FIC: Newly Forged (Sharpe)
Title: Newly Forged
Author: Galadriel (caras_galadhon)
Fandom: Sharpe
Pairing: Sharpe/Harper
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: As Sharpe is lost to his wounds and fever, Harper resolves to make a sword worthy of his Captain.
Notes: Written for the seans_50 May Film Challenge. I chose to go with Sharpe's Sword as inspiration, since it's been far too long since I wrote about the boys on campaign. Predictably, I'm late to the party, and sliding in at the last minute, so we'll see if this even makes the May deadline cut-off. *crosses fingers* Many thanks to savageseraph for the fantastic beta, and the title itself.
Newly Forged
By Galadriel
The blade would be sharp, as sharp as its namesake, the edge cutting through Boney's men as easily as the Captain cut swathes through soldiers and socialites alike. The steel would shine bright, as bright as the flash of Sharpe's teeth the moment before the rush into battle, and would be as strong as his heart that, God willing, kept beating in his chest even as he lay senseless, beyond Harper's call.
The hilt would be sturdy; the balance, perfect; and it would sit in his Captain's hand as if God Himself placed it there. When it hung at his side, it would fit him as completely as a faithful Sergeant fits a beloved officer. And with any luck and a bit of faith, just as the sword would go through fire, would be battered and shaped in heat and sweat, so too would Sharpe come through this fever, honed to a point, as harsh and quick as ever, returned to his men wholly whole.
Harper would have his Captain back; faith in God, Ireland and Sharpe himself told him he would. And perfection in sword and sheath, soldier and service would beckon him back to the living, if anything could at all. Patrick knew this deep in his bones; just as he knew with an unshakeable certainty that if it didn't, he would chase Sharpe to Hell and drag his sorry carcass back himself.
END
(May 31, 2009)
Crossposted to seans_50, sons_of_gondor, look_sharpe, sharpe_archive, rareslash.
Author: Galadriel (caras_galadhon)
Fandom: Sharpe
Pairing: Sharpe/Harper
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: As Sharpe is lost to his wounds and fever, Harper resolves to make a sword worthy of his Captain.
Notes: Written for the seans_50 May Film Challenge. I chose to go with Sharpe's Sword as inspiration, since it's been far too long since I wrote about the boys on campaign. Predictably, I'm late to the party, and sliding in at the last minute, so we'll see if this even makes the May deadline cut-off. *crosses fingers* Many thanks to savageseraph for the fantastic beta, and the title itself.
Newly Forged
By Galadriel
The blade would be sharp, as sharp as its namesake, the edge cutting through Boney's men as easily as the Captain cut swathes through soldiers and socialites alike. The steel would shine bright, as bright as the flash of Sharpe's teeth the moment before the rush into battle, and would be as strong as his heart that, God willing, kept beating in his chest even as he lay senseless, beyond Harper's call.
The hilt would be sturdy; the balance, perfect; and it would sit in his Captain's hand as if God Himself placed it there. When it hung at his side, it would fit him as completely as a faithful Sergeant fits a beloved officer. And with any luck and a bit of faith, just as the sword would go through fire, would be battered and shaped in heat and sweat, so too would Sharpe come through this fever, honed to a point, as harsh and quick as ever, returned to his men wholly whole.
Harper would have his Captain back; faith in God, Ireland and Sharpe himself told him he would. And perfection in sword and sheath, soldier and service would beckon him back to the living, if anything could at all. Patrick knew this deep in his bones; just as he knew with an unshakeable certainty that if it didn't, he would chase Sharpe to Hell and drag his sorry carcass back himself.
END
(May 31, 2009)
Crossposted to seans_50, sons_of_gondor, look_sharpe, sharpe_archive, rareslash.