(no subject)

[kittysorceress]

Prolepsis

Rating: PG-13 (for later chapters)
Relationships: Gillington, Gillette/OC
Setting: Around 12 years after DMC, so there are spoliers...
Notes: I would like to thank my lovely beta, galadhir, who has helped me so much. This is a fanfiction that I plan to become a fairly long series (well, for me), at least 7 parts, I'd say. This is just the firstest part and the second part may be a way off, as I have exams very very soon. 

PART ONE – The Life of James

 

*~*~*~*

 

It seems lonely, when one is sitting at the head of a table that could seat 12, with only the company of a rapidly cooling dinner and a single candelabrum. Admiral James Norrington however, no longer had a taste for dinner guests – they would only pester him about his dealings during that dreadful few months when he abandoned his normal life. The worst thing about this pestering, however, was that it made him almost long for the adventure and freedom that those months had afforded him.

 

Almost, because the Admiral knew that however – liberating – the other option was, the Royal Navy was really where he belonged. Something of a sense of comforting familiarity, of knowing where one stands in the world. The Naval world is one of ranks, rules and honesty, a passion for one’s work. It is a career that is a life within itself and cannot exist alone, so engulfs the life of its officers and sailors. A career that requires the selling of the soul, it could be said.

 

James had sold his soul in such a fashion long ago. It was the life he chose, his body belonged to the sea, and his heart belonged to those in the ranks who found themselves in his care, his corner of the Navy. Rejoining them was what he regarded to be one of his wisest decisions.

 

The rejoining probably also had something to do with the thrill of being in command. For during the period he had spent under the direction of that pirate, Sparrow, he hated feeling and being subordinate. He had missed the almost unfaltering companionship from the other officers, as well as their conformity to his instruction.

 

Being in command however, for James, now seemed to mean more solitude than anything else. When he was younger, there were plenty of other officers his age, and socialising wasn’t difficult. But now, well, there had been battles and there had been little tensions and slowly people left for one reason or another. He used to have his two best friends, Andrew Gillette and Theodore Groves, and although they were of lower rank, they were always there for him… until Groves suffered a bullet to the chest in the chase after Sparrow.

 

And Gillette! Norrington longed to know what had become of the closest of his friends. He had up and left for a posting in England sometime between James’ departure and return. Except for a letter of congratulations when he was promoted to Admiral, there had been no correspondence between them for near 13 years. The worse part was that Gillette had not left a return address – neither post nor rank nor home. The letter was still sitting on James’ desk in the library upstairs, almost with a pride of place over the other saved letters. It pained James severely that he could not reply, and he kept telling himself that the address had been forgotten in an oversight.

 

Yet he had known Gillette for long enough to realise that the man was meticulous. There had been no oversight. He did not want to be found, and this was what pained James the very most of all.

 

*~*~*

 

In the eyes of James Norrington, matchmaking was a stupid pastime. People would always do what they wanted when they wanted even if it wasn’t what they really should do, especially when it came to affairs of the heart.

 

Some people got married for love, or what they believed to be love, and they would settle for nothing less. The perfect example of this would have to be Lord and Lady Turner (they received the titles from the King a few years back, for “Great and Noble deeds in aid of the Empire”) and their topsy-turvy romance involving gallivanting after pirates and one too many inexplicable – and usually unbelievable – adventures. There was no denying that the Turners were very much in love, and it was slightly enviable, James thought.

 

Some people, James included, regarded marriage as a career move; moving up in society, or maybe just keeping your reputation. He had once considered that a marriage to Elizabeth Swann (now the aforementioned Lady Turner) would be a wise move. Marrying the Governor’s daughter was sure to have put some favours his way, but now on reflection, it would have been a rather dull life to be stuck with someone you didn't really feel much affection for. When Elizabeth chose Turner over him, James had been a little disappointed, but not heartbroken.

 

Then, there are the men who do not wish for marriage, but take more pleasure in other men’s company. This of course, was an offence abominated by the law - hanging was not an uncommon punishment. Still, during a long voyage at sea, the officers would turn a blind eye to the happenings amongst the crew, and sometimes they themselves would join in these happenings. Andrew Gillette had been one such officer, and James had never thought any less of him for it.

 

Truth be told, it was because he was, in reality, one of those officers too.

 

Matchmaking, however, continued to flourish in Port Royal, most often at Grand Balls and State Dinners, which had never truly been events highly prized by James. They were usually tiresome and, in his eyes, a waste of an evening or afternoon, as the case may be.

 

As a bachelor of 40, he seemed to be more exempt than others, and managed to lurk by a fireplace unnoticed by eyes of family members of young girl eager to make a match for her. Occasionally he was looked for, but keeping a low profile would help. The words ‘Admiral’ and ‘low profile’ are not usually placed in the same phrase, strangely enough, he pondered, smiling to himself. He heard a knock on the door.

 

“Enter.”

“Sir, the HMS Prolepsis has come into the Port.”

“Thank you Lieutenant Moore, I will be there momentarily.”

 

James now had an excuse to leave his solitary luncheon to see to the greeting of the new arrivals. A Commodore arriving on the Prolepsis, whoever he was, would be replacing one of James’ own men who had lost a leg after a bullet wound. The latter could now only do deskwork, and James needed a man who could be out and about, seeing to more menial tasks that he himself was currently doing. Like meeting the Commodore, James chuckled to himself as he left his grand home on the hillside, and made his way down to the port.

 

*~*~*

 

A small girl of about ten, with bright red hair, a rather freckled face and the latest fashion in dress, raced out of the Commodore’s office on the Prolepsis, while doing so almost running into James, who simply smiled and moved out of her way.

 

‘Mary! What were you doing in there? Your father is far too busy to deal with your nattering, come on! Our Aunt is waiting!” Another girl, this one around sixteen, with dark hair and also well dressed, was beckoning the little girl to the dock. Mary pulled a face, then straightened and walked with pride down the gangway.

 

Such an air of superiority for one so young! James thought to himself again as he opened the door to the Commodore’s office.

 

‘Those girls were yours, I take it Commodore? Lovely things, but the elder was a little impatient.’

 

The Commodore, who was standing with his back to James, laughed a little. He turned around, his smile shaky and his voice even more so, his roundish face going a fairly magnificent shade of red

 

‘H-hello Admiral. It is a pleasure to meet you again,’ stammered Commodore Andrew Gillette.

 

How does one greet a friend unheard of for over 13 years? When he is a Commodore? When you are an Admiral? Do you embrace him? Do you smile? Do you show emotion? Should you invite him to dinner? Should he invite you to dinner? What if he has a family? God, he has a family.

 

These questions and that statement were all that ran through James’ head as he realised it was his old friend standing before him. Gillette was bright red and was obviously facing the same sort of predicament. After a rather awkward pause Gillette spoke.

 

‘Only the younger,’

‘I beg your pardon?’ replied James, still in shock

‘The girls. Only the younger, Mary that is, is mine. Claudia is from my late wife’s first marriage.’

 

The logical part of James knew that I’m sorry for your loss would be the most appropriate response to Gillette’s words, but his chest felt on fire, he was stunned. He could not speak. He turned, walked out of the office and headed to the fort as fast as he could.

 

*~*~*~*