Author: MarieAmethyst
Title: Surrender to the Darkness
Rating: R
Chapter: Five, Dreams
Author's Notes: What can I say? No one else was writing Aragorn/Sauron slash, so I came up with this. Surrender is based off a lot of my own ideas, and how I view Lord of the Rings. To me Sauron isn't some big flaming eye, and the Nazgul aren't a bunch of almost dead guys running around mindlessly trying to find the One Ring. If you can't deal with that, then this isn't a fic for you. (*grin* Or anyone else, for that matter.) I've toyed with a couple ideas as to how to develop this, but for the most part I'm just writing as it comes to me. If you have any ideas/suggestions, please let me know! I'd be forever grateful. ^_^
I've went back and re-written the chapters a little, adding more and correcting mistakes, that sort of thing. The biggest change is to the character Gwen, in chapter six. Before I had planned on writing a back story to Surrender called Pieces of My Heart, but since that has gotten nowhere, I edited Gwen so she fits more readily in the fic until I can get Pieces written.
If you're having trouble picturing Sauron as something other than a big flaming eyeball, think of Armand from Interview With the Vampire. But with longer hair. ^_~
UPDATE 12/31/08: Since so many of you have begged nicely and tracked me down all over the 'Net to ask me if I was ever going to finish it, I have decided to continue Surrender! …Of course I have no idea how I am going to do this, so it should be interesting. :D First off is an overhaul of the story, especially Aragorn's character; he kind of bothers me now. So be looking for updates in 2009. Thank you for all of the wonderful reviews/e-mails/comments (I was even mentioned in an article on Aestheticism, lol)! This is for you guys. :)
-*-*-*-
You can't abandon me
You belong to me
Breathe in and take my life in you
No longer myself only you
There's no escaping me, my love
Surrender
-*-*-*-
"For nothing is evil in the beginning. Even Sauron was not so."
~Elrond during the Council of Elrond, FotR~
~*~
Emptiness.
Soundless.
A brush of wind against his face. The presence familiar.
Hair flowing in the wind, silver eyes shining, full lips set in a smile.
Arwen.
Happiness.
Welcoming arms, pale as the moon glow. Sweetly whispered words. A pledge.
Sadness.
A mist arises. Arwen gazes sadly at him, fading. Gone.
"No!"
Aragorn sat up in the bed, his body covered in a cold sweat. The dream had felt so real to him, as if it truly had happened...But no, the bare walls, a mockery of a cell, reminded him he was not in Rivendell. Arwen was far away, safely guarded. Yet the feeling that he had lost something would not leave him.
Glancing about the room as if to find an answer in the walls, he saw a formation against the wall to the right of the bed that he had not noticed before. Standing up, he crossed to stare at it, before reaching up to grasp what looked to be a small handle. It swung out, letting in a thin beam of light to fall upon his face.
A slight wind caused his body to shiver at its caress, almost instantly reminding him of other caresses stroked upon his skin by pale hands. Caresses he liked, his conscience mocked.
"No I did not..." he denied to himself. What stars that could be seen through the murky darkness outside the window taunted him of freedom, seeming as if he could just reach out and grasp one. Knowing how foolish that thought was, Aragorn leaned his arms upon the base of the window. Letting his mind drift in memories of forest glens and an alluring face, his eyes slid closed.
~*~
Hours may have passed, or just minutes, before he reopened his eyes. More light was streaming in though the window, and he supposed it was never truly day in Mordor. His mind still rushed about in different directions, but more in the background of his thoughts. Softly closing the window, Aragorn returned to the bed and laid down, giving in to the suddenly powerful urge to rest.
~*~
Muted.
A touch upon his cheek.
Murmured words in a language foreign to him, mixing in his blood.
Lips, cold as ice on a wintry day, whispering across his neck. And the brush of black rose petals, glittering like fallen stars and crowned with frost, descending all around. Reaching out, he caught one in his hand.
Immediately his hand numbed partially, the petal twinkling in its tarnished innocence from the center of his palm. A hand reached up to interlock fingers with his, the petal trapped between the two. The chill he felt turned into fiery ice, burning him to the core.
Centering on his lips, smooth. Teasing him with its promised sweetness, a flick of a tongue to taste the dew.
A moan into the open mouth over his, parting his lips with a tongue. Willingly he obeyed, wanting another taste of desire. Tongues engaged as the kiss deepened, fingers tightening around the ones held in his.
Yearning to be closer.
Somehow knowing, the other hand slid around his waist, skin tingling under fingertips. Then with a sharp tug, his body was pulled against another. The feel of soft cloth against his bare skin caused him to shiver, the hand gliding across his back digging in slightly in response.
Pausing for breath, he gasped in air, bringing up his own free hand to tangle in the long raven hair. Pushing closer.
Lips left a trail of wet, open kisses from his jaw down to his neck. They stopped for a moment to bite lightly, then sooth the skin with a lick of the tongue. Again words flowed about him in a foreign language, sounding melodious and edged with desire.
Suddenly the craving to feel bare skin against his own filled him. His hand buried in the mass of silky strands slid down, coming to rest on the cloth-covered chest. His search for the hooks of the robe distracted as the lips continued their downward quest to skim over his chest. White heat flared as the mouth covered his nipple and the tongue lightly flicked it, then tugged gently.
With a groan, he let his head fall back. Encouraged, the mouth continued to suckle, the hand about his waist grasping him closer, the evidence of his arousal ground against the other's.
He fumbled at the hooks, groaning again when they wouldn't come undone. A chuckle sounded against his chest at the frustration echoing in the sound.
A warning sounded distantly in his mind, a memory began to surface. The chuckle sounded familiar...
Lips claimed his roughly before the memory could form fully. It was lost as fire spread through his body once more, and his mouth again parted, breath suspended. His hand, still resting on the other's chest, met bare skin as the cloth seemed to melt away. Smooth as silk, burning his hand like ice, and he wanted to feel more.
Pulling his mouth from under the other's, he leaned in to brush the chest in a movement similar to what the other had done, letting his lips worship the skin now revealed to him.
A hand trailed upward to curl gently around his neck, tracing a pattern with one long finger. Then he was being urged up by the hand, and his lips were again tasted. The kiss was unlike its predecessors, just a brush and a mingling of breath. His eyes had slid closed to savor the moment, only to snap open at the whispered words, "Surrender, Aragorn."
Hands were withdrawn; one from behind his neck, the other from where it had remained locked with his own. The hand brushed the cold metal around his neck that had went unnoticed, painfully recalling his enslavement. The other stepped back, fully revealed in dark splendor. And was gone.
~*~
Aragorn sat up again, body shivering in the aftermath of the dream. Sauron, pale body gleaming in the strange luminosity that suffused the surroundings, gazing at him with a small wicked smile playing about his beautiful mouth. The scent of roses all around, rose petals' icy touch caressing his body. So similar to his caresses...
A sudden burst of chill shock went through his left arm, his eyes jerking immediately to the source of his discomfort.
His hand was closed around a black rose, perfectly formed. Bringing it up to his face, he studied it as well as he could in the dim light provided by a candle lit on the small table next to the bed, evidently left there by another servant.
In the center of the rose laid a crystal in the shape of a tear. The light from the candle was caught in its depths, and for one moment he thought he saw it glow briefly. Shaking his head in denial, Aragorn laid the rose with it's tear on the table, then cast a look around.
The room had remained unchanged. He had expected to see some sign of the Dark Lord's presence, yet none was revealed in the soft light. He was tempted to believe it was just a dream, brought on by the events of the day before. Or the manipulation of magic, as he had accused Sauron of using. His mind refused to accept any other explanation. He was not feeling anything for the Dark Lord beyond loathing.
Yet his skin still tingled in remembrance of the heated caresses.
Shoving to his feet, Aragorn made a decision. Pausing to pull on his shirt and his boots, he focused his mind on his task. He wanted answers, nay, demanded them. No more of the Dark Lord's little games and devious lies that left him confused, he wanted the truth.
Walking to the door, he grasped the handle with one hand. Expecting it to still be locked, his grey eyes widened in surprise when the door swung silently open. Not pausing to ponder over that mystery, he stepped into the hall lit by sputtering torches. No one was in sight.
Smiling grimly, he started off in the direction he recalled the Great Hall was.