Fic: Regret (James)
Fandom: POTC
Title: Regret
Rating: PG
Summary: Set during the scene in Beckett's cabin when James gets his sword back. James ponders what the sword represents.
Word Count: 276
Disclaimer: James doesn't belong to me.
The sword was cold, a spear of ice that froze his hand to the marrow of his bones. It glared at him mockingly, accusing him of being weak, insufficient, derelict in his duty. That had been the cornerstone of his entire life: Duty. To his father, to his king, to the people that he’d sworn to protect. Yet he’d failed, broken down by a duplicitous, manipulative pirate that had robbed him of his reason and sense, managing to take his pride in the bargain as well. He couldn’t take the sword with him when he resigned his commision, not when it represented everything in his life that he had strived for and lost through his own erroneous judgement. It splintered in his concience like a sharp spine stabbing his heart, thrusting so deep that he feared that one day he wouldn‘t be able to take it out, not if he should kiss his forehead to the earth and beg her forgiveness.
He remembered who made it, who had given the blade its brilliant pale sheen, its deadly leaf edge meant as much a hardy weapon in battle as a symbol of his comission. A good, respectable citizen, who had turned pirate to save Elizabeth. If there was a more right thing to do James didn’t know it. How then, could he justify his own actions? How could he to remain a defender of the law when it forced him to commit acts that made his gut clench and his hands shiver? What was he, when pirates could be better men than those who had the blessing of the king? What had he left to stand for?
Title: Regret
Rating: PG
Summary: Set during the scene in Beckett's cabin when James gets his sword back. James ponders what the sword represents.
Word Count: 276
Disclaimer: James doesn't belong to me.
The sword was cold, a spear of ice that froze his hand to the marrow of his bones. It glared at him mockingly, accusing him of being weak, insufficient, derelict in his duty. That had been the cornerstone of his entire life: Duty. To his father, to his king, to the people that he’d sworn to protect. Yet he’d failed, broken down by a duplicitous, manipulative pirate that had robbed him of his reason and sense, managing to take his pride in the bargain as well. He couldn’t take the sword with him when he resigned his commision, not when it represented everything in his life that he had strived for and lost through his own erroneous judgement. It splintered in his concience like a sharp spine stabbing his heart, thrusting so deep that he feared that one day he wouldn‘t be able to take it out, not if he should kiss his forehead to the earth and beg her forgiveness.
He remembered who made it, who had given the blade its brilliant pale sheen, its deadly leaf edge meant as much a hardy weapon in battle as a symbol of his comission. A good, respectable citizen, who had turned pirate to save Elizabeth. If there was a more right thing to do James didn’t know it. How then, could he justify his own actions? How could he to remain a defender of the law when it forced him to commit acts that made his gut clench and his hands shiver? What was he, when pirates could be better men than those who had the blessing of the king? What had he left to stand for?