Title: Somebody Else's Life
By: With a Slash desu!
Rating: R- violence, colorful language, self-mutilation, BDSM, Internal Enslavement, character death, some torture parts (when I figure out how to write 'blood' in more ways than one), maybe rape (if I get sadistic enough)
Summary: He is known as the Angel of Sin – a dangerously beautiful assassin known for the cold, emotionless way he disposes of his victims. He is the most infamous hired killer of the Fourth Age, having ended the lives of many Men, Elves and Dwarves, but no one knows who he truly is. Now, as the rumor comes to Minas Tirith that the Royal Family is in danger, can Aragorn protect the ones he loves the most, and find the one who is to end his life?
A/N: My first LotR fic, so please be kind. Semi-AU set years after RotK. I took the title from a fan comic by Anonymous X under the same name. Chapter notes given at the end of each chapter.
Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings, unfortunately (or fortunately; it depends on whether or not you like elf torture), isn't mine. So suing me is out of the question, 'coz all I own is a History folder filled with slash sites.
Acknowledgements: chono (a.k.a. forte), thanks for helping me figure out the plot. (Side plug: visit sedsedbk.blogspot.com for chono's wonderful fics)
Prologue: Truly Beautiful
"It is a lovely thing, to be killed by the one you love the most."
Long-forgotten words surface in his mind as the dark angel faces his latest victim.
He is a tall, blond Elf, clad in the green and brown of his people. His bow that now lies in broken pieces near his feet and a gash on his leg are signs of his valiant – but useless – struggle. He tries for a few moments to stopper the wound, and then gives up, leaning against a tree to keep himself from falling. He watches him dispassionately, and as if he senses my gaze, he catches his eye.
"You are the famous assassin, aren't you?"
Without waiting for a response, he limps towards him, and he does not stop him. He is of an unusual sort. Any other creature would try to escape or bargain, but he…
He peers at him, trying to look past the shadows that cloaked the planes of his face, and he is struck by the fact that they are of the same height. He touches the hooded face with a crimson hand, staining the skin as slender fingers trace the unresponsive mask. The touch flutters here and there, resting briefly on his lips. His blue eyes look thoughtful, and the hand drops.
"I know you're going to kill me, but…" He wraps his arms around his neck. "…Don't kill me with weapons. Kill me with your bare hands."
In response, his left hand curls around his waist to rest on the small of his back, his right hand positioning over his chest. He gathers power into himself, and his hand, like a dagger, pierces his heart. It plunges through the other end, crushing bone and sinew as it passes. His body arches, molding briefly with the other's, and warm blood drenches his cloak. He withdraws his hand, glancing passively at the spoils dripping over the grass.
Eyelids close briefly, then flutter open. He stares blankly into his unfocused eyes, and he smiles, albeit shakily. He is not going to die quickly, but has a few more seconds to live. Silence descends over the clearing.
His warm, barely perceptible breathing teases his face, especially where the crimson still remains. A tear slips down his pale cheek, and he catches it with blood-covered fingers. The drop of dew sparkles with the reflection of a thousand stars before being blown away by the murmuring darkness.
He hears his laugh, a rough yet oddly beautiful sound. "I'm crying…" He coughs, and liquid spills from his mouth. "You…know what? I'd like to see that face of yours, assassin." Shaking hands push back his hood, and he didn't stop him. He laughs again, only weaker. It is almost time, but not yet.
Tightening his grip around his neck, he leans closer and whispers in his ear, "You are truly beautiful. Thank you, my love." A shudder passes over his body, and he crumples to the ground, unhindered by his loose hold.
He steps back and looks down at the quickly cooling corpse. Kneeling, he cups his chin and kisses his cold lips, tasting copper and earth. He uses his blood to draw an inverted pentagram on his forehead and stands up; carefully cleaning his arm and drawing his cloak back over his face.
He starts to leave the clearing, but turns back. He sees the moonlight glinting over his long hair and his blood, and he sees that the fair face looks peaceful, the smile unfading.
He walks away.
____________________
"He is dead."
He kneels at the feet of his master's throne, and holds up the prize. A sparkling jewel suspended on a mithril chain. It glimmers dully in the fires of the chamber.
"Perfect." A cruel, mocking laugh.
Suddenly he feels that his master is near, and he bows, unheeding the furious heat rising from the floor.
"Look up, slave." The pull of his voice is strong. He obeys.
A wave of fear and pain passes through his being as he stares into his master's eyes. They were cold, yet filled with white heat. A twisted smile appears on the twisted face. He takes the jewel with blackened hands.
He turns, black robes billowing behind him. He watches hungrily, and starts when he hears the command: "Come."
Standing swiftly, he walks over to where his master is peering into the pool.
The dark waters were still, catching light greedily yet never reflecting it. A vial is produced and its contents are poured inside.
Smoke curls for a moment on the inky surface, and then fade as ripples form, first tiny disturbances, then to churning waves. The pool clears.
A woman and a man, both wearing expensive garments, are standing in a garden. The woman, who obviously is an Elf with her ethereal countenance and dark hair, is holding the man's hand. A jewel hangs around the man's neck.
"The White Tower of Gondor. Kill her."
He studies the woman's face for a moment.
"I will start tomorrow."
His master dismisses him, and he steps into his own room. His senses notice something.
A silver arrowhead flashes in the torchlight. He picks it up, and examines it. A craft of Lorien, he decides. But how…?
A memory breaks through his empty consciousness. A moonlit clearing, gentle hands, a silvery voice.
Him.
The metal falls from his hands. Truly beautiful.
No.
Quickly shaking his head, he picks up the arrow and stares into the dulled surface, willing the memory to fade, as with many others that came before.
He is dead. He is killed.
He remembers the jewel. It is in the shape of a winged mithril leaf, set with countless many-hued gems. He remembers a voice. "It is mine to give to whom I will."
He is dead. He is killed. He is not coming back.
Haldir of Lorien cannot give him the power he desires the most.
His master can.
He remembers that.
He does not remember anything else.
A/N: Whew! That was a hard one! Confused? Well, that's okay! I was confused too! Please review, even though you can't understand it! Next chapter might be out in a few weeks, since I have other writing projects as well as personal commitments to think of.
Chapter Notes:
-"It is a lovely thing, to be killed by the one you love the most." Quote taken from Tokyo Babylon, a thought-provoking anime (and manga) series by CLAMP. Setsuka Sakurazuka, an assassin, said this before her son Seishirou killed her.
-The hand-through-chest killing method and the inverted pentagram symbol are also Tokyo Babylon.
-Idea of using present tense narrative taken from "Crucify my Love" by Leareth. It's an experiment, but it's a wee bit too hard, so I won't stick with it.
-Killing off Haldir wasn't in my original agenda, but I had to kill *someone*. And it sure ain't Legolas; I have to torture him first. ^_^
-"It is mine to give to whom I will." Quote from The Fellowship of the Ring movie. These are Arwen's words to Aragorn about her immortality or something. (My slashiness protests at that scene, so I'll just shut my trap ^^X)
-"He is not coming back." Quote from The Two Towers movie trailer. Elrond said that Aragorn isn't coming back to Arwen, 'coz he's engaged to Legolas already. Whoops. Did I just say that? Wishful thinking, sorry.
~tsuzuku~