[Fic] Justice & Betrayal
Title: Justice & Betrayal
Author: Shytan
Rating: PG
Characters: Lord Cutler Beckett
Summary: The betrayed becomes the betrayer, of others and of himself.
Warnings: Dark
Notes: Sorry it's so short, I ran out of time. This is the 2nd rewrite of the 2nd attempt.
Steady was the hand of justice, with judgement laid out as black ink on parchment. Spattered upon the desk were the black pools of blood that sealed both life and death. Letters of Marque, instillers of false hope and imprisoned freedom, of negotiations, blackmail and betrayal. Orders for cannonade and cutlass, for thick-woven rope, for captures and interrogations and all things terrible. Lord Beckett was the judge and jury, the purveyor of justice that stretched far across the painted globe. Lord Beckett was the executioner, the quill that sentenced, the cannonballs that fired, the cutlass that sliced, the rope that choked.
Blind were the eyes of mercy, with negotiations forged and abandoned in retributive acts of betrayal. The betrayed is now the betrayer, and he soothes his scorched palms by ruthlessly discarding his end of the bargain so that the others may feel the burn. He promises himself it will never happen again, but in his final desperate hour, he realises that he is the ultimate betrayer of himself. Treachery is the double-sided sword that slices the hand of its owner, and though not a drop of red escapes him as he walks towards the land of the dead, for the past few months he has never stopped bleeding.
Author: Shytan
Rating: PG
Characters: Lord Cutler Beckett
Summary: The betrayed becomes the betrayer, of others and of himself.
Warnings: Dark
Notes: Sorry it's so short, I ran out of time. This is the 2nd rewrite of the 2nd attempt.
Steady was the hand of justice, with judgement laid out as black ink on parchment. Spattered upon the desk were the black pools of blood that sealed both life and death. Letters of Marque, instillers of false hope and imprisoned freedom, of negotiations, blackmail and betrayal. Orders for cannonade and cutlass, for thick-woven rope, for captures and interrogations and all things terrible. Lord Beckett was the judge and jury, the purveyor of justice that stretched far across the painted globe. Lord Beckett was the executioner, the quill that sentenced, the cannonballs that fired, the cutlass that sliced, the rope that choked.
Blind were the eyes of mercy, with negotiations forged and abandoned in retributive acts of betrayal. The betrayed is now the betrayer, and he soothes his scorched palms by ruthlessly discarding his end of the bargain so that the others may feel the burn. He promises himself it will never happen again, but in his final desperate hour, he realises that he is the ultimate betrayer of himself. Treachery is the double-sided sword that slices the hand of its owner, and though not a drop of red escapes him as he walks towards the land of the dead, for the past few months he has never stopped bleeding.