FIC: Home (Sharpe)
Title: Home
Author: Galadriel (caras_galadhon)
Fandom: Sharpe
Pairing: Sharpe/Harper (implied Sharpe/Tom Garrard, Sharpe/Jane)
Rating: PG
Archive: Lothlorien and sons_of_gondor.
Feedback: Always appreciated.
Disclaimer: I may march over the hills and far away alongside Richard Sharpe, but Bernard Cornwell, the lucky, lucky man, owns the rogue, not me.
Summary: It was strange how distant places and people could come to mean home to a man.
Notes: Written for the seans_50 October Film Challenge using Sharpe's Challenge as inspiration. Also written for the "Seringapatam" challenge prompt (#16) at sharpe_thinking and for alex_quine, as an extremely late Halloween treat I owe her for "knocking" on my virtual!door last year. D'oh!
Home
By Galadriel
In a lot of ways, coming back to India to find Harper was like coming home.
It wasn't as if Sharpe hadn't been back to London and Yorkshire, hadn't wandered his old haunts, sought out those few mates who were still alive and on the streets, but in many ways, the thieving, scheming, murdering boy he'd been was a stranger to the man he was now. If he was somehow able to cross paths with that boy, he was sure he would never recognize him, not even to share a secret smile at their common past.
But India, oh, the young man he left in the sand and heat of Mysore and Seringapatam was a rougher version of himself, his sharpest edges not yet filed down by the relentless political manoeuvring of officers and generals alike. This young man was wild, only tamed by the whip, and even then, only until the sting faded. He was a green soldier in need of a green coat, a boy with a hide that needed a good tanning before he'd be anywhere tough enough to take charge when called on.
Sharpe chuckled, shaking his head as he shaded his eyes, surveying the road ahead. The youthful soldier he was half-expected Tom Garrard to walk out of the shimmering heat, grinning and offering to share his canteen, and maybe a hand with his breeches. Yet the man he'd become wished for nothing more than to find Patrick somewhere in this great expanse. His head and heart ached at the thought that Pat might be lost to him, and that made this homecoming a bitter one.
As much as he hated thinking of her, whenever Jane was particularly out of sorts with her lot, she'd complain that try as she might, she couldn't go home again. Not with Richard tied to her, certainly, Sharpe was sure. And yet here he was, his feet firmly back on the road he began on, searching for a man who'd come to mean home, no matter what godawful backwater the two of them ended up in.
He snorted, spat on the ground, watching the spittle dry up and disappear beneath the parched soil. Somewhere out there was Pat, and Sharpe'd find him if it was the very last thing he did. And maybe Jane was right, maybe you couldn't go home again, but Harper was his home as sure as India was, and Sharpe was damn well going to try.
END
(October 31, 2009)
Crossposted to seans_50, sons_of_gondor, sharpe_thinking, sharpe_archive, rareslash.
Author: Galadriel (caras_galadhon)
Fandom: Sharpe
Pairing: Sharpe/Harper (implied Sharpe/Tom Garrard, Sharpe/Jane)
Rating: PG
Archive: Lothlorien and sons_of_gondor.
Feedback: Always appreciated.
Disclaimer: I may march over the hills and far away alongside Richard Sharpe, but Bernard Cornwell, the lucky, lucky man, owns the rogue, not me.
Summary: It was strange how distant places and people could come to mean home to a man.
Notes: Written for the seans_50 October Film Challenge using Sharpe's Challenge as inspiration. Also written for the "Seringapatam" challenge prompt (#16) at sharpe_thinking and for alex_quine, as an extremely late Halloween treat I owe her for "knocking" on my virtual!door last year. D'oh!
Home
By Galadriel
In a lot of ways, coming back to India to find Harper was like coming home.
It wasn't as if Sharpe hadn't been back to London and Yorkshire, hadn't wandered his old haunts, sought out those few mates who were still alive and on the streets, but in many ways, the thieving, scheming, murdering boy he'd been was a stranger to the man he was now. If he was somehow able to cross paths with that boy, he was sure he would never recognize him, not even to share a secret smile at their common past.
But India, oh, the young man he left in the sand and heat of Mysore and Seringapatam was a rougher version of himself, his sharpest edges not yet filed down by the relentless political manoeuvring of officers and generals alike. This young man was wild, only tamed by the whip, and even then, only until the sting faded. He was a green soldier in need of a green coat, a boy with a hide that needed a good tanning before he'd be anywhere tough enough to take charge when called on.
Sharpe chuckled, shaking his head as he shaded his eyes, surveying the road ahead. The youthful soldier he was half-expected Tom Garrard to walk out of the shimmering heat, grinning and offering to share his canteen, and maybe a hand with his breeches. Yet the man he'd become wished for nothing more than to find Patrick somewhere in this great expanse. His head and heart ached at the thought that Pat might be lost to him, and that made this homecoming a bitter one.
As much as he hated thinking of her, whenever Jane was particularly out of sorts with her lot, she'd complain that try as she might, she couldn't go home again. Not with Richard tied to her, certainly, Sharpe was sure. And yet here he was, his feet firmly back on the road he began on, searching for a man who'd come to mean home, no matter what godawful backwater the two of them ended up in.
He snorted, spat on the ground, watching the spittle dry up and disappear beneath the parched soil. Somewhere out there was Pat, and Sharpe'd find him if it was the very last thing he did. And maybe Jane was right, maybe you couldn't go home again, but Harper was his home as sure as India was, and Sharpe was damn well going to try.
END
(October 31, 2009)
Crossposted to seans_50, sons_of_gondor, sharpe_thinking, sharpe_archive, rareslash.