TITLE: A Middle-earth Mary Sue Tragedy 4/?
AUTHOR: Lily Baggins
RATING: R (likely won't be more than PG-13, but I want to be on the safe side. Some profanity . . . sexual suggestion, but no sex.)
Disclaimers. The usual. I make no money off of this and do not own these characters, much to my chagrin. They belong to Tolkien Enterprises and New Line Productions, and I only give them interesting---and usually unpleasant---ways to spend their time
Summary: I was coerced into this. The author makes a disgraceful Mary Sue.
Note: There may be some slashy overtones in some of this, as it's from my point of view as a writer of slash. However---there will be NO actual slash or sex between any of the characters (including, sniff sniff, myself).
**There may be descriptions of bodily functions in certain chapters---please don't read if it squicks you.
***
"That IS better, Sam," Frodo said with a sigh as he languorously removed his cloak and weskit. Watching him undress---even if it was only a few surface items of clothing, darn it---was really quite luscious. You recall the shirt unbuttoning scene in the movie---oh yes. And now Frodo's lovely firm bottom was covered only by his breeches . . . and I must say, I had a most difficult time taking my eyeballs off of it. I wondered briefly what kind of upset I would cause if I snuck up behind him and pinched it---of course he would be terrified. But nevertheless, the idea of doing such a thing really entertained me.
And I didn't think it was my imagination that I wasn't the only person watching Frodo and hoping for a glimpse of SOME manner of bare skin between his neck and his knees. Nossireebob . . . I'm quite certain other pairs of eyes were feasting upon him.
As for myself, I had finally gotten to the root of my Mary Sue difficulties. I simply wasn't feisty enough. I mean---ALL Mary Sues are feisty. Most have high spirits and bad tempers but still maintain the respect of others. Yes, that was it---I only had a possibly limited amount of time to be here, therefore I had to adopt some feisty mannerisms, and I needed to adopt them quickly.
Meanwhile, it was growing hotter and more humid as we got ready to move again. Frodo was very sweaty---we all were---and his hair was sticking to his face even as rivulets of perspiration ran down his neck . . . and God only knew what other places.
AFTER SEVERAL MORE ENDLESS HOURS OF MARCHING IN MORIA, DURING WHICH MY EYES NEVER STRAYED FROM FRODO'S VELVET-CLAD TUSH . . .
My feet were going to fall off anytime now. And my stomach was rumbling. I was wondering how long I could survive without Kellogg's Smart Start. Or ice cream. I would have given my right leg just then for a gigantic bowl of Ben & Jerry's chocolate fudge brownie. I bet Frodo would like that. Oh yes . . . I'd share my bowl with him . . .
It was unfortunate that at that moment I failed to notice the jagged rock in my path. And I tripped, falling forward and taking Pippin, who was walking just in front of me, down also. We went down with an "oof," and I scraped my hands just a bit before I was able to rise up on my knees, gasping.
Below me Pippin was rising too, but he was favoring his right ankle a bit.
"Are you all right?" Aragorn asked us, turning. At least---I *think* he asked both of us---perhaps he was referring to Pippin only.
"I'm fine," I answered, scowling as I watched Pippin rubbing at his leg. Oh no---this hobbit was *not* going to steal the attention away from my Frodo, who I could tell was getting sick. Uh-uh. I'd had enough of "cute little ailing Pippin" in various stories and fics and LOTR itself and I was NOT going to put up with it. It was Frodo's turn to be in ill health, dang it!
"Pippin?" Aragorn asked again.
"He's FINE," I answered, a bit forcefully. "Aren't you?"
"Yes . . . yes, I'm all right, Strider," the youngest hobbit replied after standing up with no pain. Good. If he'd had an injury I was going to throttle him. Or suggest that Boromir tend to him---Aragorn's SOLE DUTY, in my opinion, was to make *Frodo* as comfortable and happy as possible at all times. Which he could not do with that little Tookish turkey buzzard about.
"Let us take a short break," Gandalf suggested, for which I was rather thankful, as I had to relieve myself VERY badly.
Going off down a short corridor that the light from Gandalf's staff could slightly infiltrate, I did my business, squatting again with no hope of Angel Soft or Charmin to the rescue. And then I realized---blast it all to Mordor . . . Aunt Flo had come for a visit. Now what was I going to do? How much longer did we have to spend in this barren cavernous place not fit for man nor hobbit nor elf nor beast? Yes, it was my curse---my curse---for wishing Boromir instead of Aragorn on Pippin. It was coming back to haunt me.
I thought a minute----ah, I had the cloth Aragorn had given me earlier when I'd scraped my knee. That was it. It was slightly dirty, but would work in a pinch. My entire body was dirty now---more dirt couldn't hurt. Short of a mithril tampon, I had not much choice. When the cloth was gone, I would have to use my socks, if we were still here in Moria, and then stealthily begin to steal pieces of blankets or what-not after that. Once out of Moria I felt sure I could use leaves.
I walked back awkwardly, afraid the cloth would slip out. Hmmm . . . if I had some rope, that might work well. But I knew Sam had no rope . . . WAIT . . . I was *certain* I had seen an extra pair of braces in Frodo's pack. I could steal them . . . and if they were long enough tie them under my shorts and between my legs to hold this in place . . . Yes, that's what I would do. Use Frodo's braces as an old-fashioned feminine hygiene belt. Why, it would be just like the living in the 1950s . . .
That was a plan, then. I didn't know if the other hobbits had them---I hadn't paid enough attention. I knew the humans and elf had no such things. No, Frodo would only think that his braces had fallen out of his pack. He'd *never* suspect and could *well* survive without them. He certainly didn't seem to be in any danger of his pants falling down soon, much to my chagrin. Yes, I would take them at the first opportunity . . . I was in serious need here. He would NEVER, NEVER know. But I would have to think of a way of getting into his pack . . .
Back at camp the others he and Sam talked very softly as they picked their packs back up and prepared to depart, not quite realizing that voices carried quite far within the walls of Moria. And Frodo was looking even more ill . . . yes, he was definitely quite pink in the cheeks.
"Mr. Frodo, that 'Lily' lass is starin' at you again."
Grrrr. That blasted Frodo-obsessed Gamgee would be the death of my chances yet. I was sort of hoping he'd fall down a crevasse. No, not really . . . but maybe he would fall in love with an Orc and leave Frodo alone for once.
"Oh, Sam . . . don't be ridiculous. Why would she be staring at me, of all people? Unless she's after the . . . well . . . you know."
"It ain't the Ring, Mr. Frodo. She's sweet on you. I've noticed her noticin' things. Like the way your eyes shine when you smile, or the way you sigh in your sleep, or the way you purse those pretty lips when you don't much like something . . ."
"All right, Sam, all right. But honestly, you have the most ridiculous notions. I'm a hobbit---I just the height of her chest! Say, Sam---do you have any Old Toby left?"
So he only came up to my chest. What was wrong with that? I had no problems with it, frankly. At that moment I thought seriously about calling him over for a measurement . . . ah . . . wishful thinking. He wouldn't come within ten feet of me.
"How do you suppose she came by a hobbit name, Mr. Frodo? She's a human, right?"
"I'm sure I have no idea, Sam. I think she's human. She could be part dwarf, I suppose . . . but she doesn't have much of a beard. Gloin once told Bilbo that dwarf women had beards."
"Really? Hmmm . . . she does have more facial hair than the Lady Arwen, though---maybe she's part dwarf. She and Gimli might make a fine pair o' lovers."
Part dwarf? Part dwarf? PART DWARF? Who did they think I was? Julia Pastrana, who went on tour with P. T. Barnum as the Bearded Lady? I admit, I did employ tweezers every once in a while---Tweezerman's are the best, as Allure magazine always reports---but I was hardly *bearded.*
And Gimli? GIMLI? Now . . . I have nothing against Gimli, and I'm sure a nice bearded dwarf lady---and plenty of modern-day fanfic writers---would find him adorable, but Gimli was just not for me. I knew who I wanted, and I meant to at least get a good feel of him before I was zapped/swept/vacuumed or whatever else happened to send me back to my own era.
"Yes, it's possible she's part dwarf," Frodo continued, "although I still think she looks more like an overweight Gollum. Now, can we move on to a much more interesting topic, such as *do* you happen to have any pipe-weed?"
Pipe-weed----ick. You know . . . I had always sworn I would never get involved with a smoker. Tobacco is a real turn-off . . . uh, usually. But Frodo smoking was another thing entirely. For one, this was the first time I'd seen him smoking since I arrived--he wasn't a chain pipe-weed smoker. If there even were chain pipe-weed smokers.
Unfortunately Sam did have some pipe-weed, and Gandalf ever so graciously lit a chip of wood to light the hobbits' pipes. I knew he only acquiesced because he himself wanted a smoke.
"But smoke only for a few minutes, and then we must move on again," the wizard warned.
Frodo placed his pipe between his darling-ly---it wasn't a word, but it is now---puckered lips and closed his eyes as he drew---SUCKING, mind you---at the end of the pipe. Yes, indeed, I strained my ears and could hear a very soft sucking sound. Very soft. Then a small sigh escaped him, even, and with his face lightly coated with perspiration, well, let me tell you---that hobbit cannot be nearly as innocent as he looks. I'm certain he was having very erotic visions Tolkien only hinted about. Probably about Goldberry, damn her stupid rippling yellow hair and silver-green dress and forget-me-not belt. Damn her to eternal damnation.
But suddenly Frodo's smoking came to an abrupt halt when he began to cough abominably. I perked up a bit at that, much as I *hate* to admit it. The poor thing.
"Mr. Frodo!"
Frodo tried to protest that he was fine, but his face was red and he was breathing heavily as he stopped coughing and regained his breath. Oh, he was quite adorable when coughing---even with rings of smoke about him. They only added to his exotic aura.
"I'm *cough* fine, Sam."
I decided to risk speaking up very LOUDLY and investing in my newfound feistiness. "He looks a bit fever-flushed, if you ask me."
To be continued
AUTHOR: Lily Baggins
RATING: R (likely won't be more than PG-13, but I want to be on the safe side. Some profanity . . . sexual suggestion, but no sex.)
Disclaimers. The usual. I make no money off of this and do not own these characters, much to my chagrin. They belong to Tolkien Enterprises and New Line Productions, and I only give them interesting---and usually unpleasant---ways to spend their time
Summary: I was coerced into this. The author makes a disgraceful Mary Sue.
Note: There may be some slashy overtones in some of this, as it's from my point of view as a writer of slash. However---there will be NO actual slash or sex between any of the characters (including, sniff sniff, myself).
**There may be descriptions of bodily functions in certain chapters---please don't read if it squicks you.
***
"That IS better, Sam," Frodo said with a sigh as he languorously removed his cloak and weskit. Watching him undress---even if it was only a few surface items of clothing, darn it---was really quite luscious. You recall the shirt unbuttoning scene in the movie---oh yes. And now Frodo's lovely firm bottom was covered only by his breeches . . . and I must say, I had a most difficult time taking my eyeballs off of it. I wondered briefly what kind of upset I would cause if I snuck up behind him and pinched it---of course he would be terrified. But nevertheless, the idea of doing such a thing really entertained me.
And I didn't think it was my imagination that I wasn't the only person watching Frodo and hoping for a glimpse of SOME manner of bare skin between his neck and his knees. Nossireebob . . . I'm quite certain other pairs of eyes were feasting upon him.
As for myself, I had finally gotten to the root of my Mary Sue difficulties. I simply wasn't feisty enough. I mean---ALL Mary Sues are feisty. Most have high spirits and bad tempers but still maintain the respect of others. Yes, that was it---I only had a possibly limited amount of time to be here, therefore I had to adopt some feisty mannerisms, and I needed to adopt them quickly.
Meanwhile, it was growing hotter and more humid as we got ready to move again. Frodo was very sweaty---we all were---and his hair was sticking to his face even as rivulets of perspiration ran down his neck . . . and God only knew what other places.
AFTER SEVERAL MORE ENDLESS HOURS OF MARCHING IN MORIA, DURING WHICH MY EYES NEVER STRAYED FROM FRODO'S VELVET-CLAD TUSH . . .
My feet were going to fall off anytime now. And my stomach was rumbling. I was wondering how long I could survive without Kellogg's Smart Start. Or ice cream. I would have given my right leg just then for a gigantic bowl of Ben & Jerry's chocolate fudge brownie. I bet Frodo would like that. Oh yes . . . I'd share my bowl with him . . .
It was unfortunate that at that moment I failed to notice the jagged rock in my path. And I tripped, falling forward and taking Pippin, who was walking just in front of me, down also. We went down with an "oof," and I scraped my hands just a bit before I was able to rise up on my knees, gasping.
Below me Pippin was rising too, but he was favoring his right ankle a bit.
"Are you all right?" Aragorn asked us, turning. At least---I *think* he asked both of us---perhaps he was referring to Pippin only.
"I'm fine," I answered, scowling as I watched Pippin rubbing at his leg. Oh no---this hobbit was *not* going to steal the attention away from my Frodo, who I could tell was getting sick. Uh-uh. I'd had enough of "cute little ailing Pippin" in various stories and fics and LOTR itself and I was NOT going to put up with it. It was Frodo's turn to be in ill health, dang it!
"Pippin?" Aragorn asked again.
"He's FINE," I answered, a bit forcefully. "Aren't you?"
"Yes . . . yes, I'm all right, Strider," the youngest hobbit replied after standing up with no pain. Good. If he'd had an injury I was going to throttle him. Or suggest that Boromir tend to him---Aragorn's SOLE DUTY, in my opinion, was to make *Frodo* as comfortable and happy as possible at all times. Which he could not do with that little Tookish turkey buzzard about.
"Let us take a short break," Gandalf suggested, for which I was rather thankful, as I had to relieve myself VERY badly.
Going off down a short corridor that the light from Gandalf's staff could slightly infiltrate, I did my business, squatting again with no hope of Angel Soft or Charmin to the rescue. And then I realized---blast it all to Mordor . . . Aunt Flo had come for a visit. Now what was I going to do? How much longer did we have to spend in this barren cavernous place not fit for man nor hobbit nor elf nor beast? Yes, it was my curse---my curse---for wishing Boromir instead of Aragorn on Pippin. It was coming back to haunt me.
I thought a minute----ah, I had the cloth Aragorn had given me earlier when I'd scraped my knee. That was it. It was slightly dirty, but would work in a pinch. My entire body was dirty now---more dirt couldn't hurt. Short of a mithril tampon, I had not much choice. When the cloth was gone, I would have to use my socks, if we were still here in Moria, and then stealthily begin to steal pieces of blankets or what-not after that. Once out of Moria I felt sure I could use leaves.
I walked back awkwardly, afraid the cloth would slip out. Hmmm . . . if I had some rope, that might work well. But I knew Sam had no rope . . . WAIT . . . I was *certain* I had seen an extra pair of braces in Frodo's pack. I could steal them . . . and if they were long enough tie them under my shorts and between my legs to hold this in place . . . Yes, that's what I would do. Use Frodo's braces as an old-fashioned feminine hygiene belt. Why, it would be just like the living in the 1950s . . .
That was a plan, then. I didn't know if the other hobbits had them---I hadn't paid enough attention. I knew the humans and elf had no such things. No, Frodo would only think that his braces had fallen out of his pack. He'd *never* suspect and could *well* survive without them. He certainly didn't seem to be in any danger of his pants falling down soon, much to my chagrin. Yes, I would take them at the first opportunity . . . I was in serious need here. He would NEVER, NEVER know. But I would have to think of a way of getting into his pack . . .
Back at camp the others he and Sam talked very softly as they picked their packs back up and prepared to depart, not quite realizing that voices carried quite far within the walls of Moria. And Frodo was looking even more ill . . . yes, he was definitely quite pink in the cheeks.
"Mr. Frodo, that 'Lily' lass is starin' at you again."
Grrrr. That blasted Frodo-obsessed Gamgee would be the death of my chances yet. I was sort of hoping he'd fall down a crevasse. No, not really . . . but maybe he would fall in love with an Orc and leave Frodo alone for once.
"Oh, Sam . . . don't be ridiculous. Why would she be staring at me, of all people? Unless she's after the . . . well . . . you know."
"It ain't the Ring, Mr. Frodo. She's sweet on you. I've noticed her noticin' things. Like the way your eyes shine when you smile, or the way you sigh in your sleep, or the way you purse those pretty lips when you don't much like something . . ."
"All right, Sam, all right. But honestly, you have the most ridiculous notions. I'm a hobbit---I just the height of her chest! Say, Sam---do you have any Old Toby left?"
So he only came up to my chest. What was wrong with that? I had no problems with it, frankly. At that moment I thought seriously about calling him over for a measurement . . . ah . . . wishful thinking. He wouldn't come within ten feet of me.
"How do you suppose she came by a hobbit name, Mr. Frodo? She's a human, right?"
"I'm sure I have no idea, Sam. I think she's human. She could be part dwarf, I suppose . . . but she doesn't have much of a beard. Gloin once told Bilbo that dwarf women had beards."
"Really? Hmmm . . . she does have more facial hair than the Lady Arwen, though---maybe she's part dwarf. She and Gimli might make a fine pair o' lovers."
Part dwarf? Part dwarf? PART DWARF? Who did they think I was? Julia Pastrana, who went on tour with P. T. Barnum as the Bearded Lady? I admit, I did employ tweezers every once in a while---Tweezerman's are the best, as Allure magazine always reports---but I was hardly *bearded.*
And Gimli? GIMLI? Now . . . I have nothing against Gimli, and I'm sure a nice bearded dwarf lady---and plenty of modern-day fanfic writers---would find him adorable, but Gimli was just not for me. I knew who I wanted, and I meant to at least get a good feel of him before I was zapped/swept/vacuumed or whatever else happened to send me back to my own era.
"Yes, it's possible she's part dwarf," Frodo continued, "although I still think she looks more like an overweight Gollum. Now, can we move on to a much more interesting topic, such as *do* you happen to have any pipe-weed?"
Pipe-weed----ick. You know . . . I had always sworn I would never get involved with a smoker. Tobacco is a real turn-off . . . uh, usually. But Frodo smoking was another thing entirely. For one, this was the first time I'd seen him smoking since I arrived--he wasn't a chain pipe-weed smoker. If there even were chain pipe-weed smokers.
Unfortunately Sam did have some pipe-weed, and Gandalf ever so graciously lit a chip of wood to light the hobbits' pipes. I knew he only acquiesced because he himself wanted a smoke.
"But smoke only for a few minutes, and then we must move on again," the wizard warned.
Frodo placed his pipe between his darling-ly---it wasn't a word, but it is now---puckered lips and closed his eyes as he drew---SUCKING, mind you---at the end of the pipe. Yes, indeed, I strained my ears and could hear a very soft sucking sound. Very soft. Then a small sigh escaped him, even, and with his face lightly coated with perspiration, well, let me tell you---that hobbit cannot be nearly as innocent as he looks. I'm certain he was having very erotic visions Tolkien only hinted about. Probably about Goldberry, damn her stupid rippling yellow hair and silver-green dress and forget-me-not belt. Damn her to eternal damnation.
But suddenly Frodo's smoking came to an abrupt halt when he began to cough abominably. I perked up a bit at that, much as I *hate* to admit it. The poor thing.
"Mr. Frodo!"
Frodo tried to protest that he was fine, but his face was red and he was breathing heavily as he stopped coughing and regained his breath. Oh, he was quite adorable when coughing---even with rings of smoke about him. They only added to his exotic aura.
"I'm *cough* fine, Sam."
I decided to risk speaking up very LOUDLY and investing in my newfound feistiness. "He looks a bit fever-flushed, if you ask me."
To be continued
