DISCLAIMER: Nothing is mine.
I sometimes find myself staring down. How far a jump it is. At times, I can almost hear it welcoming me, but I'd be a coward to do it. To give in, and not stay. But how can I stay, when I am staring down atop the highest point in Minas Tirith, feeling nothing but pain? Wouldn't it make sense to greet death with welcome arms?
I was once about to make that last step, but something stopped me. I got scared, backed away, and went to the safest place I knew of, and that was Boromir. I didn't tell him my intentions, but he did what always calmed me: He sat with me, and we talked. We talked about our carefree childhood days, talked about mother and how she'd always wake us just to see the sunrise. We talked about Father, and his feelings toward me. Then he brought up suicide. It was as if he knew, as if he was watching me. He told me if I ever felt low, he would be there for me. I smiled and thanked him.
A few days later, I found myself right where I began. I was glued to the spot. I couldn't (or wouldn't) step back. Boromir came that second, his face completely calm, already trusting, already believing I wouldn't do it. He sat me down again, this time literally against the wall from which I was standing. I told him I was only admiring the view, clearing my mind, but he knew better. He begged me not to do it, how it wouldn't affect me at all, but affect him, and father, and the lives of so many others. Father. How in hell would it affect him, much less care? Boromir watched me closely for the next few days, even though I swore to him I would never jump. I had to hide my grief. I smiled, an empty smile, but he bought it. He was convinced I was happy, and that was all I wanted. He trusted me those last few days we were together.
I kept my promise when he left for Rivendell. I never went near the edge, never looked down. I wonder if my father ever knew my thoughts. Wondered if he knew I thought death might not be so bad after all. What would he say to me? To know that I took life so lightly. As if it was a simple ale choice, or dinner meal. I once took everything seriously. That was not so long ago. I would lose so much just to try to gain my father's love. For years I would stay up late, wondering what I should do differently. Wondering if the problem really lied in him, and not me. To this day, I don't know which. I couldn't say him. Boromir was able to be loved and respected by him, so it had to be me.
Of course. I was never good enough. Never. Not once do I remember a praise from him. That was all I ever wanted, if not getting him to claim me as his own. A praise, that's all I'd be satisfied with. Just one word, one smile. One look in my eyes without loathing, or pity, but of proudness. All those years...I never got it. So it had to be me that was the problem. Perhaps I wasn't trying hard enough. Perhaps I wasn't banging my head against the wall hard enough. I stopped believing I'd receive anything from him. Is that not a funny thing to hear? The day your son stopped trying to be what you wanted him to be. To stop believing in himself, believing in you. The only thing I held on to was love. It was the only thing I couldn't stop. I loved my father, no matter what I got, or didn't get in return. I loved him as a father, and was grateful I ever had one. Was it wrong? Why didn't I just give up? Did a son have to ask his father to love him? It does not matter now. Nothing really does anymore.
A knock on my door. I turn around.
"Captain, we are ready"
I nod slowly to Mablung, my friend who has been through it all with me, before dismissing him.
A few moments of silence in my room, of complete silence for myself. Closed eyes. Calmed breathing. Stillness. Then that was it.
I turn around, adjust my armour, ready to leave what I call my life.
A/N: praise, flame. critique, anything! Oh and please don't mind my version of the whole "Im tired of it all" Faramir, he's about to die, lets give him slack. J
