pushed the flask at him wordlessly, and he took another long swig, drawing away from those memories, shunting them into some dark corner of his head, because as much pain as they caused him, he could not lose them, would not want them gone, because they held, if only for the briefest of moments, the reciprocation of Elizabeth Swann.

He capped the flask and handed it back, saying softly, "Governor, once again, Mr. Turner seems to have deprived us of a pirate to hang, so I really do think we'll have to go and get it back." And somehow, despite everything, a smile worked its' way onto his features.

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...Gillette would be up with the final reports anytime now, they'd finished the cargo check, all hands were at stations, the ru- Norrington stopped dead in the middle of his mental rundown and the hallway. The door to his office was open. Why was that?

He proceeded forward cautiously and pushed the door open the rest of the way. There was no one inside, nor did anything look disturbed. He stepped inside and glanced around. Something had been set on top of the papers in the middle of his desk and he knew what it was even before he picked it up. It was his coat, the one he'd given to Elizabeth Swann what seemed an eternity ago. Could it have only been three days? It was rumpled, as though it had been stashed somewhere, and when he brought it to his face, if smelled overwhelmingly of Elizabeth, and not just perfume, but the sweet smell that was part of her skin, her hair, that floated off of her whenever she went by. He shivered as a wave of anguish swept over him.

He glanced down at the desk, still holding the coat, and realized that something had fallen out of the coat when he unfolded it. He scooped it up off the desk.

It was the flower he had snatched out of the sky for her that day, and written in curving script on one side of its' exotic petal were the words, Because I'll never forget my first kiss nor wish it had been from any other.He stared at it for a very long time, not really seeing it, remembering, dreaming, letting the pain wash over him in staggering waves, unafraid of it, smiling even at how she'd made him laugh, until Gillette appeared in the doorway looking for him.

"Sir?"

He tucked the flower into the inside pocket of the coat, folded it deftly and tucked it under his arm. "Yes, Lieutenant, I'm coming."

He stepped out of the office, bound for the open sea, with a pirate to catch, and something heavy on his heart just a little bit lighter.

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James Norrington had caught a bird, a beautiful bird, and held it in his hands for a moment, a shining, stunning moment. But who was he, really, to build a cage?

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