Chapter 46:  Failure

 

Elizabeth felt horrid as she struck down another pirate.  She hated fighting for Lord Beckett and the Company, but she had no choice.  She could not fight Will.  Elizabeth wiped away a tear that was rolling down her cheek.  She heard someone moving behind her, and she whirled around, finding herself facing Jack.  She kept her sword raised, prepared to fight, but she prayed that he would decide that he could not attack her—she was not sure she would be able to force herself to fight him.

They stood there, staring at each other for a few moments, each wondering if the other would attack.  When it became apparent that neither wished to fight the other, Jack finally spoke.  “Is Robin here?”

Elizabeth blinked, surprised by the question.  Searching her memory, she did remember seeing Robin board the Flying Dutchman, but Elizabeth had not seen her since.  She glanced around at the chaos on the deck, but did not see her.  “I believe I saw her earlier, but I don’t know where she is now.”

“She’s below deck.”

Elizabeth jumped slightly as she heard Lord Beckett’s voice from nearby.  She glared hatefully at the man who had caused her and her husband to fight for the wrong side.  Beckett’s expression was cold as usual, but his eyes were surprisingly and uncharacteristically sad.

“In the brig,” Beckett specified, motioning with the pistol in his hand.

Jack eyed Beckett suspiciously.  Beckett sighed when Jack did not move, and headed below deck.  Jack followed behind him hesitantly, and after a moment of indecision, so did Elizabeth, although she was not sure why.

Elizabeth heard what sounded like crying, but it did not sound like a woman.  When they entered the brig, Elizabeth saw James leaning against the bars of one of the cells.  He was cradling a bloodied body, holding it close to his chest.  He looked up as they approached, his eyes sweeping over the three, gazing at Jack for a moment before locking onto Elizabeth.  His eyes were filled with heartbreaking sorrow and pain, and tear streaks stained his face.

“Jackie?”  Jack brushed past Beckett, kneeling beside James.  “No…”

Elizabeth realized that James was holding Robin…or what was left of her.  She was dead.  Feeling a strange pang in her heart, Elizabeth realized that she was actually sorry about that.  She hated Robin, obviously, but the men around her loved her:  Jack, James…maybe even Beckett, given his current expression.

“The battle is lost,” Beckett stated quietly.

Elizabeth looked at him in confusion, and then to Jack and James.  James kissed Robin’s forehead, still tightly holding her body.  Jack turned to Beckett, also confused.

“Libertas was our only ally,” Beckett continued.  “The only god who would fight the others.”

“You knew,” James whispered, gazing down at Robin and gently moving some hair from her face.

Elizabeth looked from Beckett to James and back, trying to figure out what they were talking about.  She remembered Robin and Barbossa once discussing someone named Libertas a very long time ago.  But what did Libertas have to do with anything?”

“The battle is not over,” James said quietly.  He looked up again and around at everyone in the brig.  “How can you give up now?  You would let them get away with…with murdering Jacqueline?” he asked, tears still flowing down his face.  He got to his feet, somehow managing to stand while still holding Robin’s head body.  “With murdering Libertas?”  Elizabeth’s eyes widened as this information sunk in.

Robin was Libertas.  She was a goddess.

“We cannot fight the gods,” Beckett said quietly.  “We are not powerful enough.”

“It would help if you stopped the East India Company’s attack,” Jack said rather spitefully.  “The gods are just using you as a tool for the Brethren’s destruction.”  Jack tenderly stroked Robin’s cheek.  “Who did this?” he asked James quietly.

“Calypso,” James breathed.  His eyes flashed dangerously.  “Her own mother!”

“Tia Dalma?” Elizabeth breathed in disbelief, staring at Jack.  Jack looked at her, his eyes growing cold.  He nodded shortly.

“We can’t fight them,” Beckett repeated.  He stared at Robin’s lifeless body.  “But we cannot let them get away with this either.

“We will fight,” James said firmly.  “And we will win.”

Beckett shook his head.  “It’s suicide.”

“I made Jacqueline a promise,” James said.  “And I intend to keep it.”

* * *

James Norrington knelt by the freshly turned dirt.  Lord Beckett had managed to arrange a respite in order for each side to regroup and to bury their dead.  For most, this meant simply committing the bodies of the dead to the sea.  But Norrington refused to allow Jacqueline’s body to be placed in the ocean.  After all, the sea itself, in the form of the goddess Calypso, had killed her.

Jacqueline was buried in an idyllic clearing in the forest on a nearby island.  The Brethren and the Company were going to Parlay on the beach of that same island shortly.  Norrington hoped that Beckett would choose to oppose Calypso, but he knew that Beckett would not risk the entire East India Company to fight a battle that would almost certainly lose.  There was hardly even a fool’s chance.

Norrington was the only one left at Jacqueline’s grave.  Jack had left only when he had been fetched for a meeting of the Brethren Court, leaving Norrington alone.  Norrington’s eyes were red, and he had long since run out of tears.  “I made you a promise, Jacqueline,” he whispered.  “But I am not strong enough to keep it.  I am not afraid of death—I am afraid of failure.  I fear that I will fail you.”

He listened to the wind blowing through the trees, the leaves rustling, and the sound of the waves on the beach.  “I am alone,” he realized.  “I am not a pirate; I am not an officer of the East India Company.  You, my love, were my only true ally.  And now…I have no one.”

Was it silly to be speaking to the dead?  Foolish to be whispering to a grave?  But whom else would he talk to?  Norrington had never been very open with anyone in all his life.  It would contradict his position as an officer to reveal the weaknesses in his heart and mind.  But he had spoken to Jacqueline.  He had allowed her, and only her, to see everything in his heart.  And now she was gone.

A small part of Norrington insisted that she was not dead, that she would not be gone forever.  She had come back before.  Even when he had despaired and lost all hope, she had reappeared…only to discover that the man she trusted so implicitly with her fears had turned into a monster in her absence.

Norrington would never let that happen again.  Revenge was a very ugly thing.  It made him an ugly man.  He had committed seemingly unforgivable acts in his lust for vengeance.  Yet, even after everything he had done, Jacqueline still trusted him.  Perhaps she had even felt the same way for Norrington as he did for her.  She had come to the brig of the Flying Dutchman to save him.  And her desire to help him caused her death.

Jacqueline had died because she had been so blinded by her concern for Norrington.  She had died because she had cared for him.  Norrington remembered how when Jacqueline had first been struggling with having true feelings, with having a heart, she had accused him of being the reason for her weakness.

“I was able to keep my emotions in check so that they would never hinder me.  I had to in order to survive.  But when I’m around you, I start feeling…I start actually…I would not be in this mess if it wasn’t for you.”

Horror shot through Norrington as he came to a dreadful realization:  Jacqueline had died because of him.  If it had not been for him…

Norrington put his head in his hands.  “Oh, God…”  He could not bear the fact that he had been the cause of Jacqueline’s death.  Through that, he had quite probably destroyed all hope for the Brethren Court, and, in a way, for the East India Company.  Norrington could not live with this.  He could not live on knowing that all the suffering that was to occur would be his fault.  He could not live knowing that it had been him who had brought about Jacqueline’s death.

Norrington reached into his jacket and withdrew the penknife.  Jacqueline had returned it to him before the Parlay with Beckett.  She had trusted him to succeed.  But he had failed.  And when he had failed, she tried to help him.  And she had been killed for it.

His body somehow managed to find new tears to fall as he remembered holding her, kissing her, assuring her that everything would be all right—that she would survive.  Then she had silenced.

Norrington would give anything to hold her warm body again.  But there was nothing that could be done.  Norrington could almost feel hope slipping through his fingers as he tightened his grip on the penknife.

He remembered their “fight” over the bottle of rum, and what had followed, and the unfortunate interruption by Gillette.  He remembered how they fought and argued so much a long time before, when both were denying the feelings they had for the other.  He remembered the way she would close her eyes every time anything touched her lips.  Her smile, her laugh…

Norrington worked to steady his hand as he raised the penknife higher.

He remembered her admitting that her flirtations with him had not all been an act.  He remembered the fluttering feeling in his heart when she had requested that he call her Jacqueline again.  He remembered her warm body against his as they embraced…

Norrington turned the penknife towards his chest, aiming it at his heart.

James Norrington…My heart is yours.

He closed his eyes as he took a deep breath and gripped the knife even more tightly, his heart pounding as he pictured Jacqueline clearly in his mind.

“For you.”