the Dalaverse

Well. If I'd known this was going to be so easy to finish,I'd have done it ages ago.

Anybody remember Brothers in Arms? Last time I left the boys (nearly a year and a half ago? seriously?) the lieutenantlove had taken a sharp turn for the unhappy. They're still there, mostly. This part takes place a few months prior to CoBP.

I promise I will finish it. I promise.



A Link Is Lost, the Chain Undone


“Excuse me, sir, but – is it true?”

Theodore regretted even the slightest moment of disruption in his gazing – such a blue as he’d never seen, and they ought to be coming up on the island soon – but he inclined his head to look at the young midshipman who had come up beside him. “Is what true, Mr. Shipley?”

“That you sailed with Captain Norrington,” Shipley burst out, pronouncing the captain’s name with the same inflection as a priest invoking the Son of God. “Ages and ages ago. Sir.”

Turning his gaze back to the Caribbean, Theodore allowed a twist of his mouth. Eight and a half years hardly made an age, but in Shipley’s place he would have thought the same thing. If anyone had told him it would be so long before he set eyes on James Norrington again…

“Yes, that’s so,” he replied, lifting an arm to mop his brow. The climate would certainly take some getting used to. “We were on the Kestrel as lads, not much older than you are now.”

“I told you, din’t I?” Shipley shot over his shoulder to his tall companion, whose sunburn was finally fading to the shade of his freckles. Wallis shrugged, trying to make himself look smaller by hunching his shoulders. He was not half so bold as Shipley, or indeed any of the other midshipmen, and had hardly spoken ten words together on the entire voyage. Theodore might think him simple as the other men did, if he had not once caught sight of Wallis’s small collection of books when he had gone to scold Shipley for shirking.

The boy now turned his round, eager face up to Theodore. “They say he holds dominion over these waters like a king. They say he ran Barrett the Red-Armed down with only six working guns an’ took not one loss.”

“I don’t put much stock in these colourful appellations – Dread Pirate This-and-Such and Whomsoever the Black. I am convinced the players and broadsheets make them up.”

“Yet you steal my penny novels every chance you get.”

“Only after James has finished with them!”

Clearing his throat, Theodore banished the wayward memories to a corner of his mind. “I cannot speak for Mr. Barrett, but I can tell you the captain is as brave and steady a man as I have ever met.”

Steady except when it came to correspondence – though to be honest, blaming James for the dwindling exchange of letters was unfair. Theodore had labored over what to write for years now, on his own and with the gradual disintegration of intimacy in James’ letters, and he feared much was lost in translation anyhow. He had dashed off a hasty note informing James of his imminent arrival in the Indies, omitting the detail that it was to be as a mere fifth lieutenant upon a ship with no victories to her name. But the Dowager was quick enough, and it was entirely possible she had beaten the letter’s merchantman bearer here. In a way he wished she had; the thought of the surprise on James’ face after all this time –

“I heard they’re to make ‘im commodore of the fleet,” said Shipley in a conspirational tone.

Theodore raised his eyebrows at this. “At twenty-eight? That’s terribly young for a commodore, even one so well-qualified as Norrington.” Nevertheless, he felt a flood of pride amidst the wash of tropical heat. They had always told James he was destined for great things, but such a promotion, or even the rumour of it, was great indeed.

“Aye, sir.” Shipley would never contradict his superior directly, but it was clear from his expression that he saw no basic difference between twenty-eight and seventy-eight. He glanced at Wallis, who pulled his cap down further over his ears. “If you wouldn’t mind, Mr. Groves – if the chance comes up – might you say a good word for Tom and me?”

According to what Theodore had heard in the wardroom, part of the Caribbean fleet’s problem was an overabundance of youth and a lack of seasoned officers, but he nodded gravely and watched Shipley skip off with real fondness, Wallis at his heels. They were good lads, both of them, even if the one ran his mouth incessantly and the other scarcely opened it. Oddly enough, they suited one another. Not for the first time he wondered if he and James and Andrew had been so transparent – but he did not care for that line of reasoning and so he shut it down.

In point of fact James would only be twenty-eight for another month. Last year Theodore had forgotten until nearly two months had passed, and by then he’d felt too foolish to bring it up.

“Land ho!” came the shout from the foretop, and Theodore smiled to himself as cheers raced along the decks, shading his eyes from the bright sun and searching for the dull spot upon the horizon. This year, there would be no call to forget.



Why, he looks just the same, Theodore thought in astonishment as James made his way up the gangplank, a young officer at his side. He wasn’t sure what changes he had imagined the years would have wrought, but to see the same fair face beneath the white wig, the same long, slim limbs under the pristine blue coat, precisely the same serious green eyes – it was such a shock that he took a step back upon the deck. Fortunately Captain Pollard, a naturally effusive man fond of his brandy and his company, stepped forward to greet his visitors, leaving Theodore time to compose himself.

“Captain Norrington! You are much talked about in England, and I am pleased to finally put a face to the dread name.” He shook James’ hand vigorously.

James gave a slight nod and an even slighter smile. Theodore could hardly blame him; Pollard was sometimes a bit much to take. “I am pleased to meet you as well, Captain Pollard, and to welcome you to Port Royal. Did the crossing go smoothly?”

“Oh, smooth enough, forgiving the blasted heat and a storm or two,” said Pollard, waving his hand in dismissal. “’Twas not the first time I’ve sailed the Caribbean.” Theodore caught the briefest twitch at the corner of the first lieutenant’s mouth. Pollard may have been captain, but he was a sailor in name only.

James nodded again and indicated the man standing beside him. “First lieutenant of the Dauntless, Mr. Thomas Randall.”

“Sir,” said Randall, a slight, sandy-haired youth whose deference to his captain was evident at first glance. Theodore stepped surreptitiously to Pollard’s left side, just within his line of sigh.

“Well-met, Mr. Randall – and this is Howard, the Dowager’s first, and Groves, our fifth.” He gave Theodore a curious look for having appeared out of nowhere.

Theodore barely took note of the way Pollard had introduced them, though he knew Will Howard’s shoulders would have stiffened at the captain’s flippancy. He drew in a deep breath and let his smile finally break onto his face. James dipped his chin to Howard with cool respect, turned his head in Theodore’s direction and did the same.

He could feel the smile faltering, even as he tried to hold James’s eye; but James levelled his straightforward gaze at Pollard again and asked, “Captain Pollard, I would be honoured if you would take supper aboard my ship. And your officers as well, of course.” His eyes flickered briefly to Theodore again, so empty of anything but formality that Theodore frowned at him, just as if they were boys and James had scolded him for baiting Andrew. He had himself under control again by the time Pollard glanced at him with a greater degree of interest.

“By Jove, I had forgotten – the two of you have served together before, have you not?”

“We have, sir,” said Theodore, trying to keep his voice as indifferent as James’s whole carriage, but fearing it held an edge of sulk. “Many years ago.”

“Indeed,” said James with that same faint non-smile, which he had once reserved for men he thought inept or stupid or pompous. “In fact, if it would not trouble you greatly, Captain, might I request Lieutenant Groves’s presence in my office for a bit? I believe we may have business to discuss."

Business indeed, Theodore thought fiercely, narrowing his eyes again. His pride smarted at having the request directed not at himself, but at the wealthy captain whom the old James would never had respected so. He opened his mouth to bite out a refusal, but Pollard waved his hand.

“Yes, yes, go ahead, my good fellow. Groves, you are relieved from your duties for the afternoon.”

It would have been folly to refuse after that, and Theodore could only say, “Thank you, sir,” through gritted teeth, and follow James down to the pier.

Port Royal’s dockyards were busy and lively, so it did not seem unusual that the two of them were silent on their way to the impressive stone fort. Theodore blinked up at it, momentarily distracted from his unhappiness. It reminded him of the Norman castle in his home county, not far from where his father was buried. He had taken James and Andrew there, and they had spent a rather silly afternoon playing at being crusaders in the shadows of its crumbling tower.

“This is Fort Charles, the newest of the four,” said James with a muted note of pride, nodding to the marines guarding the entrance.

“Is it?” Theodore asked blandly.

“Yes, my rooms are on the ground floor,” James continued, leading him through the hall without so much as a backward glance. Inwardly Theodore bristled; never before had he been made to resent following James.

The room they entered was spare but fine, adorned with maps and books, with a view of the water from the western window. Theodore closed the heavy door behind him and leaned back against it, wondering how he could possibly fit himself into this new and alarming world.

“Well, what do you think?” James turned and his face was split by a grin, his eyes alight. Immediately he looked ten years younger; he might have been the very same boy who had vanquished Theodore the infidel with his willow branch sword.

Theodore blinked at him, thrown by the sudden transformation. “Sir?”

Some of the delight faded from James’s smile. “Oh, Theodore, I apologise if I have offended you.” He pulled his hat off and twisted it in his hands, making the wig look even more mismatched to his natural age. “Please don’t hold my behaviour against me – it is necessary here, to put up a face against the lawlessness all around us –”

“Which face is the true one?” Theodore demanded, locking his fingers together behind his back to keep them from trembling. “The James Norrington I knew as a boy or the Captain Norrington I have met today?”

James flushed, pursing his lips in a way Theodore knew so well he could feel it against his skin. “Both,” he said quietly. “The second because I must, amongst my peers, and the first because – because I would like very much to have you as my friend again.”

Remembering his own words to Shipley, Theodore knew James was right about the necessity of appearing competent to the point of standoffishness, and he was ashamed at his reaction. It had still hurt, though, and he pulled a face, visibly worsening James’s anxiety – which again made him feel a brute. In the end he could not hold a grudge against this man any more than he could have sprouted wings and leaped from the battlements of the fort.

“I have always been and will always be your friend, James,” he said, smiling to see James slump with relief. He held out a hand. “Will you greet me as one now?”

“Of course – of course,” James said thickly, taking a quick step forward and embracing Theodore like a brother. Theodore closed his eyes, inhaling the unfamiliar scent of powder from the wig, his arms tightening around the other man. Cautious now, he tried not to think of what more they had been, nor of the third.

Palm thudding between Theodore’s shoulder blades, apparently untroubled by such thoughts, James beamed at him and called for his steward. They caught up for a bottle, laughing over old reminisces, huddled together at James’s desk.

“This is a paradise you have claimed,” Theodore remarked, gazing out the window as the sun sank into the glittering waters.

James rubbed a thumb over the bowl of his glass, following Theodore’s gaze with obvious fondness. “It has its charms,” he admitted.

At once Theodore’s interest in the sunset was eclipsed by his awareness of his friend’s proximity. In truth, he was surprised it had taken so long for his thoughts to turn to the strength of James’s jaw, the soft contented glow of his green eyes, the flash of skin at the open collar of his shirt. They had both removed coats, neck-cloths and wigs by now, growing warm from the wine even as the day’s heat waned.

“Are you happy here, James?” Theodore murmured, unconsciously drawing closer. “Truly?”

James’s smile, cast down at his lap, was twisted with just a bit of melancholy. “Truly, Theo, I cannot say.” He raised his eyes to Theodore, lashes fluttering, and Theodore swallowed hard at the swift caress of arousal. “I think it is not so simple as that. I think the only time in my life when I could have said I was happy, honestly and unequivocally, was in England with you and –”

Theodore leaned forward and kissed him, sliding a hand behind his ear and stroking fingertips against his hair, still soft though it was cropped short. The press of his mouth, the taste of him was at once fresh and achingly familiar. Other lovers Theodore had kissed over the years fell from his mind like autumn leaves; not one had the measure to stand up to this.

James was still for a moment, but his lips yielded to Theodore’s gentle pressure and he bent forward a fraction. Yet as Theodore angled his head to deepen the kiss, James pulled back and reached for his hand, drawing it down from his neck before releasing it.

“Theodore, I can’t,” he whispered.

Sitting back in his chair, Theodore stared out the window. “No,” he agreed hollowly. For all its familiarity it was not the same.

We are not the same.

“Please understand,” James was saying, his voice low and earnest. “I don’t mean to deny what you were to me, how I felt; but I cannot care for you in the same way. We are no longer – we have –”

To stop him finishing the sentence in words that still stung after all these years, Theodore broke in with, “I do understand, James.” It was only halfway a lie. He tried a smile, though it made his chest constrict. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me of all people.”

James bit his bottom lip, eyes still searching Theodore’s face for signs of blame. Finding none seemed to calm him somewhat, and he was even able to let out a shaky laugh as he said, “I have fretted over this conversation for months, and now that it’s done with I feel –”

“Like fretting over something else?” Theodore asked pertly, gratified when James smiled in relieved acknowledgement. Recalling his answer to the question of happiness, he took a sharp breath and added, “Or someone else, perhaps?”

A sudden rush of colour was all the answer he needed. He folded his hands in his lap to keep them from digging furrows in the desktop. James looked at him skeptically.
“Are – are you certain you wish to hear?”

Theodore thought of James when he truly was happy, the sweetness and shyness of him, and he nodded with complete honesty.

James blushed again, tapping his fingers dissonantly against a map on the desk. “Well, I have not made my suit yet, but there is a girl –”

“Ah, a girl,” Theodore repeated, waggling his eyebrows, finding some comfort in the act. “I always feared I’d lose you to one of those wretched creatures.”

“She is unlike any woman I’ve ever know,” James murmured, his eyes slightly out of focus, as if he were far away from the fort and Theodore’s company. “Clever, and she knows it very well, and she takes interest in things most young ladies would yawn at or recoil from. I ought to be scandalized by some of the things she says, but instead I simply grow more…”

He waved a hand around, frustrated by the knot of his tongue. “Besotted,” Theodore suggested, amused to see James duck his head like an errant schoolboy. “What’s her name?”

“Miss Swann – Elizabeth,” he added reluctantly at Theodore’s dour look.

The name was oddly familiar and James looked at him in anticipation. After a moment he snapped his fingers and exclaimed, “The governor’s daughter?” He laughed, ignoring a stab of jealousy. “The king of the Caribbean ought to have a fitting queen, I suppose.”

James shook his head. “I am no king, and she is only eighteen.” Theodore shrugged at that, and James continued with a pained expression. “And though she is generally polite, I fear she does not care for my company overmuch.”

“Then she must not know you as I do,” said Theodore firmly, already forming an opinion about this Miss Swann. If she had wits as well as courage then she was a match for James; but if she scorned him, she was no more deserving than a doxy.

Pouring himself another measure of wine, James tipped it back with uncharacteristic abandon. Theodore forced his eyes from the line of his throat as he swallowed. The late heat of the Jamaican day was as uncomfortable as it was unfamiliar, though James did not seem bothered.

“Let us talk of something else,” said James with a sigh when he had finished. “You, for example. I mean to have you for my own lieutenant,” he said with easy confidence.

Theodore’s heart lifted at the thought, but as he leaned his chair back on two legs, he merely replied, “Do you, now?”

“I mean, if you will,” said James, turning faintly pink again and fiddling with his glass. “You would be senior to my lieutenants on the Dauntless…”

Casting his gaze out the window to a blaze of amber sky, Theodore said quietly, “Ah, but you’ll remember, I never had much ambition.”

“Of course you must do as you wish.” James’s mouth tightened with poorly concealed disappointment, and his early display of distance notwithstanding, Theodore saw that he had still not learned to control his emotions around those he trusted. Theodore wondered just how small that number might be.

Giving up the game, he clapped James on the shoulder, staunchly resisting the inclination to let his hand linger. “Oh, James, I’m only tweaking your pride a bit. I would be honoured – I would be delighted to serve you.” He met James’s grin, thinking with only a touch of sadness, As I always meant to, one way or another. “First Lieutenant Groves, eh? I rather like the sound of that.”

James sat up straighter and cleared his throat. “Well, that’s – it’s true that you have several years over my current lieutenants...”

“But?” Theodore supplied with an exaggerated sigh. It wasn’t so much the rank as the post itself that mattered, but if James didn’t cotton on to that, Theodore was not going to enlighten him.

He fidgeted, smoothing a spot on the map beneath his fingers. “They are sending another ship, you see – a brand-new brig, by all accounts one of His Majesty’s swiftest.”

“Clearly you’ve done something to catch the Admiralty’s attention,” Theodore drawled, amused by James’s blush.

“She’s called the Interceptor, and her officers include a Lieutenant Andrew Gillette.”

Theodore considered his wineglass, filled it to the brim, and drained it in three long swallows.

When he could finally tear his eyes from the last drops of darkened ruby in crystal, James was looking at him with wrinkled brow. “Theo? Is something wrong? I thought the news would please you.”

“James –” Theodore had to bite his lip to hold back a bitter laugh. Eight years of avoiding him, and he’s followed me halfway around the globe. “To be perfectly honest, Andrew Gillette and I have...fallen out.”

“Oh.” James dropped his gaze, adjusting his long-fingered grip around the bowl of the glass. “I – I didn’t realise...”

Theodore shook his head, feeling his cheeks turn warm. He might have controlled his reaction, but there was nothing doing now. “No reason you should. We...decided not to tell you. I'm sorry for that now," he said, meaning it. It would have saved them this awkwardness, even if it would have hurt James to think himself the cause.

A moment of silence stretched into several more before they said farewell, fostered by Theodore’s extreme reluctance to explain any further. They had lied those first few years, but they had done it for James’s sake, out of love and concern – and, Theodore had to admit, out of shame as well. Perhaps that had been the wrong of it. There was comfort in keeping memories for another when his own had been warped. He wondered if Andrew knew who would be there to meet him, if he’d had to spill it out on paper or if he let it go, if he’d imagined James’s face falling and felt the same sting of guilt.

I bloody well hope so, he thought fiercely, glaring up at the faint glimmer of moon in the waning daylight.



Theodore made a point of never getting thoroughly, irrevocably drunk in a town he didn’t know well. He was all too familiar with tales of sailors having their purses cut by local pickpockets or conniving women. The women were not a concern for him, but having once nearly stepped into an alley with a Dutch bricklayer he later learned made a pastime out of luring and beating men of a certain persuasion, he had learned to regard all potential lovers with some degree of suspicion.

Port Royal was a haphazard, winding town whose narrow streets he still hadn’t worked out two months after his arrival. And he comforted himself with the thought that he wasn’t completely out of his head.

“‘M not,” he muttered to a stray dog that was trotting by. The dog whined and wagged its tail, but shied away when Theodore held out his fingers for it to sniff.

Theodore scowled at it. It was just like bloody Andrew. Nose in the air, too good and proper to ever admit boyhood foibles. He had been almost rudely formal even with James, and not softened a whit when James was clearly hurt. The distance to himself, Theodore could take, but wounding James was a wrong he would not soon forgive.

Being around James after all these years was wonderful and sorrowing all at once, but being around Andrew – that brought Theodore nothing but anger and bitterness, brought it on stronger than he’d thought possible in the mere week the man had been here. He had to keep close watch on himself to stop from lashing out, biting down on his tongue to hold back curses –

“Fuck,” he said with feeling, lurching to a stop just before his shoe skidded into a large, fragrant pile of horse dung.

“Wot you want t’ pay?” The voice and its accompanying giggle came from an alley to his left. Theodore blinked and squinted into the gloom, catching flashes of eyes and skin. He certainly hadn’t meant to wander this way.

Now that he was here, however...

He moved nearer, casting a nervous glance down the street, but it was nearly empty this time of night. Some tavern revellers were about, but they were too drunk to see their own feet or had whores already on their arms. There was no watchman to come at him, no James to shake his head in disappointment, no Andrew to curl his lip in scorn.

Just Theodore, and the promise of anonymous sympathy in the dark.

“Have you any fellows amongst you?” he asked bluntly, having only seen glimpses of plump bosoms and towering piles of hair. He didn’t prefer paying men over sharing time with those who willed it, but he’d done so enough to know most of them kept up good relations with their female counterparts.

The prostitutes giggled again and fell to the sides to let a young man step forward into the moonlight. He was fair-haired and slender, looking a bit younger than Theodore himself. His face was not handsome, but it was clear from the rouge on his full lips and the hip-hugging cut of his breeches that he knew what his business was about nonetheless. His eyes were light; they might have been gray or green or a very pale hazel. Yet somehow Theodore knew they were blue.

The man lowered his eyelashes at Theodore and named a price that would have been reasonable back home, though Theodore wasn’t sure what the going rate might be in the Caribbean. In any case, he had enough coin in his purse.

“You’ll do,” he said, following the man into the alley as the women dispersed to peddle their wares elsewhere. The prospect of excising his frustrations had sobered him somewhat, but he was still drunk enough to appreciate the support of the wall behind his shoulders.

Crooking his finger at the prostitute, he fumbled at his waistband with the other hand and whispered, “Come here.”

“Whatever ye say, sirrah,” said the man with a simper and a meek air, obviously put on. Theodore didn’t care for games, not in times such as these.

“I don’t require talk,” he said, easing the sharpness of his tone with a strained smile. “Just...get on with it.”

The man nodded, kneeling in front of him and pushing his clumsy hands away. The slow throb of arousal quickened at the stranger's touch. Theodore leaned his head against the wall and let him go to, gulping damp air, welcoming the sweat running down his face and his spine as it chased the chill of memory away.