Caribbean Yule
A ficlet in three parts

By Erinrua
Presented to all the members of Black Pearl Sails
December 25, 2005

Atop high stone ramparts a solitary figure walked, trim, erect, precise in his bearing, the habits of nearly a lifetime's service governing even his leisure moments. Commodore James Norrington looked up at the vault of stars, and a soft sigh escaped his lips. Even here, the endless rumbling voice of the sea reached his hearing, and he lowered his gaze to the dark expanse beyond the fort walls. There, broad silver-dark water shimmered all the way to the black rim of the world. Such an insignificant thing seemed man, a mote between the vastness of heaven and sea. Where such majesty existed beyond mortal touch, how could Man's petty endeavors account as aught but the wink of a divine eye?

But then the salt breeze brought a burst of laughter, and the brief, skipping notes of a fiddle. Norrington pivoted and looked back the way he had come. There, lantern light danced warmly on grey stone. Nor was he surprised to see one of his lieutenants frozen at the head of the stairs, caught by Norrington's unexpected turn.

"Sir? It's time to eat, sir." A white grin gleamed in starlight. "And the rum punch is most excellent."

Below, the fiddle leapt into a merry skirling, joined swiftly by pipe and drum, and more voices rose in jolly tumult, suddenly coalescing into full-lunged harmony.

"Of course, Lieutenant Groves," Norrington replied, and a smile warmed him inside and out. "I am right behind you."

Countless lights gleamed like golden stars in the windows of the governor's mansion. Each time the front door opened to admit elegant guests, the strains of music poured forth, flowing down the steps and into the velvet night. Carriages came and emitted their burdens, while greetings speared the darkness with shards of light; Merry Christmas, Noel, Merry Christmas. Amongst light and laughter swirled Elizabeth Swann, luminous as the tapers that lit the halls.

Soon, however, she noted a certain absence, and made her way amidst rustling skirts towards the open verandah doors. She found him outside standing alone, face upturned to the stars.

"Will? You should come inside. We're about to serve the cake."

He turned his head to smile at her, but it was a startlingly wistful expression. Mouth formed in a silent O, Elizabeth swept to his side and caught his hands in her own. His fingers returned her clasp with gentle strength.

"Do you ever think of England?" he asked softly.

"Sometimes." She searched his dear face, those dark eyes that mirrored his very soul.

Will drew a deep breath and looked upwards again. "I was remembering Christmas as a boy. The snow falling without a sound. The way it made everything seem so quiet, at peace. The way I could see my breath. And in the distance I could hear church bells ringing. It made the night seem holy."

His glance flickered back to her, accompanied by a quick, chagrined smile before he glanced down. "That must sound silly."

"No, Will. It sounds wonderful." Elizabeth lifted her fingers to trace the line of his jaw. "I want you always to help me remember."

"I promise," he whispered.

Then he bent to claim her kiss, the dearest gift of all.

Far out on a glittering expanse of water that heaved in restless billows, a single ship glided in that timeless place between stars and the night-dark sea. Black she appeared, with sails of ebony, her masts and yards bold strokes of ink. But on a closer view, pinpricks of light appeared, lanterns a-glow to bathe her decks in gold. Within that light, men lay at ease, sprawled on hatch covers, couched on coils of rope, while a single fiddle scraped a desultory tune.

At her helm stood her captain, lantern light glinting on the baubles in his hair and in the black depths of his eyes. That gaze seemed focused far away, as the fiddle gently sang, but then he blinked, and blinked again. With a swift gesture he lashed down the helm, and then swung down the steps to the deck below. His men roused to heed his passage, but with no orders forthcoming, they relaxed once more to idle sips of three-water grog.

With swift strides, Jack passed forward until he stood at the bow, with naught but rail between him and the dark, endless sea. He lifted his head to look at the heavens, that vast canopy of stars forever guiding his way. His knees flexed without thought to the deck rising beneath his feet, and the sliding plunge that ever followed.

There. A single star shone brighter than all its brethren, constant, unchanging, a promise never broken. A guidepost when all other landmarks were lost from sight. The only constancy, perhaps, that a sailor would ever know - and most certainly all a pirate could expect.

Jack wheeled about and stood wide-legged, his features bathed in fiery lantern light. "GENTLEMEN!" he bawled. "Is this not Christmas Eve?"

A scattered chorus of "aye" answered. The fiddle whined an even more doleful note.

"Exactly!" Jack flung himself forward in long, thumping strides. "And since it is Christmas, must I remind you that the first and foremost requirement of Christmas is that we make MERRY?"

He jerked to a halt inches from the fiddler's face, whose music whimpered to a halt. "You! Fiddler! Do you not understand 'merry'?"

Fiddle still beneath his chin, the man nodded jerkily. "Aye, cap'n."

"Aye!" Jack flung both arms out wide, as if embracing the answer to the question of life, then clapped his hands beseechingly together. "Then will you please - play something HAPPY?"

An uncertain squawk emitted from the fiddle and Jack clenched his teeth. "Think ... happy ... thoughts. Just try it for me, aye?"

He beamed a golden grin, then wheeled about and jammed both hands to his hips. Instantly his face sharpened to fierceness.

"Listen up, you scabrous dogs! It's Christmas Eve and I want to see MERRY happening here! On your feet, you slack-jawed mother's sons! We're pirates and free men, and you are the crew of the dreaded Black Pearl. Let's have some MERRINESS! And you, fiddler - give us a proper tune! Jump and make it so!"

And they jumped, every man of them, whereupon the fiddle's bounding tune kept those feet gladly moving. A tin whistle's bright cheer soon joined the music, then a clarinet from some forgotten bundle of swag, followed by a concertina only a little out of tune. Whoops of glee punctuated the thud of dancing feet, until another cheer went up when the scowling, grimy cook emerged from the galley. In both gnarled hands, he bore a fragrant pan of spiced rum cake.

Then Jack Sparrow stood with one fist gripping the shrouds and the other a mug of grog.

"Now this," he said with a golden grin, "is a merry Christmas."

On the Black Pearl sailed, into the starlit night, trailing alee the sound of song and voices raised in laughter.

~ FINIS ~

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