Hey and welcome to the slashy version of 'To Kill Oneself' This is
Faramir/Beregond slash and thoughts of incest. The first chapter at least
will be much like the first chapter of the no-slash version but then they
will become different. For more info on ages and stuff check out the a/n on
the first chapter of the other version, although I will put a disclaimer
here. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: None of these people or places belong to me they belong to the great JRR Tolkien.
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Emptiness. That was all that Faramir felt as he sat on the warm blankets of his bed. Moonlight poured in the open window illuminating his rugged features, especially his eyes that usually radiated happiness and joy, but not now. Now the gray orbs were locked on the blade of a dagger that rested upon his pillow, barely making an indent in the soft down. Slowly one trembling hand inched up the sheets taking the cold handle into his palm. He stared at his reflection in the dull blade that was being stroked by his finger. He hissed in pain as the sharp point penetrated the soft pad of his index finger making red blood bloom on the rough skin. Hot tears followed in the wake of the blood and Faramir mentally punched himself saying;
Why the fuck am I crying? He doesn't cry so why should I?
The he of course was his brother Boromir. The one who did everything right, no matter what. Faramir envied him with his whole heart. He envied the way he could fall and get right back up. The way he spoke with a rough gentleness. The way his muscles rippled when he was sparring….
Faramir scowled at himself shoving these thoughts away from his mind. He knew he loved Boromir but at the same time he hated him with a passion. A passion even greater then his love. He hated how he sucked up to their father. How their father went along with him. How perfect he was…. This hate however could not be compared to the hate he held for himself.
He stared at his reflection in the knife blade again. Damp brown locks clung to his slim face that had streaks of dirt and tears upon it.
Dirt! he mentally cried. That's all I am dirt!
Memories of what had happened earlier that day flooded back into his mind making him wince from the embarrassment he could still feel
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"You are getting much better my brother," said Boromir as he and Faramir parried lightly with their practice swords.
"I thank you," said Faramir, trying as hard as he could to be gallant. How he longed to beat Boromir and wipe that smirk off his face, but it was not meant to happen.
So lost in his thoughts it took a moment for him to notice that he was lying face down in the dirt, the very essence of himself.
"Well I guess you aren't as good as you think you are," said Boromir and Faramir blushed in embarrassment as laughter from the people who were watching reached his ears.
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Sparring wasn't everything but to be embarrassed in front of everyone like that? It would be a long while before he forgot the stares that he was given. They were so different from the one's he received when he spilt red wine all over the best tablecloths. And those were different from the time….
A choked sob escaped his lips as he thought of all the times he had screwed up. And when he cried how there was no one there to comfort him and tell him that everyone makes mistakes.
Sobbing he lifted the knife to his left palm pressing the blade down with steady but gentle pressure. As he moved to slice towards his wrist he found his hand unable to move.
"No!" he shouted flinging the knife away. This action only made him sob harder. No matter how many times he tried to kill himself he couldn't follow thorough.
Damn you, you….
"Coward," came a voice from the doorway.
TBC
Disclaimer: None of these people or places belong to me they belong to the great JRR Tolkien.
*************************************************************
Emptiness. That was all that Faramir felt as he sat on the warm blankets of his bed. Moonlight poured in the open window illuminating his rugged features, especially his eyes that usually radiated happiness and joy, but not now. Now the gray orbs were locked on the blade of a dagger that rested upon his pillow, barely making an indent in the soft down. Slowly one trembling hand inched up the sheets taking the cold handle into his palm. He stared at his reflection in the dull blade that was being stroked by his finger. He hissed in pain as the sharp point penetrated the soft pad of his index finger making red blood bloom on the rough skin. Hot tears followed in the wake of the blood and Faramir mentally punched himself saying;
Why the fuck am I crying? He doesn't cry so why should I?
The he of course was his brother Boromir. The one who did everything right, no matter what. Faramir envied him with his whole heart. He envied the way he could fall and get right back up. The way he spoke with a rough gentleness. The way his muscles rippled when he was sparring….
Faramir scowled at himself shoving these thoughts away from his mind. He knew he loved Boromir but at the same time he hated him with a passion. A passion even greater then his love. He hated how he sucked up to their father. How their father went along with him. How perfect he was…. This hate however could not be compared to the hate he held for himself.
He stared at his reflection in the knife blade again. Damp brown locks clung to his slim face that had streaks of dirt and tears upon it.
Dirt! he mentally cried. That's all I am dirt!
Memories of what had happened earlier that day flooded back into his mind making him wince from the embarrassment he could still feel
*************************************************************
"You are getting much better my brother," said Boromir as he and Faramir parried lightly with their practice swords.
"I thank you," said Faramir, trying as hard as he could to be gallant. How he longed to beat Boromir and wipe that smirk off his face, but it was not meant to happen.
So lost in his thoughts it took a moment for him to notice that he was lying face down in the dirt, the very essence of himself.
"Well I guess you aren't as good as you think you are," said Boromir and Faramir blushed in embarrassment as laughter from the people who were watching reached his ears.
*************************************************************
Sparring wasn't everything but to be embarrassed in front of everyone like that? It would be a long while before he forgot the stares that he was given. They were so different from the one's he received when he spilt red wine all over the best tablecloths. And those were different from the time….
A choked sob escaped his lips as he thought of all the times he had screwed up. And when he cried how there was no one there to comfort him and tell him that everyone makes mistakes.
Sobbing he lifted the knife to his left palm pressing the blade down with steady but gentle pressure. As he moved to slice towards his wrist he found his hand unable to move.
"No!" he shouted flinging the knife away. This action only made him sob harder. No matter how many times he tried to kill himself he couldn't follow thorough.
Damn you, you….
"Coward," came a voice from the doorway.
TBC