Title: Self Loathing
Category: Books » Lord of the Rings
Author: 13 o'clock Erik
Language: English, Rating: Rated: M
Published: 09-13-09, Updated: 09-13-09
Chapters: 1, Words: 593
Chapter 1: Chapter 1
A/N: Aurieth and I have kinda been sparring back and forth with this story idea for the better part of a year. This is my response to her piece "Selfless".
I admit to this particular piece being a bit of an author-wank. Grima's basically channelling me, at the moment. Fandoms offer me a venue to vent my frustrations and hopefully get a little catharsis out of the writing of a first person narrative.
And so without further ado, "Self Loathing". Your move, my dear Auri.
I left her crying silently in the hallway. Shutting the door behind me and latching it firmly I leaned back against it, sagging with what felt like the weight of ten worlds bearing down upon my skull. My outer robes weigh heavy on my shoulders and angrily I tear them off, leaving them in a heap on the floor. The chains of office hit the floor with a dull metallic thud, followed by my tattered and stained under-robe. I stand before the cracked mirror, staring at the hideously pale form that is my own unfortunate prison.
My body (which somehow conspires to be scrawny in my limbs and chest as well as possessing noticeable excess around my middle) is a road map of ill health. Joints swollen with arthritis, shoulders hunched in a futile attempt to fend off the pain. My skin is waxy pale, criss-crossed with blue veins. One watery blue eye and one milky white eye stare back at me, I sneer and my reflection's thin lips twist into a monstrous grimace.
I look at myself and see nothing but my flaws. I am made up completely of one flawed layer on top of another. Had I one iota of self control I would throw away all thought of making Eowyn my own; I would turn from Saruman and join my fellow countrymen in the fight to rid our lands of the orc. Alas, a lifetime of torment and ridicule weighs heavily on a mind as strong in intellect but weak in resolve as my own. Every time I close my eyes, the daemons of my childhood reappear and dance around me.
Eowyn. She is a drug I wish I could deny myself; the pull is too strong, the need runs too deep, the control I have over my own actions is too weak. I keep going back to Saruman knowing that the destruction of the world of Man will grant me my heart's one desire. I know that Saruman will most likely kill me as his plans finally come to fruition. Oddly enough, the prospect of death does not frighten me. So long as it is death at the side of my lady.
I again catch sight of my own wretched reflection and the dam in my skull breaks. I am screaming inside my own head and before I realise what I am doing, my bony fists are pummelling the surface of the looking glass. Once I have destroyed the image I sit amongst the broken shards of glass, numb from head to toe. I am vaguely aware of a pleasantly warm wetness on my hands and forearms. I feel no pain. I feel…. Nothing.
And then there is the pressure if someone's hand on my bare shoulder. The cold of the room has evidently cooled my skin enough to make the heat coming for the hand feel like a scalding hot brand. Slowly I turn my head and look into the reddened eyes of my beloved.