Chapter Text
Commodore James Norrington stood on the deck of the Dauntless at sunset, his eyes scanning the horizon for any signs of danger. He was a seasoned sailor, he'd seen his fair share of storms and battles, but something about the air today felt different. Maybe it was the witching moon, full and already high in the sky despite the early hour. The sky felt strange. Like some unfathomable danger lurked just over the horizon.
As he watched the waves crashing against the ship, he caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye. Sails emerging from the heavy gray cloud cover, pitch black, though dying sails that black had to be unjustifiably expensive. And the hull - that too was black, marking the ship as the Black Pearl , vessel of his nemesis Jack Sparrow. He’d been chasing him since the day after he’d somehow ended up fighting alongside the pirate, only to return to Port Royal and find that the woman he loved had fallen for the half-pirate blacksmith Will Turner and was breaking off their engagement.
James's jaw tightened. Pirates were always trouble, especially Jack Sparrow’s lot. He ordered his men to prepare for battle, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword.
As it happened the ominous clouds beat the Pearl their way, enveloping them in a fearsome storm as the pirate slipped away again. Another almost-capture failed. Thunder boomed and lightning cracked the sky, with the violence Elizabeth spoke about her stays with. Her overzealous father never had her sized for them, and they were almost always too small. James knew she longed to go without stays and bodies and petticoats; she’d told him many times. But she was a respectable lady, and anyway only wenches went without stays.
God, he missed Elizabeth. He hoped she was happy with her fiance. If she couldn’t be happy with him, at least she could be happy. Not like James. He loved his crew dearly, but as captain of a ship the social stratification was impassible, and it was lonely. Dining alone, never confiding in anyone. The Dauntless was his closest friend.
The waves were churning higher, the ship tilting dangerously. “Ahull!” he cried, the wind tearing the words away. Lieutenant Groves seemed to understand, though, and he and the nearest men got to tying off the sails. It wasn’t enough. This storm had intensified suddenly, the heavy, humid air that had been hanging for days snapping and unleashing its stifling rage.
A sickening crack reached his ear, but there was no accompanying flash of lightning. No, the crack was the Dauntless’s mast, swaying, falling - crunch. Smashing into the hull. And then the hull was damaged. The mast tilted, and slid into the sea. It hurt more than losing Elizabeth. His precious ship. His Dauntless.
But he hadn’t been promoted to the rank of Commodore for brooding. “Abandon ship!” he cried, voice clear with authority despite the turmoil threatening to overwhelm him. He pushed it aside. There was no time for sentiment. The ship could perhaps be salvaged after it lost the weight of the men, perhaps not - but all on board would surely die unless they fled.
There were whaleboats on board, and James ran towards the aftmost, signaling to Groves and Gillette to launch one and load officers on board. The boat was in the water, the rain beating hard on James’s face, and he gave her the final shove, leaping onto her just as a wave tipped her over.
The provisions on the whaleboat - everything - swirled into the murky depths. The water was cold and the current strong. James was being pulled down, pulled under, the water in his ears whispering something… de nyx? Di nixi? Head breaking through between waves, James saw Groves and Gillette and a cabin boy clinging to the dinghy, the rest of the men bobbing in the waves, and then the current was drawing him away and away and pulling him under the water no matter how much he thrashed and kicked against the mast -
The mast!
Though he was sodden, energy pumped through his veins and he looped an arm round it, then a leg, clinging on like a drowning monkey. He just had to stay afloat. And if he didn’t, he’d gone down with his ship, an honorable man.
He clung on, shivering and cold, skin pruning up from the saltwater, trying to cough the sea out of his lungs without getting a facefull of fresh saltwater. His muscles burned something fierce. The salty spray stung his skin from below and the rain beat down upon him from above and all he knew was water. Water, and the bobbing of the mast, and the familiar woody smell of the Dauntless. Like sun and rusty nails and salt. Rocking in the water, everything seemed gentler. Maybe it was the cold of being soaking wet and still. He was used to the waves now, they were more like the swaying he was used to on board ship, and the rain felt more like waste water dripping from a clothesline, less like bullets. It was familiar. It was almost home.
The end of the mast butted up against something, swinging him round, leaving him to get a face full of a breaking wave.
Why were there breakers?
Had he not been leagues out to sea?
Another breaker hit him, and now there was another strange sensation: something coarse grinding against his shins, his dangling hands. Something… something like sand.
Sand!
He squinted his eyes open slightly and there it was, morning light illuminating beautiful golden sand, more wondrous than he’d ever seen before, and green. Vegetation! He had been washed up on a beach somewhere. Almost laughing - he would have laughed if his throat hadn’t been so raw from saltwater - he rolled off the mast and landed hip-first on the sand under the shallow water. He dragged the mast a few paces onto the beach, just in case - he couldn’t stand to lose the last remnant of the Dauntless, the mast that had saved him - and took stock of his location.
The island appeared to be small, with a bit of forest but not really enough, and he could see all the way to the opposite shore from where he stood. But it was land. James had never been so happy to see land. His head pounded, every part of him stung and ached, and he couldn’t begin to guess how long it had taken to wash up here. He still seemed to have all his things, though. The heavy weight of his sword, his sodden jacket. The sun was shining, the sand was dazzling, and the land felt firm beneath his feet.
It was then he noticed that he was not alone. A familiar silhouette approached, sending a shadow ahead of him. "Commodore Norrington," Jack Sparrow said, a lopsided grin on his face. "Fancy seeing you here."
Jack Sparrow. Of course. If there was anything worse than being marooned alone on a tiny island, it was being marooned on a tiny island… with Jack Sparrow.
"What happened to your ship?" he asked bluntly.
Jack shrugged, taking a swig from a flask. Why did he always have that damned rum on him? Where did he even get it from? “Could ask you the same question.”
James gritted his teeth. “I asked first.” It sounded childish after he said it. Not very Commodore-like. At least it was only the obnoxious pirate there to witness his blunder. Jack Sparrow wouldn’t know polite society if it was shooting at him - which it had been, not long ago.
“Blown off the rigging,” said Jack, sounding less like the self-assured and irritating pirate James knew him to be and more like… more like a man. “Me Pearl all set up to ride out the storm, t’was the last gale what got me knocked off.”
James felt his shoulders slump. “I lost the Dauntless, ” he admitted. The words seemed starker once he’d said them aloud. The world itself seemed darker.
“I’m sorry, mate,” said Jack, sounding somewhat sincere for once. “Losing a ship, it’s like losing a limb.”
Of course, Jack was a captain. A pirate, but a captain. He understood. “Worse,” James corrected. It was so much worse.
“Well, hadn’t we better be getting on with it?” said Jack gruffly.
James cast his eyes to the ground. “What’s the point? I don’t know if any of my men survived. We may as well make it quick. Got two shots on you?”
The pirate took a step back. “Now hold on there, Commodore. Don’t ye think that’s a bit hasty?” When James didn’t respond, he continued. “I’ve me whole crew on the Black Pearl searchin’. I’ll be out of here in no time, and because I’m not a bad man, I’ll even let ye come! Course, mainly because o’ your pretty face. Not very grateful, are ye?”
“Thanks,” James forced out. In truth, he didn’t know what to think. He certainly didn’t want to die, but a moment ago death had seemed inevitable. Thanking a pirate was a highly uncomfortable position. But if survival was an option, it was contingent on staying close to Jack, as much as it pained him to admit.
"We need to find shelter," James said, looking up. "And food. We'll start with that."
Jack grinned, taking another swig from his flask and holding it out to James. "I like the way ye think, Commodore. Always practical."
James took a sip. His face screwed up, an automatic reaction. He forced himself to swallow and then choked out, “it’s sweet!”
“Well if ye don’t like it, don’t waste it,” said Jack, taking the flask and knocking it back.
As they set out to explore the island, James found himself studying Jack more closely than he ever had before. There was a certain charm about the pirate, a way of moving through the world with ease that James admired.
"Well, Commodore," Jack said with a smirk, snapping James out of his head, "looks like we'll be spending some quality time together."
James scowled at him. The scowl didn’t last long. If he was going to get off this island with Jack, they had to be on decent terms. Even if that meant cooperating with the pirate captain he despised.