TITLE: A Middle-earth Mary Sue Tragedy 7/?
AUTHOR: Lily Baggins
RATING: R Some profanity . . . sexual suggestion, but no sex. Boo-hoo!)
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).
**There may be descriptions of bodily functions in certain chapters---please don't read if it squicks you.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hobbit cuddling contained therein for Frodo Baggins of Bag End, who, although she probably would not want to be associated with such a piece of trash as this, LOL, nevertheless inspired one of the medical things in this section with her fics. :)
*****
Morning---if there was such a thing in Moria, which I highly doubted---came none too early. You try sleeping on hard rock with nary anything but a light blanket, with nary anything in your stomach but a bit of hard bread and cold sausage, hoping Aunt Flo doesn't make a nuisance of herself during the "night," while the ADORABLE ONE dozes mere feet away in Aragorn's lap---you just *try* it.
My eyes felt bloodshot and weary, and I wasn't sure if it was due more to the eyestrain I was suffering from trying to see my way to walk through the dreadful gloom of this place, or if it was from spying on Frodo's every move through the dreadful gloom of this place, or if it was from trying to both walk AND spy on Frodo through the dreadful gloom of this place.
Sigh. He was still cradled protectively in Aragorn's arms, his cheek pressed against the ranger's chest, and I could see his back rising and falling slightly with sleep. As I watched, he shifted slightly and of course, Aragorn was immediately attentive, rubbing Frodo's shoulders and bringing a hand up to coax the hobbit's wayward curls out of his eyes and back under his hood.
Watching this was going to kill me. I had to turn away for a moment to avoid letting a strange squeal due to overwhelming warm fuzzies escape me.
The other members of the Fellowship were rising now, at Gandalf's behest. Legolas rarely seemed to sleep, preferring, I think, to go off in dark corners and do whatever elves do; Gandalf slept a bit; and Aragorn rested only when he wasn't concentrating on Frodo---and when in the hell was he *not* concentrating on our Baggins? And who could blame him? Legolas, schmegolas . . . yes, the elf was good-looking, but . . . he knew it. Frodo, on the other hand, was oblivious to his innate sexy hobbit-ness . . . he was a CHALLENGE, in other words. And he was unaware of the hungry looks directed his way . . . which *drove everyone practically crazy with desire.*
The elf would probably have dropped his leggings had any reasonable person but me asked, but Frodo . . . no, the Ring-bearer was chaste. He was pure--or seemingly so. If there was anything I had learned during my intense study of self-help dating books such as "Mars and Venus on a Date," it was that hard-to-get works. Oh yes.
Of course . . . then there was the other theory I had from my book, "How to Make Anyone Fall in Love With You." Unfortunately, all these self-help books were doing *NOTHING* to even get me so much as a touch of Frodo's tender flesh, but . . . it has been proven that pygmy chimpanzees give each other the "copulatory gaze" ---an intense, deep stare that arouses a strong sense of sexual attraction---before coitus. And so the theory goes that PEOPLE---which to me, translates as human and hobbitkind---who stare deeply at others can also evoke powerful feelings of love.
And I'll be damned if Frodo didn't give every person he met that "copulatory gaze" every chance he got. Of course, probably not intentionally, but once those eyes were trained on you, you were toast---especially if he was acting all deliciously martyr-like. Frodo-deep-in-martyrdom was quite a sight to behold, especially when he was miffed at something.
The other hobbits were refreshing and attractive in all their hobbity essence, I suppose . . . Pippin would have been quite cute had he not annoyed the living hell out of everyone and tried to be the center of attention most of the time. As he was doing now.
"Why can't we have a hot breakfast?" he whined. "And my back hurts from sleeping on that stone. And I'm tired of the smell of goblins. And why can't I be carried about, like Frodo?"
"Frodo is ill, Pip," Merry cut in. "He's got a bit of fever. Look at you---never sick a day in your life."
"I'm not feeling so well now."
I felt this was a good time to interject my two cents worth of feistiness again and I didn't care one whit if it made him madder than a hornet. "You look plenty healthy to me," I said. "Healthy and well-fed and rosy-cheeked, just like a proper hobbit."
Of course he turned and folded his arms, staring at me and scowling. I'm certain he wondered why *I*---the newcomer to the Fellowship---the stranger---offered him unsolicited advice. Well, because I felt like giving him a piece of my mind, that's why. Because he wasn't Frodo. Because he was irritating me, complaining and whining while STILL not being Frodo.
"Well, miss, my stomach aches and my ankle hurts from when I tripped and fell yesterday. I don't think I can walk very far, despite your observations."
Merry sighed, and suddenly, I really liked Merry a whole lot more than I'd realized and that he deserved SO much more credit for holding the Fellowship together than he got. That he put up with Pippin's antics while also tempering them showed what a fine and respectable person he actually was. Of course, sometimes I *do* think Merry should have just turned his cousin over and given him a proper spanking.
"Look, Pip," Merry said, "you'll be fine. We can't divide the packs up anymore so someone can carry you. I'm sorry, cousin . . . I'd carry you if I could, but I can barely get myself over this sort of terrain."
"It's not fair." Suddenly the little sucker's face lit up and he turned to me with a smirk. "Why can't *you* carry me on your back? You look strong enough."
ME? ME? ME? ME? ME? Carry PEREGRIN TOOK through the Mines of Moria? No . . . this is NOT what I signed up for when I was dropped here unasked. I didn't care about cuddling that Tookish termite. I'm well aware that many, many fans in Far Left Earth or Far Right Earth or whatever you would like to call it today would have fought over the honor, but trust me, I wanted none of it. I wanted Frodo, dadgum it, Frodo Frodo Frodo. And what was this about looking strong enough? Did I look that . . . manly?
"I don't think that will work," I told him. "I'm quite clumsy and likely to fall and hurt you."
"I'm light, and I bounce pretty well when dropped."
"Pippin---"
"Well, Merry, I'm tired."
"Really---" I began, but unfortunately for me, Gandalf had overheard our conversation and came to join us. "Peregrin Took, what IS this about walking? You have slept the entire night and now, should be feeling quite well rested enough. Cease your complaining."
"My ankle's sore, Gandalf, from when I tripped yesterday. Truly, Gandalf---it hurts whenever I put my weight on it. I asked her to carry me on her back---just for a little while, is all."
"Mmmm . . . yes, I see . . ." Gandalf stroked his beard, thinking, and then looked at me questioningly. Double damn. I could say no to anyone but Gandalf (er, or Frodo or Aragorn or Boromir or Sam or Merry) but he was so kind and wise and well, I looked up to him. Of all the Fellowship, Gandalf treated me as if he looked beyond my strangeness.
Sighing, I nodded, irked beyond belief. A true Mary Sue would volunteer her services no matter what, after all. And if Frodo saw me being sweet to his little cousin, why---it might make a GOOD impression. Hmmm . . . "All right, all right---I'll carry you, Pippin, but ONLY for a little while."
The youngest hobbit was quite excited about the prospect of not having to walk all day and nodded, eating his breakfast. I should have felt proud of myself for being such a Good Mary Sue-maritan, but I was just irritated as all get out. While the others ate, I contemplated how I was going to steal one of Legolas's wicked knives and cut Peregrin Took's hair off in the middle of the night without him catching on.
I was still thinking on this ridiculous notion when a loud noise suddenly split my eardrums. Gimli, of course. Gimli in the morning was not pleasant---loud, wheezing . . . if the dwarf had blown his nose and sputtered anymore I was going to stuff his beard up his nostrils the next time he took a nap. Mean of me, I know, but in the cold/hot dampness of Moria, my patience was wearing thin.
Ah, my favorite hobbit was waking. Time to divert my attention from the dwarf and observe darling Frodo in all his drowsiness.
It was just not fair that someone looked *that* good in the morning. His eyes weren't puffy, his hair was not messed up---not, actually, that you would have been able to tell, since all the hobbits' hair was rather mussed all the time, I suppose---and although he did blow his small red nose, it was quite lovely---certainly nothing like Gimli's water-buffalo snort.
Of course who WOULDN'T be bright-eyed and alert after spending the night in Aragorn's lap? Ah, I would die if given the chance . . . Actually, I think Frodo was rather surprised when he woke---his lovely eyes opened wide, he stared at the ranger for a moment, whispering something I could not catch though I tried, and then began to clamber up in a very self-conscious manner.
Of *course* the ranger was having none of it. Noooooooossssiiiirrreeeeee.
"Frodo, how do you feel?" he asked in that smooth, sultry voice, applying his hands to the hobbit. "You're obviously still feverish."
"I feel better." But the words were rather . . . hesitant . . . and interrupted by a tiny sniffle.
"Right. Come, sit down while I prepare something for you to eat and drink."
Frodo scowled, but sat propped up against some rocks, well-wrapped in blankets, while the rest of us began eating our super-scrumptious breakfast. I vaguely wished I'd dropped into Middle-earth during the Lothlorien period, where at least we'd have nice provisions. And lembas---would I get a chance to sample that, I wondered? It had to be better than what we had been eating. I hoped it tasted as good as a SlimFast Breakfast Bar---but how fattening was lembas? Hmmm . . . something to think about.
Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Sam going to sit by Frodo, his eyebrows drawn together with worry.
"Mr. Frodo . . . you're looking a wee bit . . . worse."
"Sam, please quit worrying about me . . . I'm fine, really. Just tired and stuffed up, is all."
"Mmmm. If you'll pardon me for asking, sir, but have you moved your bowels lately?"
"Sam, what a question!"
"Well, sir, my ma used to say if you wasn't regular and all, it could cause some very bad problems. I *knew* I should have brought that enema bag from Rivendell; it weren't very big at all and I could easily have fit it in my pack---"
"Sam---"
"---for you, Mr. Frodo---all we'd have to do is lay you over that rock yonder and pull them pants down---"
"Sam, honestly---"
"---and it's real easy, sir, just stick that little tube between them buttocks right where it's puckered a bit and---"
"SAM, stop it."
"---let it flow. I used to do such for my brothers all the time---"
"Samwise Gamgee, of all the confounded nuisances . . . enough!"
I think my eyeballs were popping out right about then, as were Frodo's. But when confronted with the ADORABLE ONE's features crinkled up in irritation, Sam retreated. "All right, all right, Mr. Frodo . . . I suppose if you get to feeling worse you'll let us know."
"Thank you. I'm quite sure we don't have time to sit about and discuss my health all day. And trust me---to do that here, you'd have to tie me down---and you without rope, too."
I saw Sam's face sadden as he was reminded again of the missing, much-wanted rope he hadn't brought along on the journey. Poor hobbit. He just wanted to help his Mr. Frodo, as I did. Frodo was the Ring-bearer. His health was of utmost importance, regardless of what we had to do for him. If we had to stop and wait while interesting treatments were administered, so be it. We would all just have to suck in our guts and bear the delay without question.
Uh-oh. It was time to pack and leave. That meant I had to carry Peregrin Took. Hmmm . . . I wonder if I could hobbit-swap? One hobbit for another? Carry Frodo and let one of the men or the elf carry Pippin? That might work. Why not?
But then I saw Gandalf and Aragorn bend down in front of Frodo, making sure he was well wrapped in thick blankets so he wouldn't get chilled. He did indeed look to be shivering just a bit, sitting huddled with his knees drawn up and his head resting on them, just a few dark curls straying about his very angelic face. A pitiful sight to behold, to be certain.
"Here, Aragorn, I can carry our Ring-bearer for a while," Gandalf said, rising and shifting his staff to the crook of one arm. Very carefully Aragorn scooped the hobbit up, transferring him tenderly to the wizard's arms, where he clung, resting most securely and snuggly in the folds of the old gray robes. In fact, I'm sure my eyes were tearing up as I watched the vivid blue eyes close, the dark lashes resting on his cheeks, as he slumbered on Gandalf's shoulder. And then I looked at Pippin and my own eyeballs narrowed at him. Hmmmph.
To be continued
AUTHOR: Lily Baggins
RATING: R Some profanity . . . sexual suggestion, but no sex. Boo-hoo!)
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).
**There may be descriptions of bodily functions in certain chapters---please don't read if it squicks you.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hobbit cuddling contained therein for Frodo Baggins of Bag End, who, although she probably would not want to be associated with such a piece of trash as this, LOL, nevertheless inspired one of the medical things in this section with her fics. :)
*****
Morning---if there was such a thing in Moria, which I highly doubted---came none too early. You try sleeping on hard rock with nary anything but a light blanket, with nary anything in your stomach but a bit of hard bread and cold sausage, hoping Aunt Flo doesn't make a nuisance of herself during the "night," while the ADORABLE ONE dozes mere feet away in Aragorn's lap---you just *try* it.
My eyes felt bloodshot and weary, and I wasn't sure if it was due more to the eyestrain I was suffering from trying to see my way to walk through the dreadful gloom of this place, or if it was from spying on Frodo's every move through the dreadful gloom of this place, or if it was from trying to both walk AND spy on Frodo through the dreadful gloom of this place.
Sigh. He was still cradled protectively in Aragorn's arms, his cheek pressed against the ranger's chest, and I could see his back rising and falling slightly with sleep. As I watched, he shifted slightly and of course, Aragorn was immediately attentive, rubbing Frodo's shoulders and bringing a hand up to coax the hobbit's wayward curls out of his eyes and back under his hood.
Watching this was going to kill me. I had to turn away for a moment to avoid letting a strange squeal due to overwhelming warm fuzzies escape me.
The other members of the Fellowship were rising now, at Gandalf's behest. Legolas rarely seemed to sleep, preferring, I think, to go off in dark corners and do whatever elves do; Gandalf slept a bit; and Aragorn rested only when he wasn't concentrating on Frodo---and when in the hell was he *not* concentrating on our Baggins? And who could blame him? Legolas, schmegolas . . . yes, the elf was good-looking, but . . . he knew it. Frodo, on the other hand, was oblivious to his innate sexy hobbit-ness . . . he was a CHALLENGE, in other words. And he was unaware of the hungry looks directed his way . . . which *drove everyone practically crazy with desire.*
The elf would probably have dropped his leggings had any reasonable person but me asked, but Frodo . . . no, the Ring-bearer was chaste. He was pure--or seemingly so. If there was anything I had learned during my intense study of self-help dating books such as "Mars and Venus on a Date," it was that hard-to-get works. Oh yes.
Of course . . . then there was the other theory I had from my book, "How to Make Anyone Fall in Love With You." Unfortunately, all these self-help books were doing *NOTHING* to even get me so much as a touch of Frodo's tender flesh, but . . . it has been proven that pygmy chimpanzees give each other the "copulatory gaze" ---an intense, deep stare that arouses a strong sense of sexual attraction---before coitus. And so the theory goes that PEOPLE---which to me, translates as human and hobbitkind---who stare deeply at others can also evoke powerful feelings of love.
And I'll be damned if Frodo didn't give every person he met that "copulatory gaze" every chance he got. Of course, probably not intentionally, but once those eyes were trained on you, you were toast---especially if he was acting all deliciously martyr-like. Frodo-deep-in-martyrdom was quite a sight to behold, especially when he was miffed at something.
The other hobbits were refreshing and attractive in all their hobbity essence, I suppose . . . Pippin would have been quite cute had he not annoyed the living hell out of everyone and tried to be the center of attention most of the time. As he was doing now.
"Why can't we have a hot breakfast?" he whined. "And my back hurts from sleeping on that stone. And I'm tired of the smell of goblins. And why can't I be carried about, like Frodo?"
"Frodo is ill, Pip," Merry cut in. "He's got a bit of fever. Look at you---never sick a day in your life."
"I'm not feeling so well now."
I felt this was a good time to interject my two cents worth of feistiness again and I didn't care one whit if it made him madder than a hornet. "You look plenty healthy to me," I said. "Healthy and well-fed and rosy-cheeked, just like a proper hobbit."
Of course he turned and folded his arms, staring at me and scowling. I'm certain he wondered why *I*---the newcomer to the Fellowship---the stranger---offered him unsolicited advice. Well, because I felt like giving him a piece of my mind, that's why. Because he wasn't Frodo. Because he was irritating me, complaining and whining while STILL not being Frodo.
"Well, miss, my stomach aches and my ankle hurts from when I tripped and fell yesterday. I don't think I can walk very far, despite your observations."
Merry sighed, and suddenly, I really liked Merry a whole lot more than I'd realized and that he deserved SO much more credit for holding the Fellowship together than he got. That he put up with Pippin's antics while also tempering them showed what a fine and respectable person he actually was. Of course, sometimes I *do* think Merry should have just turned his cousin over and given him a proper spanking.
"Look, Pip," Merry said, "you'll be fine. We can't divide the packs up anymore so someone can carry you. I'm sorry, cousin . . . I'd carry you if I could, but I can barely get myself over this sort of terrain."
"It's not fair." Suddenly the little sucker's face lit up and he turned to me with a smirk. "Why can't *you* carry me on your back? You look strong enough."
ME? ME? ME? ME? ME? Carry PEREGRIN TOOK through the Mines of Moria? No . . . this is NOT what I signed up for when I was dropped here unasked. I didn't care about cuddling that Tookish termite. I'm well aware that many, many fans in Far Left Earth or Far Right Earth or whatever you would like to call it today would have fought over the honor, but trust me, I wanted none of it. I wanted Frodo, dadgum it, Frodo Frodo Frodo. And what was this about looking strong enough? Did I look that . . . manly?
"I don't think that will work," I told him. "I'm quite clumsy and likely to fall and hurt you."
"I'm light, and I bounce pretty well when dropped."
"Pippin---"
"Well, Merry, I'm tired."
"Really---" I began, but unfortunately for me, Gandalf had overheard our conversation and came to join us. "Peregrin Took, what IS this about walking? You have slept the entire night and now, should be feeling quite well rested enough. Cease your complaining."
"My ankle's sore, Gandalf, from when I tripped yesterday. Truly, Gandalf---it hurts whenever I put my weight on it. I asked her to carry me on her back---just for a little while, is all."
"Mmmm . . . yes, I see . . ." Gandalf stroked his beard, thinking, and then looked at me questioningly. Double damn. I could say no to anyone but Gandalf (er, or Frodo or Aragorn or Boromir or Sam or Merry) but he was so kind and wise and well, I looked up to him. Of all the Fellowship, Gandalf treated me as if he looked beyond my strangeness.
Sighing, I nodded, irked beyond belief. A true Mary Sue would volunteer her services no matter what, after all. And if Frodo saw me being sweet to his little cousin, why---it might make a GOOD impression. Hmmm . . . "All right, all right---I'll carry you, Pippin, but ONLY for a little while."
The youngest hobbit was quite excited about the prospect of not having to walk all day and nodded, eating his breakfast. I should have felt proud of myself for being such a Good Mary Sue-maritan, but I was just irritated as all get out. While the others ate, I contemplated how I was going to steal one of Legolas's wicked knives and cut Peregrin Took's hair off in the middle of the night without him catching on.
I was still thinking on this ridiculous notion when a loud noise suddenly split my eardrums. Gimli, of course. Gimli in the morning was not pleasant---loud, wheezing . . . if the dwarf had blown his nose and sputtered anymore I was going to stuff his beard up his nostrils the next time he took a nap. Mean of me, I know, but in the cold/hot dampness of Moria, my patience was wearing thin.
Ah, my favorite hobbit was waking. Time to divert my attention from the dwarf and observe darling Frodo in all his drowsiness.
It was just not fair that someone looked *that* good in the morning. His eyes weren't puffy, his hair was not messed up---not, actually, that you would have been able to tell, since all the hobbits' hair was rather mussed all the time, I suppose---and although he did blow his small red nose, it was quite lovely---certainly nothing like Gimli's water-buffalo snort.
Of course who WOULDN'T be bright-eyed and alert after spending the night in Aragorn's lap? Ah, I would die if given the chance . . . Actually, I think Frodo was rather surprised when he woke---his lovely eyes opened wide, he stared at the ranger for a moment, whispering something I could not catch though I tried, and then began to clamber up in a very self-conscious manner.
Of *course* the ranger was having none of it. Noooooooossssiiiirrreeeeee.
"Frodo, how do you feel?" he asked in that smooth, sultry voice, applying his hands to the hobbit. "You're obviously still feverish."
"I feel better." But the words were rather . . . hesitant . . . and interrupted by a tiny sniffle.
"Right. Come, sit down while I prepare something for you to eat and drink."
Frodo scowled, but sat propped up against some rocks, well-wrapped in blankets, while the rest of us began eating our super-scrumptious breakfast. I vaguely wished I'd dropped into Middle-earth during the Lothlorien period, where at least we'd have nice provisions. And lembas---would I get a chance to sample that, I wondered? It had to be better than what we had been eating. I hoped it tasted as good as a SlimFast Breakfast Bar---but how fattening was lembas? Hmmm . . . something to think about.
Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Sam going to sit by Frodo, his eyebrows drawn together with worry.
"Mr. Frodo . . . you're looking a wee bit . . . worse."
"Sam, please quit worrying about me . . . I'm fine, really. Just tired and stuffed up, is all."
"Mmmm. If you'll pardon me for asking, sir, but have you moved your bowels lately?"
"Sam, what a question!"
"Well, sir, my ma used to say if you wasn't regular and all, it could cause some very bad problems. I *knew* I should have brought that enema bag from Rivendell; it weren't very big at all and I could easily have fit it in my pack---"
"Sam---"
"---for you, Mr. Frodo---all we'd have to do is lay you over that rock yonder and pull them pants down---"
"Sam, honestly---"
"---and it's real easy, sir, just stick that little tube between them buttocks right where it's puckered a bit and---"
"SAM, stop it."
"---let it flow. I used to do such for my brothers all the time---"
"Samwise Gamgee, of all the confounded nuisances . . . enough!"
I think my eyeballs were popping out right about then, as were Frodo's. But when confronted with the ADORABLE ONE's features crinkled up in irritation, Sam retreated. "All right, all right, Mr. Frodo . . . I suppose if you get to feeling worse you'll let us know."
"Thank you. I'm quite sure we don't have time to sit about and discuss my health all day. And trust me---to do that here, you'd have to tie me down---and you without rope, too."
I saw Sam's face sadden as he was reminded again of the missing, much-wanted rope he hadn't brought along on the journey. Poor hobbit. He just wanted to help his Mr. Frodo, as I did. Frodo was the Ring-bearer. His health was of utmost importance, regardless of what we had to do for him. If we had to stop and wait while interesting treatments were administered, so be it. We would all just have to suck in our guts and bear the delay without question.
Uh-oh. It was time to pack and leave. That meant I had to carry Peregrin Took. Hmmm . . . I wonder if I could hobbit-swap? One hobbit for another? Carry Frodo and let one of the men or the elf carry Pippin? That might work. Why not?
But then I saw Gandalf and Aragorn bend down in front of Frodo, making sure he was well wrapped in thick blankets so he wouldn't get chilled. He did indeed look to be shivering just a bit, sitting huddled with his knees drawn up and his head resting on them, just a few dark curls straying about his very angelic face. A pitiful sight to behold, to be certain.
"Here, Aragorn, I can carry our Ring-bearer for a while," Gandalf said, rising and shifting his staff to the crook of one arm. Very carefully Aragorn scooped the hobbit up, transferring him tenderly to the wizard's arms, where he clung, resting most securely and snuggly in the folds of the old gray robes. In fact, I'm sure my eyes were tearing up as I watched the vivid blue eyes close, the dark lashes resting on his cheeks, as he slumbered on Gandalf's shoulder. And then I looked at Pippin and my own eyeballs narrowed at him. Hmmmph.
To be continued
