5Und jezt kommen wir zum Ende! This is the last chapter of this episode, after which we shall dive back into the setting at the core of this saga: the Caribbean. I hope this part of the story was less overwhelming this time around that the original, which had much too much material for people who weren't familiar with the series. I can only hope that you were able to follow it more easily.
So, enjoy the end of the Self-Confidence episode, and please review on your way out! Thanks!
As always, I don't own it, however much I wish I did.
Chapter Nine: The Unreal
"Where is she?" Jayfeather demanded, pushing through the ferns to the small clearing where Hawkear lay. James, sitting loyally by her side, looked up to meet his blind gaze, unanxious, but not unconcerned. Hawkear was still gasping for breath, fighting the exhaustion that was trying to steal away her consciousness. "Coltsfoot, Juniper, and Thyme," the medicine cat prescribed promptly. "Brambleclaw, will you fetch some from RiverClan's store?"
"Sure thing." He darted into the undergrowth.
"Just stay awake a little bit longer, pet," James encouraged Hawkear, stroking her fur soothingly. He had overworked himself into a similar state several times, and no single time had it been a pleasant affair. The vomiting, the passing out, that wretched feeling for days after. His relief that she hadn't gotten that far was infinite, but that she had even gotten to this point at all left him thinking. Why was she the one risking her life for fictional cats? He rubbed his eyes in sudden exasperation. Why did she have to do things the hard way? Let the faster, more fit cats be chased by the bear. The outcome wouldn't have changed. Would it? His thoughts were interrupted by the return of Brambleclaw, his jaws full of herbs.
The invalid was soon given the medicine — coltsfoot and juniper for shortness of breath, and thyme for frayed nerves — and quite promptly fell asleep. "Hey Twolegs," Jayfeather meowed at James, "carry her back to ThunderClan camp." His brow creased in non-understanding. To him, a cat was a cat. Even if these cats were special and thought very similarly to humans, he saw little difference without Amy's translation to help. Resorting to more agreeable communication, the cat dragged the heavy arm by the sleeve until his hand was nearly underneath Hawkear, and pointed with his nose toward ThunderClan territory. However, though he followed the gaze, this only seemed to confuse him more.
"He can't understand, Jayfeather," Brambleclaw pointed out. "Foxleap and I can carry her back."
"And drag her halfway around the lake? I don't think so. The twolegs is our best chance."
"But how can we make a Twolegs underst—?" The question was disturbed as James gently picked up the slumbering feline and began to pick his way toward ThunderClan territory, leaving Brambleclaw to follow in a contentedly astonished silence.
At length, the exhausted Brambleclaw and Foxleap opted to rest at the WindClan camp, promising to be back by evening, and leaving Jayfeather the only conscious cat with the twolegs. Together, they slowly made their way back to the quarry. James gently set the sleeping bundle on the ground before the thorn tunnel for Jayfeather to carry into the hollow, and with several glances back over his shoulder, strode off. Jayfeather wasn't convinced he had left the territory.
He settled the she-cat in a nest in the medicine den and returned to the clearing, stationing himself near the thorn tunnel to wait for Firestar and the patrols to return.
—
The sun was beginning to set. Everyone in the Clan had returned.
Jayfeather padded along an edge of the hollow, out to hunt for more thyme and catmint. He came across James, sitting with his back against a tree, arms and legs crossed, his toes peeking over the cliff's edge. He was lost deep in thought, although he was not unaware of the medicine cat approaching him. "She'll be fine," he felt he had to assure him.
"I know. I'm not worried," the twolegs replied replied.
There was a beat of silence.
Both snapped their gazes up to meet the other's, eyes wide with shock, disbelief, confusion. What had just happened?
—
Hawkear slept deeply and soundly, dreaming much but remembering little. Often, she dreamt that James was a magnificent, handsome, golden lion with the most piercing green eyes, waiting for her to recover and return to his side. These dreams were powerful, and when she awoke she couldn't help but to think they must mean something important. However, the only conclusion she could come to was that he was her protector, and that he was probably beating himself up for not being there to keep her safe.
—
Two days of recovery followed the Dance with Porthos, during which Hawkear was treated royally, never having to get up for anything. Food was brought to her. Apprentices cleaned and changed her bedding. Jayfeather, Foxleap, and Mousefur were most often her companions, although she was visited by many others. However, her favorite times were those when the apprentices—and even the kits—came to hear the story. She hated kids — despised them — but kittens she could handle. Too fluffy to dislike.
In this time, James had returned to the stables and come back again, leaving only a note telling of his absence:
To the Esteemed Horsewoman and Most Hospitable Madam, Miss Winnie Bradford:
Through a series of uncanny events which I am afraid I cannot relay to yourself, I have
regained all memory that was previously lost. Presently, I must return to my home, family,
and profession.
You have my gratitude for all your help, and I would I could stay longer to give you my
thanks in person. However, this letter will have to suffice.
While I am fairly certain that we shall never have the pleasure of meeting again, I am
certainly glad to have met you, and you shall not easily be forgotten.
Thank you so much for your grace and hospitality.
Your humble servant, &co, &co,
Mister James L. Norrington, Former Admiral of His Majesty's Royal Fleet and
Hero of Calypso's War.
Post Script: A recent and most pressing need calls for an empty jar, and I pray that you
will not take offense to my commandeering one of yours.
Right now, he and Amy were at the edge of ThunderClan territory, having bid goodbye to the Clan. Firestar had escorted them thusfar. "Are you sure that you don't want to stay with us?" the ginger tom reconciled.
She nodded. "I'm sure. My place lies elsewhere. I'll be back to visit once in a while, though. I promise."
"Now now, don't go making more promises," James scolded her.
"Then I don't feel so bad," said Firestar in reply to Hawkear. "Your help will not be forgotten, and your names honoured."
"Your praise is too high," she mewed shyly.
"I give it just the same. Farewell, Hawkear and James. I look forward to meeting you both again."
Hawkear dipped her head before making a quick and rash decision. "Firestar, beware," she warned. "'An undercurrent of rage is rising against those who are not Clanborn and the warrior code is in danger of being washed away by a river of blood.'" Not giving him a chance to respond, she whisked away, Twolegs in tow, and trotted through WindClan territory. The pace was slow and easy. Within a few hours, they had made it to the fallen-tree bridge that connected the land to the Island. While Hawkear was navigating the slick bark and branches, James had to wade and swim across the short channel. "This is pretty sacred ground, dude," she informed him, "so try not to leave any sign that you were here—well, any sign but one..." She led him to the great thorn bush and showed him the now transparent chrysalis, gold and black striping easily standing out. "Jack?" she mewed hopefully.
After a few moments, the cocoon shivered and shook, and the butterfly emerged. It hung there for mere moments before its wings were uncannily dry, and it began to flutter around. Carefully, carefully, James closed a jar and lid around it. Self-confidence was caught.
Under Amy's suggestion, James took out a Swiss-army knife (which had conveniently replaced his sword) and carved into the woody base of the great thorn bush the shape of a butterfly, to mark it as the one that had sheltered their friend. But Amy could feel that his thoughts were disturbed. "What's wrong?" she meowed with a flick of her ears.
"You," he murmured. "You shouldn't have been out there with that bear."
"Why not? I've crossed blades with demons and sailed with pirates. What's running away from a bear?"
"You risked your life. I could have lost you — for fictional cats."
"Don't forget that you're fictional, too." Her bluntness startled him into silence. "I had to save them because they are worth saving. Because they are real. As long as I know they're real, then I know you are, too." Even more disturbed now than at the commencement of their conversation, he could not conjure a response.
"Right," he said as he finished the carving, wiping the splinters from his hands and shaking the thorns from his shirt as he rose. "Time to go, then?"
"Yeah," she agreed more cheerfully, and he picked her up.
"Now don't go forgetting that you'll have to be human."
"Huh? Mm—no worries." She began to concentrate, and it suddenly felt like a very long time since she had used her magic. Purple mist began to swirl around them.
"Hawkear!" some cat yowled, shooting into the clearing from the tree bridge. It was Jayfeather. "Hawkear, wait—I have something to tell you! Your friend—he isn't what you think!" But the smoke had already carried the two back to their Realm. Amy had only enough time to identify the cat before they faded from the clearing.
—
"That was cool," Amy commented, leaping up onto the table and scratching behind one ear with a foot.
"Did I not just remind you?" James scolded, "You're human now."
"Oh." She straightened into a less contorted, more human position, hopping off the table and standing unsteadily on two legs. "Oh yeah." Upon regaining her balance, she noticed an amused Tia Dalma coming out to greet them. James turned and smiled at her, presenting the fragile manifestation. She received it from him, her fingers brushing his, and he withdrew as always, fighting the inevitalble reddening of his cheeks. Amy continued, unaware, "Who would have thought Captain Jack Sparrow, of all people, would have such fragile self-confidence?"
"Is dere anyone without it?" Amy could not answer her teacher.
—
When the girl had gone home again and it was only the two of them in the dark of the shack, James approached the mystic, troubled. She looked up from her divinations, the candle light gleaming off her dark skin. He gazed searchingly at her and for a long time remained silent, too overcome with emotion to speak. At last, "I have a question I must ask you." His voice was low. Almost a rumble of thunder in the distance, scarcely to be heard over the night sounds of the jungle. He struggled to find the words.
Her lips turned down at the corners, considering his odd behaviour. "What can it be dat renders such a man of war, shaken by not even de harshest, cruelest battles, speechless?"
He looked away, wretchedly casting about for a means to put his roiling thoughts into words. Perhaps bluntness was the best course to take. Lifting his eyes to hers, he asked: "What does it mean to be real?"