FIC: In Debt (Sharpe)
Title: In Debt
Author: Galadriel (caras_galadhon)
Fandom: Sharpe
Pairing: Sharpe/Jane, Jane/Rossendale, Sharpe/Rossendale
Rating: PG-13
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: Of all the things Sharpe was prepared for, he wasn't ready for this sort of betrayal.
Notes: Written for the seans_50 February Film Challenge using Sharpe's Revenge as inspiration. Also written for the "Rage" challenge prompt (#19) at sharpe_thinking and for kittylass, who is being extremely patient as I am being extremely slow in whipping the LotRPS boys into shape for her. This, then, is a bonus fic written for her that does not factor into her winnings from the help_haiti auction, but rather is both teaser and apology as other characters continue to drag their heels and refuse to behave for me on paper.
In Debt
By Galadriel
The force of the blow shuddered up Sharpe's arm, his fist still curled into itself as flakes of bark fluttered to the ground. Jarred loose, a leaf floated free of the tree, brushed by his cheek, and slid silently to the earth. He slammed the heel of his boot atop it, grinding it deeper into the dirt, but the gesture did nothing to quell his rage.
Jane. His Jane, now not his Jane, whoring around all of London with John, who was likely spending every last moment spending every last one of Sharpe's coins playing bad hands with worse men.
The thought caught hold and quickly took root, pushing all but the pulsing heat of revenge from Sharpe's mind. His hand ached as he clenched the hilt of his sword, drawing it out of the sheath, slicing at twigs and leaves and trees and them, bark flayed instead of skin, branches broken instead of bone.
He'd make her pay. He'd make him pay. He'd see them both penniless and penitent, disgraced and destroyed.
How could she cast him off so easily, a discarded rifle felt no longer fit to fire? How could he steal away the spoils of so many bloody years, the whole worth of a thousand bridal bonds?
He'd loved them, loved them both in his own way, sharing many a night in tangles of sheets, in soft, sweet kisses, the sort gentle ladies longed for from gentler men. He'd shared just as many afternoons amicably emptying pockets and bottles, trading cards for companionship, for rough wood and rougher stubble.
The blade whistled through the air, the thrum of a battle to come sticking bits of broken soldier back together, a Humpty Dumpty all set for scaling the next wall. It felt good, if strange, to be set to wage war against friends and lovers, but offense was always the better strategy, and Sharpe'd be sure to bring his own artillery along.
Sharpe'd see them pay. He'd see the both of them pay for not loving him.
END
(February 28, 2010)
Crossposted to seans_50, sons_of_gondor, sharpe_thinking, sharpe_archive, rareslash.
Author: Galadriel (caras_galadhon)
Fandom: Sharpe
Pairing: Sharpe/Jane, Jane/Rossendale, Sharpe/Rossendale
Rating: PG-13
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: Of all the things Sharpe was prepared for, he wasn't ready for this sort of betrayal.
Notes: Written for the seans_50 February Film Challenge using Sharpe's Revenge as inspiration. Also written for the "Rage" challenge prompt (#19) at sharpe_thinking and for kittylass, who is being extremely patient as I am being extremely slow in whipping the LotRPS boys into shape for her. This, then, is a bonus fic written for her that does not factor into her winnings from the help_haiti auction, but rather is both teaser and apology as other characters continue to drag their heels and refuse to behave for me on paper.
In Debt
By Galadriel
The force of the blow shuddered up Sharpe's arm, his fist still curled into itself as flakes of bark fluttered to the ground. Jarred loose, a leaf floated free of the tree, brushed by his cheek, and slid silently to the earth. He slammed the heel of his boot atop it, grinding it deeper into the dirt, but the gesture did nothing to quell his rage.
Jane. His Jane, now not his Jane, whoring around all of London with John, who was likely spending every last moment spending every last one of Sharpe's coins playing bad hands with worse men.
The thought caught hold and quickly took root, pushing all but the pulsing heat of revenge from Sharpe's mind. His hand ached as he clenched the hilt of his sword, drawing it out of the sheath, slicing at twigs and leaves and trees and them, bark flayed instead of skin, branches broken instead of bone.
He'd make her pay. He'd make him pay. He'd see them both penniless and penitent, disgraced and destroyed.
How could she cast him off so easily, a discarded rifle felt no longer fit to fire? How could he steal away the spoils of so many bloody years, the whole worth of a thousand bridal bonds?
He'd loved them, loved them both in his own way, sharing many a night in tangles of sheets, in soft, sweet kisses, the sort gentle ladies longed for from gentler men. He'd shared just as many afternoons amicably emptying pockets and bottles, trading cards for companionship, for rough wood and rougher stubble.
The blade whistled through the air, the thrum of a battle to come sticking bits of broken soldier back together, a Humpty Dumpty all set for scaling the next wall. It felt good, if strange, to be set to wage war against friends and lovers, but offense was always the better strategy, and Sharpe'd be sure to bring his own artillery along.
Sharpe'd see them pay. He'd see the both of them pay for not loving him.
END
(February 28, 2010)
Crossposted to seans_50, sons_of_gondor, sharpe_thinking, sharpe_archive, rareslash.