Due to Jack Sparrow's not inconsiderable role in both Governor Swann's reappointment and the safe return of the Turners, as they were now that Elizabeth and Will had finally had their wedding, he'd been unofficially pardoned. 'Unofficially' as he'd balked at the role of privateer, considering it to be as bad as having a proper job, but had been more than happy to accept the Governor's dispensation that allowed him free access to the city; much to the horror of the newly reinstalled, exonerated and well on his way to being promoted commodore. The Pearl had been in port for nearly two weeks but Sparrow still hadn't tired of swaggering around the streets as if he owned them, and Norrington had a nagging suspicion it would take quite some time for that particular novelty to wear off.

The extended period of time Norrington had been forced to share with Sparrow on the Pearl had appeared to mellow the commodore in certain ways; so, although their paths rarely crossed, when they did meet (despite his blustering to the contrary) he was content to tolerate Sparrow's presence for the most part. Sparrow, in turn, continued to delight in baiting him at every possible turn. This strange routine they'd settled into meant that it wasn't exactly a hardship for either of them when they both found themselves at the Turner residence for dinner.

All things considered, it had been a very enjoyable meal, and neither guests nor hosts were keen for the evening to end. So they lingered over the wine, talking. Sparrow had been furnishing the newlyweds with advice that appeared to be gathered from some of the lewder bawdy houses, much to Will's (and if, truth be told, Norrington's) obvious embarrassment. Even Elizabeth was having a job maintaining her calm, unflappable façade. Sparrow, who knew a good audience when one was sitting round a dining table looking at him, felt he had enjoyed their discomfort for long enough and was happy to move the conversation onto less dangerous ground before Will, poor lad, had some sort of breakdown.

"Did I ever tell you about the first time we let James off the Pearl? Shore leave. Does unaccountable things to a man after long weeks at sea. Suddenly having all that freedom, with coin in your pocket and your blood up."

He told them about the mysterious lands to the east, sketching out the dusty arid landscape and bustling marketplaces with eloquent sweeps of his hands.

"We'd gotten separated..." he suddenly broke off and tilted his head curiously at Norrington "You know, you never have told me what you got up to."

"Nothing of any importance." His grim look and tone of voice suggested that Sparrow would be wise not to pursue the matter further.

Sparrow nodded sagely "Very wise, a gentleman should always keep his cards close to his chest." Norrington sighed to himself as Sparrow continued on blithely.

"So, we'd each had our little adventures, but we met up again at the Sultan's palace."

Elizabeth interrupted, "You were guests of the Sultan?" she said disbelievingly. Sparrow looked at her, the very picture of wide-eyed innocence, "Oh yes, love. He didn't know who we were but with the pomp and ceremony with which he greeted us... ah, you'd have thought we were princes."

[Or spies. Or thieves. Or spies and thieves. In fact Norrington never learnt the exact nature of the charges levelled against them. Maybe there weren't any. Maybe they'd been captured for no other reason than they were strangers in the land and their tormenters were malicious bastards who wanted to know if their foreign blood ran as red as their usual prisoners'.]

Sparrow was busy telling them about the magnificence of the palace. The long pools filled with cool clear water and stocked with beautiful rainbow-coloured fish longer than a man's arm, the fountains of crystal and silver, the heady incense heavy in the air, the silken drapes and the satin cushions. And finally the Sultan's harem, beauties all, who seemed to do little more than lie amongst all that opulence in various states of undress, lazily feeding each other honeyed fruit.

Norrington allowed him his flight of fancy before reining him in, or at least trying to. He cleared his throat, "I don't recall it being that..." he gestured vaguely "lavish."

Sparrow feigned incredulous surprise "Well I don't know about you, but it seemed quite lavish to me." In a not very quiet undertone to the Turners, "Obviously the Navy has much higher standards than what us ordinary folk are used to." He gave the Turners a grin and a headshake that clearly suggested that Norrington was a miserable fool who was never happier unless he was moaning about something; before turning that same grin on him forcing Norrington to tamp down an answering smile. Despite Sparrow's easy manner there was a clear question in his eyes and Norrington gave him a barely perceptible nod. Enough time had passed, they'd both healed and even the nightmares had faded. Nightmares of darkness filled with pain and terror and the skittering of rats and unending screaming, usually his own.

[Yes, in a way they had been the Sultan's guests, but his hospitality hadn't been as generous and the surroundings weren't as well-appointed as Sparrow described. He could still feel the scratch of the filthy straw, the bite of the irons round his wrists and throat and the stench of desperation and fear in the air. When he'd finally awakened that first day there had been eight of them in the cell. Sparrow had told him that there'd been closer to twenty when he'd first been thrown in but the others had been collected throughout the day—and so far none of them had come back. Their fellow prisoners seemed terrified by their presence. They didn't understand any of the languages Sparrow had picked up on his many travels and Norrington had quickly exhausted his smattering of French, Spanish and Italian; but still their cell mates had huddled together, silent and wary, looking at them as if they were the devil himself. They'd eventually given up and with no obvious means of escape waited to see what would happen next. There was no way of marking off the time, but eventually all the others had been dragged off screaming and begging leaving only them and one other unfortunate who seemed half-dead already.]

Sparrow was still extolling the virtues of the harem, at length, in more than excessive detail until Elizabeth and Will had shared a look that had forced him to move on. Although these beautiful ladies were allowed access to no man other than the Sultan himself, Sparrow had still managed to wrangle their way into the harem. One of the more pleasant perks of being the Sultan's honoured guests he assured them, and whilst he was a gentleman (here he paused, managing an admirably hurt expression until the laughter had stopped) it would have been unforgivably rude to decline the Sultan's hospitality. Norrington had caught the attention of two young beauties who had been amazed and fascinated by his pale skin.

[Again that was true as far as it went. He still bore the scars of the intricate patterns the two callous, unpleasant and very, very inventive bastards had carved into his body.]

Sparrow had settled into his stride by this stage. Alas they didn't speak the same language, so (with much leering and suggestively raised eyebrows) he'd explained that Norrington and the ladies had been forced to communicate through actions only. However their many indignities had been borne with good-humoured stoicism, as in some affairs language was not such a barrier after all.

[For his part, Norrington recalled a fair amount of screaming and crying, not to mention a not inconsiderable level of begging, none of which had made the slightest difference.]

Norrington rolled his eyes and shook his head at Elizabeth who'd laughed prettily at him, even Will had chuckled quietly, before they returned their attention to Sparrow, who was now telling them about his own dusky beauty who'd eye he'd managed to catch. She was an old and established member of the harem and was unwilling to share him with any of the other ladies. His off-coloured tales of alternatively avoiding and pacifying her soon has the Turners almost reduced to tears of laughter.

[Sparrow's 'dusky beauty' was an evil-minded brute of a man. They'd assumed he was the head torturer and Sparrow had seemed to offend him by his mere existence. Nothing got him hotter than the flow of either tears or blood. Mostly blood, mostly Sparrow's.]

Norrington leaned back in his chair and watched Sparrow unfold his tale feeling oddly disconnected from the others. Due to their enforced time together he was somewhat more familiar with Sparrow's way than the others, but for the first time he also had the advantage of knowing the truth of this particular tale. As he watched Sparrow enthral the Turners something suddenly occurred to him. Although he wasn't telling anything near the whole truth, there was more truth than lie in what he was saying. Yes, so far it had been one of his usual sort of stories, full of wild embellishments and curious tangents, but nothing had actually been an out and out lie in the tale he was weaving. Norrington could almost see how it was done. He would take a small sliver of the truth, turn it on its head and then wrap it in fantasy. His bird-like movements and curious gestures merely added to the illusion and completed the enchantment. Norrington watched as the candlelight reflected from his bejewelled fingers hypnotising two thirds of his audience, and let Sparrow's voice flow over and through him—not really listening to the words but finding the cadence strangely soothing. He leant forward to rest his chin in his hand and idly wondered if all Sparrow's stories were built upon elements of truth in this way. The fantastic voyages, the mythical sea-creatures, even his infamous turtle-fuelled escape from marooning. The Turners were completely under his spell by now, and at last Norrington gave in and allowed himself to be caught up in the story as well.

"So of course the Pearl was away at this stage, its never safe staying in a strange port for too long, especially in those parts, so really the only option we had was to stay... enjoying the entertainments and doing nothing more taxing than eating and sleeping."

[Again, that was truth. Scrabbling in the dirt for the scraps of food, desperate to find them before the rats did. When they were fed at all of course. Mostly stale bread, but once rotted and flyblown meat. As for the sleeping, both of them had lost count of the times they'd been beaten unconscious before being thrown back into the cell.]

Sparrow sighed, apparently lost in a pleasant memory, "It was quite restful really."

Norrington quirked an eyebrow at him as he reached for his wineglass, that part wasn't quite so true. Elizabeth gave an exasperated sigh "Yes, yes it must have been hellish for you." Now it was her turn to roll her eyes, causing Norrington to laugh before he could stop himself. Sparrow looked at him sharply, but it was a genuine laugh—apparently more than enough time had passed, he was alright. Norrington raised his glass to her in a silent toast before taking a small sip. Reassured Sparrow resumed speaking, twisting the golden threads of his tale round all four of them before slowly, but surely, drawing them tighter and binding his audience together.

"Well obviously we couldn't stay there forever." He raised a finger in mock seriousness, "No matter how much we may have wanted to..." Earning himself another sidelong look from Norrington's side of the table.

Elizabeth leant forward, fascinated "But how did you escape?"

Sparrow regarded her for a long moment gathering his thoughts. "It was a bet, a friendly wager like. About a bottle of wine. Silly thing really. It's a long and complicated story we don't need to go into here." He fluttered his fingers, dismissing the wine, the very picture of injured pride, and sighed dramatically into the long pause, "Needless to say I lost the bet." He shook his head sadly. "Cost me a bit of money, but never let it be said I'm not a man of my word."

[A bottle of wine? Well it was doubtful, but who knew—with Sparrow anything was possible, and to be honest Norrington was a little unsure of this part of the story. The last clear memory he had was of leaning weakly against the bars listening to Sparrow making elaborate plans for revenge. He remembered finding it hard to follow the argument over the almost continual ache in his head that had eventually transmuted itself into a dull pounding. Sweat stung his eyes and he was suddenly painfully aware of three things; the bitter iron taste of blood from where he had bitten his lip, and although he'd long since stopped listening to the actual words, Sparrow's voice was still whining like an insect, and finally that the relentless pounding in his head was getting louder. Suddenly he also realised that he'd somehow forgotten how to stand. The next time he was aware four days had passed and he was aboard the Black Pearl. Ravenous, aching and with an inexplicable terror of being left alone for long periods of time (all three of which were soon remedied during the voyage home), but most importantly, safe.

The part about the fortune however was true. He was still unsure if Gibbs had taken the initiative to buy Norrington's freedom along with Sparrow's, if Sparrow had requested it himself or if their captors had merely realised he wouldn't last much longer and had thrown him into the bargain free to avoid the trouble of having to dispose of his corpse. Whatever the reason, that was how they'd found themselves transported back to the Pearl, both more dead than alive.]

"But after that we'd seemed to outstay our welcome."

"And what about the ladies, Jack?" Will asked quietly.

"Well James' lovelies were young, and with youth comes fickleness and foolishness, so they'd doubtless soon begin lavishing their affections on another..."

[... after all they had a whole dungeon full to choose from...]

"... but I'm sure they've never forgotten him." And Norrington wasn't too caught up in Sparrow's fantasy to miss his cue. He snorted in derision, as expected, and reached again for the wine.

"As for my love..." Sparrow clutched dramatically at his chest, "... my leaving broke her heart. She pined away for me." Norrington watched him carefully over the wineglass. The truth? Well, maybe. He'd later found out that after their departure a packet of letters detailing a number of crimes the head torturer had allegedly carried out had been delivered to the Sultan. He didn't know if they'd been believed or not, but if they had been then pining away may prove to be a good euphemism for what could have happened to the man. The wine suddenly tasted bitter in his mouth, and he had to take a deep breath to steady himself.

"Anyway, I doubt we'd be welcome there now, eh James?"

Norrington shook his head and gave a smile that was for the most part unforced "No, I don't think we want to return."

The tale had ended and the Turners slowly came back to themselves. Elizabeth peered suspiciously at Sparrow, "Did that really happen, Jack?"

Sparrow swayed forward to look deeply into her eyes, laid his hand back over his heart, and solemnly spoke "'pon my word, love—every word is true." He leant back in his chair, enjoying her delightful confusion and looked exceedingly pleased with himself.

Not to be deterred she turned to Norrington, "Was it true? Is that really how it happened?"

Norrington, who was not nearly as accomplished as Sparrow, couldn't meet her eye for long. Instead he stared down at the glass in his hand. The other three watched the careful movement of his fingers on the stem as the silence stretched on, until he looked up with a slight smile and shrugged "Mostly."