Chapter One: Slow Killing Legacy of Forgotten Power with Dangerous Venom

Author's note: Wow! We got four reviews for our prolog. This is SO wicqued kewl! Thanx for all da luv! With out y'all, we wouldn't be able to do this wonderful ficclet. Much love, peace out, don't hate.

Shout Outz: (If ya review us, we will give you a shout out in the next chappy.)

Lady White Rose: Thanx for the review, we send our love to you. Keep reading and if you have any suggestions for our ficcy just let us know. Yah, po' lil' Ara-baby, we'll be sure to make sure only good things happen to him in da future, babe.

Asarin: Hey gurl! We are so glad you like our fic and think it is gud and fun. Keep reading! We r glad you think the ficcy is original cuz it is and we came up wit all these ideas all by our little selfs. Whoze dis 'Hawthorn' person? Are they a fic writer too? Sweet deal, coolio.

LotR Sparkling Pippin: We will try to space it out better next time, thanx for pointing that out. This is our first fic and we didn't know we had to use so many spaces between lines to get the ficcy to look right on ff.net. We are glad you liked our ficcy, and we totally hope you keep reading it.

Karita-chan: Thanks for the advice, and we hope you will read our ficcy. But, BTW, Venus' great-nephew is Spanish and Dark Angel is half-russian, so we just wanted to give props to our personal heritages, yo. Don't hate.

In this chappy we are going to sorta make it a song chappy. Lyrics are by Albuck Jenkins, whose Angel's ex-hubby and the father of Lil Albuck, whose Venus's lil son.

************

i In the end, it doesn't even matter,

I've tried so hard and got so far,

I watch the pendulum swing

Everything you say to me

Takes me one step closer

In the End it doesn't ever matter

If I am killed by the question like a cancer

I'll buried by the silence of the answer

By my self/i

Gasping with delight when he felt the warm flow of blood running down the inside of his arm and pooling in hypnotizing puddles on the pure white floor, Gimli contemplated what horrors laid in store for him in the afterlife. It could never hold a candle to the misery he felt now. Gimli was contemplating suicide. He was depressed because he was the last of his kind. All of the other dwarfs of his clan, the Red Mountain Fist clan had perished in the Battle of The Lonely Mountain, where they fought the clan of the Green Monkey Kick. He had fought bravely, and had vanquished many a foe before he saw his own tailor fall before him in battle. Now, the once proud warrior was alone. Utterly alone. In brilliant flashes he saw his tragic life flash before his dwarven eyes. Brushing back a spiked lock of purple hair with a solitary finger with a solitary black nail with a solitary bleeding, red/black rose painted on it, he let out a mournful cry.

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

*******

Tom Bombadil trailed happily behind a manure truck as he made his way to the meeting headquarters of the Elvish Army. He had adopted a clever disguise in order to trick the elves into allowing him to join their roguishly masculine ranks. He had been traveling for a few days now, stopping every once in a while to scribble a song down onto a scrap of paper he carried with him always, one of the only two possessions he had now, other than the clothes he currently donned. The other was his late- wife's handkerchief, the very one she had used to wipe her rosy little nose on the day that. No, it was far too painful to think about.

"You there! Halt!"

Tom turned to see a lithe, beautiful man-elf standing before him, hands firmly planted on his hips.

"Gentiles are not allowed past this point. The Elf Army is a very elite military force, we cannot take suck risks."

"But, sir, I am an elf!" Tom exclaimed, throwing his arms out, beckoning for the elf to embrace him as a brother.

"Your ears, they are covered," the man-elf replied, skeptically leering at the two fig leaves Tom had ingeniously pinned over his ears to fool the foolish and easily deceived and fooled elves.

"It is true, they are covered, for I have been infected with. No, I cannot speak of it, you would cast me aside as my other elvish brethren have so heinously cast me aside like a dog. A filthy dog!"

"Brother, please tell me! I will understand. Is it catching?"

"No, sir, it is a curse. A witch-woman placed it upon my elven, elvish head when I accidentally ate her cat. Oh, woe is me, I become more un-elf-like with each passing moment. Soon, I will be reduced to a. To a. To a."

"To a what, Poor Sir?"

"I cannot speak of it. You will discover it all too soon yourself."

"And you swear this is the case?"

"By the gods above Middle Earth, I swear it! By everything that was once elvish inside my no longer elvish heart!" Tom forswore dramatically. Inwardly, he grinned. He never knew lying was such a sensuous power rush. Now, he was glad of his loose robes, concealing his growing excitement rod.

"My Brother, I am sorry for doubting your elfishness heritage! Come, we will go to the commissary. I will treat you to an elven drink. But, tell me, friend, by what name may I call you?"

Tom froze, for if he gave his true name, they would know he was not an elf. "My name? I am sometimes called. Bom Tombadil."

The elf raised one paragon of an eyebrow in suspicion. "Bom Tombadil?" he repeated, "That does not sound elvish to my elvishly trained elven ears."

"That is true, because I have adopted a more human name, due to my terrible curse. My real name was Bomron Tombadir of Mirkwood. Do you still doubt me, brother? I am beginning to feel insulted of your wary elvish nature."

"Truly sorry, I am, Mmmm, yes, I truly am. I will ask you no more questions. Come, we will eat, drink and be merry!"

*********

Nonchalantly leaning against a lamp-post, his sinewy body stretched, open, inviting to the passersby, giving them an offer few could refuse. Irresistible he was, the once prince of men, now, a lone wolf, searching for his mate. Combing back a wanton strand of ebony hair, his dark eyes searched the faces of those who passed him, a look of unrivaled lust and misery glinting within his dark orbs. For his only imperfection that marred his otherwise divine body was the stump of an arm that his last encounter had left him with. Unable to be the mighty, masculine warrior he once was, Prince Aragorn was reduced to this. Although he hated himself for it, he had no choice but to be as he was. A beautiful, leather clad man-whore.

Who would he be with tonight? His invitation was open to all. He only knew that whoever it was would not regret bedding with Aragorn, the former, proud Prince of Men and of Gondor.

*********

"I'm hungry!"

"You're always hungry, Pippin!"

"But I'm still hungry! And my feet hurt!"

"I can make you feel better," Merry whispered sensuously to his love- hobbit.

"Oh, Merry!" Pippin giggled, squirming beneath his lover.

"Quiet, Pippin, Sam could hear us!"

But Sam heard nothing, for he was outside tending to Bill the Pony. (But not in a gay way.) Brushing the knots and gnarls out of the sweet creature's mane, Sam hummed a happy song to himself. Meanwhile, Frodo watched Sam work with more interest than was customary for a heterosexual hobbit to display. Unconsciously, the poor boy licked his lips animalistically, wanting nothing but to feel that body riding him. But alas, it would never be, for Sam's heart would never be pledged to that which was like him. You see, Sam liked girls and while Mr. Frodo possessed many a feminine quality, he would never be able to satisfy Sam.

"And another thing, Mr. Frodo, do you know what else I don't like? Fags!"

A single tear trickled down Mr. Frodo's baby soft cheek, a marker of his heartsick sadness. "Oh. I see, Sam. I see now all too clearly," he whispered.

"What was that, Mr Frodo?"

"Oh, it was the wind, Sam. Nothing but the wind."

Meanwhile, in the tent across the clearing, Merry entered Pippin with furious desire. The hobbit beneath him moaned in pleasure as Merry pleasured him.

"I will always love you, Pippin."

"And I you, My Sweet Hobbit Lord. Cum for me, cum for me, my gladiator of love. Yes, yes, just like that!"

"Oh, Pippin, drink my love wine!"

"Oh Merry, hit my internal love nut!"

********

Wormtongue paced the dreary corridors of the castle of Rohan, muttering to himself under his breath, his black velvet voice reverberating sexily through the hallway. She had gotten in the way too many times, far too often had she spoiled his luscious plans. No, it would end today.

"Grima? You're out rather late."

Turning when he heard the silken voice of Eomer, his secret lover, he brushed back a lock of freshly washed hair. "I enjoy the night, it leaves me in peace," he whispered, drawing close to Eomer, who responded by pushing him away hurriedly. "They cannot see us! If they find us, they will. they will. No! I cannot even think of what would happen!"

"I understand, you are ashamed of me. I am not an easy man to love."

"No! I would never be ashamed of you, my beautiful one, my glorious one, my Grima," Eomer purred into his ear, trailing a feather-soft finger down his paramour's cheek.

"Call me Wormtongue," Grima purred, his watery blue eyes focusing heatedly on Eomer's chest. "I have hungered for you for so long. You left me hungry last we met. I can't wait to-"

"WHAT IN THE NAMES OF THE GODS ABOVE MIDDLE EARTH ARE YOU TWO DOING!!!!!!????????!!!!!!!!??????!!!!!!?????"

"Sister!" Eomer cried out, running to her side, practically knocking the unsuspecting Grima to the cold stone floor. He snapped his head up, hissing at the intruder.

"You! You again! ALWAYS YOU!!!" he screeched, jumping to his feet and rushing at her. Fastening his skeletal hands around Eowyn's neck, the dark- haired advisor grinned a sick, twisted grin of grinning happiness. "I WILL END THIS NOW!!!!!"

"No!! GRIMA!!! How can you do this??!!! She is my own flesh and blood!!!"

Eowyn could do nothing to defend herself, save widen her eyes to a disgustingly wide width and claw the air futilely. "Pl- St- Er- Bleh!" she attempted to plead with the focused hatred of Grima, who simply applied more pressure to the petite neck he held in his creepy fish-belly white hands.

"We all hate you, did you know that? Even your brother. He confessed it to me after we came in your bed. He complained for hours about you, your thinning hair, your screechy voice, your wide-eyed stupid expression, but he hates your spirit most of all. Filthy little whore-bitch-wench-slut- demon-fucker!!!!!"

And with that, Grima dropped the body of the filthy little see above paragraph. Eomer simply looked on, his eyes a mirror of his dead sister's. "How could you, Grima? How could you!?"

"Are you not glad, my pet? I did it for us. All for us."

*********

Cradling the two women in his enormous bed in his arms, young-looking-but- actually-quite-old prince Legolas sighed in contentedness. His two women lapped and kissed at his masculine neck, savoring the taste of old sex they found.

"You were amazing, I've never had it that good," one of the women purred, her long pink hair falling about her naked, succulent waist.

"Yes, yes, we must do this again sometime," the other woman agreed heartily, licking his lips while saying so.

In answer, he only let out a happy sigh of happiness. He knew, however, that this happiness would not last and soon he would dreaming of his beloved. "Ar-" he moaned, but stopped himself from speaking that blessed name aloud. "Oh, Kallypso! Oh, Candi!"

"Oh, Leggyloo!" they both groaned in unison, massaging every inch of his manflesh before settling upon his aching, throbbing, pulsing, grinding need.

Yes, this wouldn't last. Soon enough, the Fellowship would be together once more. (But not in a gay way.)