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Title: Amin Ai Olin
Author: AJ Matthews
Fandom: LOTR
Sporked by: Trojie
Rated: M
Notes: Agent Trojie's very first mission.

Rookie Agent Profile

Name; Trojanhorse
Department; Bad Slash
Speciality; Musician slash, but has knowledge of the LOTR and HP continuums.
Stated Weaknesses; All members of Led Zeppelin, Kurt Cobain, Faramir son of Denethor.
Any homicidal tendencies? No, but should not be allowed explosives.

Swearing she would murder the author of that little masterpiece if ever she met them, the latest addition to the Bad Slash Department collapsed across the broken Marshall amp that did duty as the only seating in her Response Centre. The exit from the fic hadn’t been graceful, more a sort of boneless collapse through the portal, shedding the disguise for her normal appearance. Which, aside from gender, wasn’t actually that different; jeans, band t-shirt, long hair . . . Specialising in musician slash meant that her choices in the disguise side of things weren’t exactly broad; either groupie or roadie. She vowed that she would ALWAYS take roadie. Male roadie, to be on the safe side, although considering she worked in the *slash* department, maybe it wasn’t actually that safe. Thankfully, in the fic she’d just left, the band members had been far too interested in each other to bother about her.
‘That. Was. DisGUSTING.’ she said, hoping against hope that there were spy cameras in the walls, just so that Upstairs got a glimpse of how she felt.
There was a BEEP from the console. Groaning, Trojie got up and looked at the message that was blinking on the screen.
[Agent Trojanhorse? Upstairs. Now.]
‘What?’ she asked, rhetorically, before looking down at the last line.
Signed, the Queen Anne's Lace.

Trojanhorse had only been working in the Department of Bad Slash for a couple of days. She’d been disgusted by a Led Zeppelin slash fic (the one she’d just returned from, actually) and had written to the PPC, volunteering for Bad Slash duty. And now here she was, traipsing the corridors of the PPC, looking for the office of the Sunflower.
‘Should have brought a ball of string.’ She stopped and looked around. ‘That’s Lux’s response centre. I’ve passed that three times already!’
Her wail brought the fellow Bad Slasher to the door.
‘Lux,’ Trojie found herself backing up against the wall. She’d been in the department long enough to know *that* much about Lux.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘I'm lost. I can’t seem to find the Queen Anne's Lace’s office.’
‘Everybody seems to have trouble with that one. Hang on, I’ll show you.’
Lux skipped out of the office, grabbed Trojie’s wrist and galloped her off at top speed.
‘See, you take the first right . . . third left . . . straight ahead for four passages . . .’ the directions became a blur, and next thing she knew, Trojie had been deposited against a door and Lux was off in the other direction.
Come in. said the voice of the Lace, although how it knew she was there was anyone’s guess. Maybe it did have spy cameras.
Carefully she opened the door.
Please sit down. I have a briefing for you.
Trojie looked around. There were no seats. So she sat on the floor.
We are pleased with your work to date
You are familiar with the Lord of the Rings continuum?
‘Yes, but-‘
We see that Aragorn and Legolas are not on your stated list of weaknesses
‘Well, no. Why-‘
We have a job for you in Middle Earth.
‘But I was assigned to musician slash!’
There are very few musician slash fics out there. The Tolkien continuum, on the other hand, is filled with bad slash, and we have few agents in that department with your . . . qualifications
‘You mean, very few agents not obsessed with Legolas?’
Precisely. A printout will be in your response centre.
This was clearly a dismissal. Trojie rose to leave.
Oh, and Agent Trojanhorse?
Remember. No killing canon characters. We do seem to have trouble convincing agents on that score . . .
‘Yes ma'am’


Trojie made it back to the response centre without incident, and picked up the details of the fic. It was long. It was angsty. It was sprinkled with minor but interesting errors; while not the worst that Trojie had ever seen in that department, they were definitely enough to set her teeth on edge. But she could see why she’d been assigned this mission. It had enough character ruptures to send half the LOTR division on a killing spree; Aragorn was a manipulative rapist; Legolas was a weak and helpless victim who kept being described in terms of his eye colour. Thranduil was a controlling bastard, and Elrond was an insufferable know-it-all. And to top it all off, Legolas had a kid. Actually gave birth to it himself. M-Preg was a rare enough genre even in humour; Trojie had never seen it in a “serious” fic before. She gave a low whistle. That was, hmm, four exorcisms as well as the two kids. ‘Kasia’ and ‘Elleelen’; respectively the daughter of Aragorn and Arwen and the son of Aragorn and Legolas, were not Sues, but they were so obviously self-insertions that it pained Trojie to read them.

‘Let’s see . . . supplies . . .’ Trojie knew that Upstairs frowned on Bad Slashers going armed, and so she didn’t have much in the way of weaponry except for the length of chain. Technically it wasn’t a weapon, and she tended to wear it as a belt most of the time, but it was effective as defence against anything with a blade, it could send someone to sleepy-bye just as quickly as anything made by the Discworld’s Mrs. Goodbody, plus, you could use it to tie someone up, which was standard procedure for exorcisms in the Bad Slash dept. Beside the chain she dumped a notebook and pencil, three rolls of gaffer tape, the portal activator, a neuralyser, and a Character Analysis device. After rereading the printout, she removed the Character Analysis device. She had no wish to explain to Makes-Things why she’d blown it up.

Now, disguise. Scanning the fic, it seemed that a servant of some species would probably be the best way to go; they seemed to be everywhere in this storyline. And servants had pockets.
Trojie picked up the last item she needed; the standard exorcism kit, containing assorted copies of the collected works of Tolkien, a bell and some candles.

Portal opened, she stepped through, her arms full of gaffer tape and other equipment. Looking around, she saw that she was in a palace somewhere. Probably Minas Tirith, she guessed from her hasty scanning of the Words, but it looked nothing like how Tolkien had most likely imagined it. Hastily she put all the stuff in her apron pockets, and looked around surreptitiously. The landscape was so vague that the walls were almost transparent.
‘Honestly, does this author have any idea of description?’ Trojie asked herself bitterly, practising walking in skirts as she looked for Aragorn or Legolas. She heard footsteps and flattened herself against a wall as delicately as she could, terrified of falling through it.

“Elessar silently beckoned to Legolas to follow him, as he left the room silently. The Elf did so, saying nothing, walking behind the Man who was both appealing and cruel at the same time. That was how Legolas thought of Elessar right now; the King could- and had shown- that he was capable of affection, caring, and tenderness. But in other ways, Elessar was cold and cruel, insistent upon dominating and approving his every action, which Legolas greatly resented.”

Trojie corrected herself. The author did have the notion of description. Bad description. Sin number one; misuse of parentheses, the Bad Slasher thought harshly. Sin number two; using the word ‘silently’ twice in one sentence. And precisely how can you* dominate* and *approve* something at the same time? How? Scanning ahead in the Words, she saw a Meaningful Emotional Analogy approaching, and braced herself.

”The tiny spark that still loved Elessar, inside of Legolas, was dying, as a fire would without enough kindling.”

Too many commas, too many commas! For Heaven’s sake, is it that hard to put your clauses in a logical order? Seeing long arguments and UST approaching, Trojie grabbed a passing plothole (the so-called palace appeared to have been constructed almost entirely out of them) and skipped ahead a bit, praying at the same time that she wouldn’t wind up in the middle of a slashy scene.
The plothole dumped her into what looked like a tavern or inn of some species, also poorly delineated. Trying to deal with nausea, (there had obviously been some kind of temporal distortion there) she nearly backed through walls several times, attempting to keep out of sight of the shadowy, not quite there figures of the inn’s staff. One thing that was quite clear, however, in the mists, was a bunch of prostitute-types on a stage. And a hooded figure serving drinks.

“Legolas carried a tray full of dishes towards the kitchen, wearing the dark green, faded cloak over his once fine, silky green leggings and white shirt, making certain that his ears were hidden by the hood. He was careful to avoid attracting attention in the tavern, not wanting any problems.”

It really is funny how they equate ‘attention to detail’ with ‘descriptions of every piece of clothing’

"After placing the tray on the counter, Legolas took another tray full of drinks, and quietly took them to the ones who had ordered them. With his Elven memory, Legolas never made a mistake when he was the server, and never mixed up the ale, wine, and other alcoholic beverages. Legolas never took his hood off in here, because he was certain of what would happen if he did. His luck had held so far, but he knew it could not last much longer.
A hand grabbed Legolas in a manner that angered the Elf, so he elbowed the Man hard, directly in the stomach. His friends protested that, and grabbed onto his arms as he tried to dart away. More hands ripped the cloak off, and the entire tavern went silent, for all stared at the Elf, who was strangely beautiful.

Soft, smooth, golden hair hung past his shoulders, which were slim but firm. His pale, ivory skin was offset by the colour of his hair, and his wide, jade eyes. The clothes that he wore showed how slender he was, and every detail of his firm muscles.”

Why, oh why, must they describe his eyes at every opportunity? thought Trojie despairingly. She gritted her teeth and endured the flood of description. The upside was that it was really quite entertaining watching the kaleidoscope of colours that flickered through his eyes. They’d been ‘blue’, ‘sapphire’, ‘cerulean’, and ‘azure’, at different times through the fic, and now they were ‘jade’. You’d think they’d work out that jade at least is a shade of green, not blue.

“Legolas cringed at the looks he was getting. This was why he had never removed his hood. He was slightly relieved when his current employer walked over, until he saw the calculating look in the Man’s eyes, as his eyes roamed over the slender, Elven body.
Legolas jerked hard, to get free of the hands that held him tightly. One of the Men had the audacity to loop an arm around his waist, pinning the Elf’s hands to his side. Legolas instantly panicked and twisted hard, breaking free of all arms except for the Man who held him by the waist.”

‘Right. That goes on the charge list. “Making . . . Legolas . . . panic . . . like . . . a . . . cissy . . . girl.” Trojie wrote painstakingly. ‘Unnecessary capitalisation of the word ‘man’ . . . ‘

“You were hiding this from me,” Legolas’ employer slowly said. “You will make an excellent addition to…” He gestured to the figures on the stage, who were all wearing very provocative clothing.
“I will not,” Legolas breathed angrily. “I am a server, not a whore.” He paled at the unpleasant smile on his employer’s face.
“You’ll do it, or you will no longer work for me,” came the cold response.”

Trojie, following the Words, realised that she had landed herself in a flashback. That would explain the nausea earlier. She hadn’t been in a time jump before, but from what she’d picked up from listening to the tales in the cafeteria, they weren’t fun. She scanned hastily for a passing plothole, but couldn’t find one close enough. And she couldn’t remember how to skip aheaaaadd-
It was an interesting experience. Very, um,*interesting*. Yes. That was a polite way of putting it. It felt like she’d imploded and then inflated to bursting point.
‘I hate to think what this is doing to my temporal gland.’ she gritted once she’d stopped shuddering. Aragorn was apparently in mid-rant, although he was still constantly referred to as Elessar.
“‘They what?’ Elessar cried, in anger. ‘Let me understand this- your… employer tried to force you to…’
Legolas nodded silently. ‘And soon after that, I met Lord Allen along the road, when he was being robbed by some bandits. I helped him, and I’ve worked for him ever since. Though I only moved back near Gondor three months ago, which is how I came across Kasia being kidnapped.’
Elessar nodded. ‘You should have told me, Legolas. How could you deal with all of that by yourself, with no one to help you?’ he asked, feeling extremely guilty. ‘And how did you nearly die from giving birth to Elleelen?’”

‘Giving children stupid names . . .’ Trojie whispered vengefully as she added to the charge sheet. ‘Using bad Elvish . . . please, an Elf would have to be retarded to give a kid the name ‘Elleelen’. Plus stealing names from Anne McCaffrey.’
“‘I told you already,’ Legolas murmured. ‘I passed out while in labour. If Haldir had not been there…It would have been a lot worse…’
‘By Elbereth, Legolas! While you struggled to provide food to feed yourself and my- our son, and worked to support both of you, Arwen was practically waited on hand and foot!’ Elessar said, aghast. ‘Was it so important to you to keep such a secret?’
Legolas nodded. ‘I didn’t want to ruin your life. I knew that you loved Arwen dearly and I could not hurt her like that. And there was your unborn child- Kasia- to think about as well.’
Elessar wanted to shake Legolas. How could the Elf act so reasonable about what he had gone through for the last ten years, Elessar wondered. He stood and crossed the room, standing over the Elf that nonchalantly refused to look up at him.”

Trojie saw detailed slash approaching, and threw herself into another time distortion. This time she kept an eye on the Words as they flashed past, and managed to get out when she wanted to. This fic was stopping NOW. The errors in that last paragraph alone were enough to tip the scales, and she wasn’t going to hang around this screwed up continuum any longer. To deal with it she’d have to exorcise every ruptured character, and presumably kill off the two sickeningly sweet OC kiddies as well. They were obviously avatars, self insertions, and if there was one law that united the agents of the PPC, Trojie would have sworn that it was ‘Thou shalt not suffer a Sue to live’. But she still wasn’t happy with the idea of an assassination.
She dropped out of the Plothole in time to follow Elrond and the children right to the other characters.
“Come with me, Kasia and Elleelen, and we will find your father and Legolas,” Elrond told them, more anxious now than ever to find Legolas and Elessar before Thranduil did.

With Elleelen and Kasia each holding onto one of Elrond’s hands tightly, the three half Elves ran towards the kitchen, for Kasia had told her grandfather that that was the last place her father and Legolas had been.”

The wording here caused each character to immediately cleave down the middle, leaving only the left half of each body to continue running, until the universe remembered that this was not how things worked, and it returned them to their whole state. Apparently they did not notice this. And they didn’t fall over, either. Trojie was mildly impressed.

”Inside of the kitchen, King Thranduil of Mirkwood stared in shock at Elessar. ‘You’re lying,’ he said, shaking his head in denial. ‘Legolas would never have lain with you!’

Elessar retorted, ‘He did then, and has done so once more.’

‘Elessar...’ Legolas hissed, highly embarrassed. This was a conversation he did not like at all. A crimson flush was on his face, as he looked back and forth between his father and... his lover. Neither were paying attention to him as they glared at each other. ‘Father, please, he’s telling the truth; he is Elleelen’s sire.’

‘If he did sleep with you, then you must have forced him to,’ Thranduil accused, ignoring his son as he concentrated on Elessar, anger blazing in his eyes.

Elessar grew furious at those words. ‘It seems to me like he actually enjoyed himself, and that would be pretty hard if he was being forced,’ the King snapped.”

I HATE it when they use modern speech patterns! And surely, surely it isn’t so difficult to remember what tense you’re using?

”Legolas flinched, Elessar’s words having hurt him. Had the Man so conveniently forgotten that he had turned Legolas’ own body against him, making him give into his desire against his will for the most part, at least at first? Was it that easy for Elessar to forget how he’d forced him to come here? In the time that had passed since Legolas had arrived in Gondor, only once had he not been touched against his will.

Thranduil saw the wince on his son’s face and stated coldly and deliberately, ‘Then why does he flinch so at the words you just spoke? Could it be that you have forced him into doing things he did not wish?’

Elessar paled and looked at Legolas, who refused to meet his gaze. The King cursed himself silently; how could he have forgotten, for even a moment, of what he had done to Legolas? What he did to the Elf was little better than rape, and it was a miracle that Legolas had even survived that, especially as he was already unhappy about having been forced to come here against his will.

At that moment, the door to the kitchen was flung open, and Elrond entered, with his granddaughter and Elleelen. All eyes turned to them, and Legolas automatically stepped towards the children, wondering why Elrond was here. Thranduil stared at the little boy with long, golden hair and grey eyes, wondering at how Elleelen looked so much like Legolas. It was stunning to the Elven King, for he had never laid eyes on his grandson before.

Kasia and Elleelen stared at the tall, golden-haired Elf, wondering who he was. Neither had ever seen him before, and they were naturally curious, by nature, so they gazed at him silently. Kasia was the first to look at the stranger, then Legolas, and finally, her brother.

And then Aragorn collapsed, hit in the head by a hardback copy of The Two Towers. Trojie leapt out of the shadows and made a beeline for the canon characters, judging them to be a bigger threat than the two puppy-dog eyed half-elven children. She retrieved her copy of TTT and stood over the comatose body of Aragorn, swinging her chain menacingly. Legolas uttered a strangled wail and ran towards her, closely followed by Elrond. In this fic Elrond seemingly hadn’t managed to maintain any semblance of warrior skills, and Legolas’s fighting ability had been deflated by the author’s frequent descriptions of his pacifism, so neither of them was much of a challenge to the adrenaline soaked Trojanhorse. The chain caught Legolas across the side of the face, and the Two Towers beaned Elrond. This left Thranduil standing, and wisely he decided to cut his losses and hustle the children away. Trojie let them go; she had other things to worry about, and she could catch them up later. Dragging the three unconscious canons into a line, she did a hasty gaffer tape job on their wrists and then placed a Lord of the Rings volume on each of their chests. Hurriedly dragging candles and matches out of her apron, she made the necessary circle, rang the bell perfunctorily, and then, clutching the spare Hobbit paperback, she roared.
‘Begone, Author of this fic! Get thee behind me Unrelenting Sexual Tension! Get thee behind me Angst! The power of Tolkien compels you! You have no more power in this continuum!’
The shades of the Author rose from the three comatose bodies, coalescing into one single figure.
‘If you wanted to say something, you only had to click the review button . . .’ it whined before evaporating entirely. Trojie shoved all the exorcism stuff back into her apron and grabbed the neuralyser.
‘Oh crap, I forgot my sunglasses!’ And the canons were beginning to wake up.
‘My lord Elrond!’ Aragorn leapt to his feet and helped Elrond up. He at least appeared to be in character again.
Legolas sprang to his feet. All three looked at Trojie.
‘Who are you?’
‘Um . . .’ Trojie made a decision. ‘Look at the magic wand . . .’ she coaxed, holding the neuralyser out. They obediently peered at it. She closed her eyes tight, turned away, and pressed the button, hoping like hell that she wouldn’t wake up as a vegetable. It seemed to work. Before they had a chance to register she began stripping the gaffer tape off their wrists. ( . . . Agents must not leave modern materials or equipment in the continuum . . .)
‘Um, right. Aragorn, you’re a good king, ok? Legolas, hmm, you and Elrond should both be in the Havens right now, oh, I dare say that’ll sort itself out once I catch the other three. Um, for now, you’re both good fighters. And you *weren’t* raped, ok?’ she said to Legolas with some vehemence before taking off after Thranduil plus kiddies.
They hadn’t gone far. There wasn’t anywhere for them to go. The author’s lack of background description had left them trapped in a dead-end corridor. Trojie rounded a corner and found them standing there, kids hanging onto Thranduil’s hands like limpets. He offered little resistance, proving further that his character had been swamped below the malignant influence of the Author.
A bewildered Thranduil found himself holding a candle that had been thrust into his hands, before being shoved up against the misty walls with one of the hard corners of a copy of The Return of the King pressed into his spine. A bell rang furiously for a few seconds, and then he heard;
‘GettheebehindmeAngst,thepowerofTolkiencompelsyou!’ and he was dropped, feeling dazed. The candle was wrenched back out of his grip, and a few squeaks were all he heard from the children as the strange servant girl tied them up. And gagged them.
‘Right, King Thranduil? Look at me please.’ A bright light, and suddenly the last few months were a blur.
‘Thank you for your time!’
Trojie gathered the two OC children up and ran round the corner, so that the newly re-canonized Thranduil wouldn’t hear the charges.
‘Right. You two. Elleelen and Kasia. You’re charged with being avatars, being insufferably cute, pissing off a PPC agent, having the worst names I’ve ever heard, being far too knowing about m/m relationships for ten year olds, um, pissing off a PPC agent, wait, already said that . . . oh, crap, that’ll do. Any last words?’ she asked, before remembering that she’d gagged them. ‘Um, ok, maybe that was a stupid question.’ Hell, I can’t kill kids! What do I do with them? Merciful death, think of a merciful death. Meanwhile, to stop them *looking* at her like that, she knocked them both unconscious. Aha! Plan!


The year was 1975. The place; Earls’ Court, London. Led Zeppelin were playing. A portal opened into the front of the crowd. Not that anyone noticed, they were all incredibly out of it. Trojie sighed. She was fundamentally against drugs. Nevertheless, she pushed the two unconscious avatars out into the multitude. Nobody noticed that either.
Trampled to death by a rabid Led Zeppelin audience. It’s the way I’d like to go.


Another boneless collapse into the response centre. This time Trojie picked herself up, dusted her precious Hendrix t-shirt down and wound the chain back around her waist. She walked over to the console and found a message for her. The Queen Anne's Lace.
[Agent Trojanhorse to Upstairs. Now]
Still the same charming manner. she thought. Regretfully she looked around the response centre, tempted to just have a quick nap. But instead she straightened up, gave a fond pat to each model on the Pink Floyd poster she’d stuck up, and headed out the door. Later on, she thought, I want to bail up a few LOTR specialist agents in the cafeteria, and ask some questions. If I’m gonna get stuck in the Tolkien continuum again, I want some more information! And a partner. I’ll ask around. Maybe there’s someone who can give me a hand, at least.
Without noticing it, she’d made it to the Lace’s door. This often happened, she was assured. A side-effect of the weird dimension the PPC existed in.
Come in.
‘Hi again’ she said nervously
We have decided to broaden your horizons-
‘I’m still staying in Bad Slash, right?’ Trojie didn’t think she could be an assassin. The two avatar children had proved that to her. But the Mary Sue department was hideously understaffed, she knew that. Please, please don’t let it transfer me . . . I can’t kill people!
Yes, you will remain in the Bad Slash department. But henceforth you will deal with Lord of the Rings slash as well as musician slash. You have shown that you are capable. That will be all.
Trojie left the Lace’s office for the second time that day.


A/N; Hi, new Bad Slash recruit Trojanhorse here, um, well, some explanations; the Zeppelin fic I mention at the beginning does exist, and it *was* the fic I originally intended to give the PPC treatment to, but upon reading the blurb and the opening, I couldn’t bring myself to read any further. It was foul. Beyond foul. The fic I DID end up exorcising is on ff. net, it’s called ‘Amin Ai Olin’ and is written by one AJ Matthews. It has eighteen chapters so far (it’s a WIP), and I would guess it’s only about halfway through the storyline yet. This guy has written forty-three, count them, FORTY-THREE fics on ff.net, (and that’s not counting his collaborations with other writers) so I may just have to exorcise him again, if they’re anything like the quality of this one.


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