Chocolate Sauce and (Alarmingly Enough) Swords
by writerbrat (who has far too much time on her hands)

A/N: In truth I'm almost ashamed to call this my own but we digress. This does in no means reflect my views towards homosexuals (who I am fine with and adamantly for gay marriage) or slash. It was so far to tempting to poke fun at. If I receive any reviews that misinterprets this I shall be forced to delete them (if at all possible) or entirely disregard myself. "Now, do I make myself clear?" "Inescapably." And I am beta-less at the moment so that explains my grammar errors and whatnot.

Rivendell

A solitary ring of a clear bell resounded through the valley, seeking out those who meandered along the winding paths draped with the overhanging bows of trees and beckoned them to the council. What was to be discussed at this council of supreme importance was a subject much gossiped upon, every minute detail scrutinized for the slightest hint. Some muttered of elves with their elegant limbs bound by elvish rope and others whispered of dwarves drenched in chocolate sauce and naughty antics in the deep chasms of Middle-earth. There was even a rumor of the chronicles of steamy love affairs being passed from being to being up and down the Anduin. Yet all this gossiping came to no avail and no one had the slightest notion of why Elrond had called them together. All speculated was soon to be terminated, however, as the council was about to commence.

When, guided by Gandalf, Frodo was led to a porch, the sight of numerous beings, representative of nearly all of the races in Middle-earth, greeted him. Elrond was perched in a chair, massaging his temple, an expression of great perturbation upon his countenance. As he cast his eyes about the gathered host the hobbit discovered every person present had a bit of parchment with their name inscribed upon it pinned to their breast. Strider was sitting in the far corner, his tattered cloak drawn tightly, almost forbiddingly, around his lean frame. From beneath his dark locks of hair he peered out at the continguine with his grey, keen eyes. Frodo was dimly aware of the fact that Aragorn was wearing at least a dozen of the tags and that one, interestingly enough, read "Stick-at-naught." Frodo mused briefly on how precisely Strider came to have that nickname. Yet where his thoughts led him was not a place any respectable hobbit bachelor would be found so he furiously shook his head to rid himself of the thought.

His naughty meditation was terminated, however, when Elrond, rising, thrust a bit of parchment into his hand and introduced him to the gathered continguine. Elrond them promptly pointed out those Frodo had yet to become acquainted with including numerous dwarves, an elf by the name of Legolas, and a man of the South. Boromir, as his name tag heralded, had a mighty horn embellished with silver perched upon his knees.

"Do you believe he's compensating for something?" Gandalf muttered almost deviously.

The keen ears of Elrond heard this remark and he swiftly veered around to face the wizard.

"The writers to whom this council pertain tell us that he is quite well, um, endowed in that area. They also inform us that his brother and a great number of Gondorian soldiers are quite well acquainted with this, um, horn. The escapades of this horn are legendary, my friend. I have heard told that you yourself have sampled some of it's delights."

"Why, I never!" Gandalf retorted, aghast. "I have traveled far and seen a great queer things. I tell you, once you see orcs engage in a mating dance nothing can ever hope to alarm you again but I am appalled by your suggestion." With that he glared at Boromir under the wide brim of his hat and raised one thick, grey eyebrow. "Perhaps...." he muttered.

Frodo was sat to Elrond's left and handed a silver tray of cheddar cheese cubes and toothpicks of Mithril to pass around the circle.

Abruptly Elrond drew a lengthy stick from the folds of his attire and rapped it sharply upon the floor.

"I suspect many of you are curious as to why you have been summoned here," he commenced. "I also suspect many of you have some dreadful tales to tell. And I tell you that we shall, in good time, discuss all these pressing matters. Yet, initially we must establish the fact that the name of this council is not a testament to my own vanity. The true name, in fact, is an acronym. It stands for Evil Libido and kinky situations Really Obnoxious fangirls subject us to and put us in really Nasty situations with other males for their own contorted pleasure and Does anyone have anything for the letter D?

The elf who's name tag proclaimed him to be Legolas of the Woodland realm promptly elevated his hand and began to fervently wave it around.

"And that's a rhetorical question!" Elrond barked and Legolas swiftly put down his arm.

"You see, there appear to be these fangirls with both an appetite for sexual relations between males and an internet connection. And that, my friends, is a dangerous combination. We have long known these women to exist but they were dormant, quietly fantasying and fabricating tales of males in Middle-earth. Yet recently they have gained power and are now able to post these stories they have created only the internet for the spoiling of other minds. And I tell you this must be stopped!" he said, his hands in tight, clenched fists, his teeth grinding together.
"Perhaps it is like this among the elves but Gondor has not such fangirls. Gondor needs no such fangirls," Boromir declared.

"Oh, really?" Elrond inquired, raising one eyebrow almost deviously and brandishing a scroll. He unfurled the parchment and commenced to read.

" 'Oh, Brother, aren't thou horny?: The Passionate Saga of the Sons of the Steward and Chocolate Sauce' by Bor's Whore and RubberDuckies." Elrond read from the scroll.

" ' Chapter 1: In Which Our Favorite Brothers Shag Each Other Senseless Beneath the Boughs of the White Tree with Handcuffs and Whipped Cream and Later Make Love in the Forbidden Pool with Rubber Duckies and Alarmingly Enough Their Swords.'

Boromir looked utterly horrified but even this horror could not fully dissipate the intrigue he was experiencing. "How does one make love with their swords?" he mused, scarcely cognizant that he was articulating his thoughts as they arose.

Yet Elrond was far from completing reading the blatant blasphemy.

" 'Hail Little Brother.'

" 'Good day, Brother. But it isn't a good day. I don't know why I bid you one. Perhaps it is because I'm so randy yet so depressed I can not see straight.'
" 'Oh, Faramir. Why are you so full of woe?" Boromir asked his brother, feeling his pants tighten uncomfortably in the crotch.

" 'Our father so obviously favors you. I am so distraught I may very well dress up like an artichoke and hurl myself off the Citadel to my death,' Faramir sobbed.

" 'No, Little Brother, don't do that. I am unbearably aroused and just happen to a have a convenient squeezie container of chocolate sauce and some bondage here in the pocket of my rapidly straining pants. We shall touch and we shall lick and we shall grind and these thoughts shall be banished from your brain. Come, let's make love!' "

The flesh of Elrond's cheeks had turned a deep scarlet hue and he gruffly cleared his throat ere continuing with the feverish, passionate tale.

"And with that Boromir pulled his little brother to the ground and in the shade of the White Tree they........."

Yet, to the relief of all present, Boromir interrupted Elrond by arising and thus the steamy tale of forbidden incest was terminated.

"That's so inescapably wrong!" Boromir cried, a look of utter repugnance upon his strong features. "I would never lay with my own brother! If I had a sister, yes, perhaps, but that is not the point! My brother and I are decidedly not homosexual! We do not engage in sexual relations with other males, much less each other!"

"No one ever said you did, man of Gondor," said Elrond consolingly, furling up the parchment upon which this tale had been inscribed.

"My pants! What in the name of my Father's hairy underwear could they mean?" he continued to rant, forcefully pacing to and fro, back and forth.

"Now, Boromir," vocalized Gandalf from where he had been sitting, an expression of supreme amusement upon his lined visage. "This is not the time or the place to unleash your fury against these women. Perhaps later when the Lord Elrond has read aloud to the chapter in which your father, watching you and your brother engaging in lewd acts in the stable through the Palantir, decides to join you, you may have cause to be wroth with these writers. But wait until them."

"This story was decidedly written very ill," Elrond declared. "Yet I did uncover a rather eloquent one pertaining to Sam and Frodo the other night. It was quite enjoyable if you know what I mean," he continued, nudging Frodo. "And I do believe I may be able to recite a few choice selections verbatim if you grant me a moment." Then, dramatically shrouding his face with the embroidered hem of his robe he began.

"Frodo was being teased nearer and nearer to the brink of white hot passion, waves upon waves of fiery love engulfing him as his hips buckled and he tore at the grasses Sam had been so meticulously tending mere minutes before. Now Sam's hoe and shovel lay dormant as he planted his seeds elsewhere but the ground. He caressed Frodo's length with his velvety smooth tongue." Elrond murmured, his voice conveying all the feverish passion this pair of lovers felt. "Frodo cried out, moaning and groaning with such ardor..."

"Enough!" cried Gandalf, clutching his staff with a dire urgency. "You must desist this madness! But first, what does length mean?"

"Ah, my friend, I am glad you have asked," Elrond said, a delicate smile playing upon his lips. "I have here a list of terms commonly utilized for kinky reasons in erotic scenarios by these writers, who, though deprived of any intimacy of their own are quite blessed with a vivid, graphic imagination. Some of what they wrote horrified even me and when one has lived thousands of years numerous things fail to alarm me. But this! Still, here is a partial list of terms used by fanfiction writers. You are free to interpret their meanings in whatever twisted manner you believe to be best. Length. Shaft. Staff...."

"Hold your tongue!" Gandalf bellowed. "Do you mean to tell me that staff can be perceived by some to be down right raunchy uses?"

"Yes, as matter of fact I do. It does make the above sentence "cried Gandalf, clutching his staff with a dire urgency" sounds rather naughty now, doesn't it?" Elrond serenely replied.

"Staff indeed!" Gandalf grumbled.

" How to we vanquish these vile slash writers? What must we do?" Frodo unanticipatedly began to speak and in truth he was alarmed to harken to his own voice uttering these words.

"We can not vanquish them, Frodo son of Drogo. Their malice run far to deep and have cast all the land in a sorta of homoerotic shadow. I hear tales of Theoden of Rohan who has an advisor named Wormtongue and that they engage in raucous, mind numbing sex every half an hour. Wormtongue. Just take a wild guess how he came to have that nickname. We hear dreadful tales of Saruman, his orcs, and one very ornate lounge completely adorned with Warg fur and mirrors on the ceiling. It is said that from these couplings of wild abandon a new breed called Uruk Hai have been sired! It is rumored the reason Gollum was able to escape in Mirkwood was that the elves that ought to have been guarding the wretched beast took to licking each other in explicit ways in places I shall not mention around any respectable company. Some even suggest Gollum came to have the ring in his possession through a passionate lover's row with his cousin Deagol. And it is gossiped that Durin's party was lost because they halted for "gang bangs" in the deep chasms of Middle-earth and there, in the shadows to the beating of the drums they laid together until they had not the strength nor the will to carry on. No, Frodo, we can not quell this tide of kinky things involving bondage nor can we surmount the legions of fangirls. We can however, mount ourselves. We have but one choice. We must beat them at their own game. We must indulge their homoerotic fantasy. We must make wet, greasy Warg love right here and right now! We must shag each other senseless!"

"Really? Must we?" inquired Frodo, aghast at Elrond's, who at the time at flung back his cloak to reveal a tight leather cat suit and was brandishing a menacing looking whip that cut through the air, behavior.

"No, not really but I must confess to being rather curious about Boromir's horn," Elrond simpered, perching a pair of cat ears upon his brow.

"Can one really make love to a sword?" Boromir, who was very pleasantly horrified that his pants were indeed becoming quite pinching in alarming place, inquired of Elrond.

"I'm not sure. But I suppose we ought to attempt it...."

Fin