The Worst LotR Fanfic Ever, Here it is. Be very afraid.

[jules14]

Prolouge
Somewhere in Valinor, First Age

The night was opaque, its tenebrus obscurity only illuminated by the twinkling lights of Varda/Elbereth’s luminous gift to the tormented lands of Middle Earth and the silvery illumination of Tilon’s vessel as it sailed on its nightly journey across the heavens. The stars shone down on the earth below, illuminating the briney deep underneath the great dome of blackness that arched over the Earth. Though Yavannah had fashioned the sun and moon from the sad remains of the Two Trees, the night’s darkness seemed to press upon Valinor, as if it was Ungoliant returned to swallow it whole.

Somewhere in that night of endless dark lightlessness, there came a sound never heard before on the enchanted isles of Valnor. A sound that was all-too-familiar to the tortured souls of Middle Earth, but which had never disturbed the Valar and the Mayar in their bewitching abode, for Iluvatar had not forseen it when he chanted his marvelous melody.

It was the wail of an infant.

Yavannah, the beautiful Goddess of Trees and Growing Things, laid in her bed, feeble from her recent exertion but smiling happily as the midwife presented her with her child. It was a girl; a baby girl more beautiful then the pearls of Tol Eresea, more enchanting than the Silmarils, more luminous than Varda/Elbereth’s stars above. She had a full head of firey red hair, the color of copper and fire and sunset. Her skin was the color of porcelain ivory, glowing in the moon’s rays like a gleaming marble statue. Her lips were pinkish-red and her eyebrows and eyelashes were the same red as her hair. But it was her eyes that truly amazed Yavannah. They were jade green as emerlds, as the leaves of Yavanah’s own trees and glowed with the wisdom of centuries, though she was just born. It is a sign! She thought. It is a sign that my child has been chosen! She wilt be Middle Earth’s savior in its darkest hour!

The door unfastened and Manwe, the King of the Valar, swept into the room. His sapphire eyes twinkled with happiness and joy as he strode to Yavannah’s bed and touched the babe’s scarlet hair.

“’Tis she!” he exclaimed. “She is the one indeed! She shalt be Middle Earth’s savior in its darkest hour!”

“Aye, she wilt,” Yavannah answered proudly. “She wilt comfort the downtrodden and she wilt defeat a great evil and all the Children of Iluvatar wilt bow to her and worship her. And she shalt be the Goddess of Hope, the Priestess of Faith, the Mother to all who pray to her, the brightest star in Valinor. What shalt her name be, O my King?”

“Rhiannon,” Manwe answered at once. “Let us name her Rhiannon, a name for goddesses and queens through the ages, a name that the Children of Iluvatr wilt one day speak of with joy and hope.”

Thus was, the savior of Middle Earth, the unforseen child of Manwe and Yavannah born.

[jules14]

Frodo Baggins was excited, as excited as a turtle who sees a stream filled with the spring gift of the sky's tears. For his uncle Bilbo Baggins was celebrating his 111th birthday and the entire Shire was invited. And maybe, just maybe—Frodo hardly dared to believe it!—his love would be there. Dull ocupations had taken Frodo away from his love—damn those impertenent Sackville-Bagginses!—and the studly Hobbit had been forced to retire early to his couch at night and wet his pillow with bitter tears.

At the thought of his love, a crimson stain suffusd his porcelain cheeks and a fluttering appeared in his abdomen. He felt a stirring in his groin as his hobbit hood—quite large for his size—sprang erect and he thought of praying to the Great Goddess Rhiannon. But he refrained.

The party was very wonderful as Frodo imagined. There was excellent, tasteful food and intoxicatingly delicious drinks and music that set his blood pounding like so many base drums and seemed to stir up his desire. His mood mellowed by ale and wine and a pulsating beat, Frodo skipped merrily across the field, greeting all his Hobbit comrades, including Peregrin Took and Meriadoc Brandybuck. But where was his love? Where was the seductive figure who haunted his dreams by night and his thoughts by day?

Just then his eyes went to the stage, where the band was playing, and his heart stopped. It was he. His love. His life. His soul.

Samwise Gamgee.

The fluttering in Frodo's midsection felt like a million butterflies dancing together. The scarlet in his cheeks deepened to a ripe strawberry hue. His dearest treasure, dearer than all the gold of Smaug's hidden hoard, sweeter than the sweetest apples grown in the orchards of the Shire, lovelier than the sun and moon and stars all put together, was there! And how beautiful he looked! His hair was the color of ripe wheat, of sunshine on yellow autumn leaves, of the gold of Smaug's hidden hoard. His eyes were cobalt-blue, sparkling like saphires in the light from Gandalf's fireworks. He wore a pair of tight leather breeches that fitted his strong, muscular legs and slender hips to perfection. His shirt was unbuttoned a little, showing his manly, mescaline chest, and the sleeves were rolled up, displaying his arms that were toned from gardening outside of Bag End all these years. Frodo imagined those arms infolding him, resting his head on that manly chest as Sam made sweet, passonate love to him, and nearly fell back on the grass in a swoon.

But soft! What was Sam looking at? Surly the band could not draw the attention of those stunning blue eyes? Frodo gazed in the direction on which Sam's saphire orbs were fixed and felt the green eyed monster of jealousy roar in his chest. His cheeks crimsoned not with love but with raging fury. For Sam was ogling Rosie Cotton! That shameless harlet with her lack of manly muscles and hobbit hood who dared to steal his Sam from him! Frodo noticed she was wearing a dress with a lower neck line than usual and was prancing around the stage like the wanton hussey she was, singing a song. Frodo's jealousy skyrocketed as he listened to this song, for it was Sam's favorite:

ROSIE
I'm comin' up so you better get this party started
I'm comin' up so you better get this party started

Get this party started on a Saturday night
Everybody's waiting for me to arrive
Sendin' out the message to all of my friends
We'll be looking flashy in my Mercedes Benz
I got lot of style, check my gold diamond rings
I can go for miles if you know what I mean!

At this lyric, Rosie girated her hips and Frodo believed he saw her wink at Sam. With a sniff of distain, Frodo looked around him for allies. But it was all in vain. The other Hobbits were clapping their hands and singing along to the music, blissfully unaware of Rosie's femenine wiles that would lure poor, unsuspecting Samwise Gamgee into her flowery trap.

I'm comin' up so you better get this party started
I'm comin' up so you better get this party started

Pumping up the volume, breaking down to the beat
Cruisin' through the west side
We'll be checkin' the scene
Boulevard is freakin' as I'm comin' up fast
I'll be burnin' rubber, you'll be kissin' my ass
Pull up to the bumper, get out of the car
License plate says Stunner #1 Superstar

I'm comin' up so you better get this party started
I'm comin' up so you better get this party started
Get this party started!

There was a musical interlude here, during which Rosie danced more shockingly than ever. Frodo could bearly see her through the gray mist that had settled over his eyes. Despite all his efforts, a single crystal tear rolled down his beautiful diamond-white cheek.

Making my connection as I enter the room
Everybody's chilling as I set up the groove
Pumpin' up the volume with this brand new beat
Everybody's dancing and they're dancing for me
I'm your operator, you can call anytime
I'll be your connection to the party line

I'm comin' up so you better get this party started
I'm comin' up so you better get this party started
I'm comin' up so you better get this party started
I'm comin' up so you better get this party started
Get this party started
Get this party started right now
Get this party started
Get this party started
Get this party started right now!

Rosie's song ended and she bowed to the audience, the neck line of her dress dipping a little lower so that the curve of her udder like breasts was visable. At this effront Frodo could take it no longer. He burst into heart-wrenching sobs and fled, knocking Hobbits off their feet like so many ninepins, until he collided against Gandalf, nearly knocking the wizard to the ground.

"Frodo!" said the wizard sternly. "Do mind where your going!" Then, noticing his Hobbit friend's tears, he softened his voice. "Frodo? What is the matter?"

"Nothing," blubbered Frodo, attempting in vain to wipe his eyes that were streaming like two broken faucets.

Gandalf put a comforting arm around the Halfling's shoulders. "Frodo, my little hairy-footed friend," he cooed. "You can tell me. I will not tell anyone, I promise. Anyway, maybe I can help you."

Frodo sniffled and relented.

"Well," he hiccupped, blowing his nose on the enchanter's gray sleeve. "I have loved Samwise Gamgee ever since I first knew him, but he does not know. I am too shy and timid to confess my love. And to make everything worse, that wanton hussey, that shamless slut Rosie Cotton, is trying to steal him from me!" With this confession, Frodo burst into a fresh flood of tears, sobbing to Gandalf's sunken, old-mannish chest. Gandalf embraced Frodo, rubbing his back and making soothing sounds to try to calm the little Hobbit down.

"There, there, Frodo," Gandalf soothed. "I know how hard it is to be alone, to never find love. I myself know…" he wiped a single lone tear from his eye.

"You?" Frodo pulled away from the wizard in astonisment.

"I," groaned Gandalf. "I have existed on Middle-earth for endless, heart breaking millennia, and not once have I found someone to love me. Ah, curse this old man's body! Though I have been blessed by Great Mother Rhiannon with stamina and equipment that rivals the most viril youth in this wide land, none will have me because of my gray beard."

"Ew!" exclaimed Frodo, scooting away. "I did not wish to hear about your equipment…oh, I'm sorry, Gandalf," he added, percieving the hurt look on the sorcerer's face.

"'Tis all right, my dear little Hobbit," sighed Gandalf. "But as to this problem of yours, I suggest you pray to Rhiannon each night and day. She is the lady to whom we who are suffering in love turn. She will help you and if you are lucky, she will appear to you."

At the thought of Rhiannon, Frodo's breath stopped. O, the holy lady Rhiannon, whose hair was red as poppies and whose jade-green eyes saw into the sad hearts of love torn men! She would help him! She would help him indeed! "Thank you Gandalf," squealed Frodo, embracing the wizard. "I shall, I shall pray to her!"

Gandalf smiled sadly as he watched his little friend scamper off. If only Rhiannon would be as willing to help him. How lonely he was! How he wished for a strong lover to lie beside him at night and smell the odor of his skin and overlook his wrinkles and gray hair for love of him! But Gandalf was saved from much repining by the noise of a firework from outside, a firework he did not set off.

Gandalf snarled like a Siberian tiger, his gray-mustacheioed lips curling back from his teeth. He was certain who was responsible for this outrage. Gathering up his robes, he stormed off into the darkness, looking like an aged spirit of vengeance.
=====================================================================================
Bilbo pulled off his Ring as he opened his door. As he did so, he could not prevent a silver tear from sliding down his face. The jest he had played on his countrymen was small consolation for the misfortune that had been plagueing him for years. Once long ago, he had been the Shire's most eligeble bachilor, seducing women and men. Now he could not even keep an erection for five seconds, a disaster sadly evident tonight, when he had watched Rosie Cotton singing and dancing. At least he had his precious Ring to console him for his loss. Lovingly, he stroked the piece of jewelry in his pocket, with a delighted smile on his visage.

"I suppose you think that was terribly clever?" said a booming voice from the shadows.

Bilbo leaped into the air, shrieking in surprise. There, looming in the darkness like a gaunt figure risen from the grave, was Gandalf.

"How dare you sneak up on me like that?" barked Bilbo, abruptly removing his hand from his pocket.

"What was that you were fondling in your pocket?" Gandalf asked, his eyes flashing dangerously.

"Fondling?" spluttered Bilbo, a raspberry blush staining his wrinkled cheeks. "I wasn't FONDLING it! It was my Ring! My precious…" his voice trailed off, and a distant, crazed look appeared in his eyes.

Gandalf felt his heart shatter in horror. He wondered vaguely if the old man's body the Valar had given him would be able to survive should he colapse from a heart attack. "It's been called that before, but not by you," he stammered, sinking weakly into a chair.

"What business is it of yours what I do with my own things?!" wailed Bilbo, stamping his bare furry foot on the floor.

By now Gandalf had recovered from his attack of almost-applexy. He rose from his seat and said firmly, "I think you've had that Ring quite long enough."

"But it's mine!" Bilbo whined, his chin quivering like a child's about to weep bitter tears. "You don't understand!" He burst into tears at this. "For years and years I haven't been able to…well…" he blushed an even deeper scarlet. "…to make love like I used to, and I've been so lonely, and I feel like the others are laughing at me…" he sniffled. "…and this Ring is my only consolation, my only hope…the trick I played tonight was my only happiness in years…" he whipped a hankerchief out of his pocket and swiped it over his face.

Gandalf's face lit up like a Fourth of July sparkler in understanding. Of course! Why had he not considered such a posibilty before? Now Gandalf realized what he must to do to free Frodo from the evil spell of the Ring. He knelt solemly upon the floor, lifted up his hands, and prayed, "O, great mother Rhiannon, savior of Middle-earth, friend and help mate of all men in need! Please help this Hobbit! Please free him from this wicked spell cast upon him! Let him be free from it! Rhiannon, I summoneth thee!"

Suddenly a piercing white light filled the little house. The light was so piercingly bright that even Gandalf had to shield his eyes from it. Bilbo's tears sparkled like glittering jewels in the piercing light. Suddenly the light cleared and a lady stood there. Bilbo's mouth dropped open in awe, for she was the most beautiful lady he had ever laid his orbs upon. She had long, sunset hair that cascaded over her shoulders like a waterfall of red gosamer silk. Her emerald eyes glissened like jades. Her peach and marble skin shone like diamonds, and she wore a shimmering silver gown that clung to her curves and enhanced her wondrus figure that was just begging to be touched. Gandalf and Bilbo sighed with desire.

"Bilbo Baggins," cooed this wondrous vision in a voice like liquid honey poured over sensous music. "Do not worry now. I have come to set you free from this prison of your destroyed desires, to release you from the trap the ever-evil Sauron's Ring has set over you. I am Rhiannon."

With that, she stretched out a dainty hand that glittered like so many diamonds in the night, and slowly undid Bilbo's breeches. Bilbo's heart jumped into his throat as her beautiful shining soft hand wrapped itself around his hobbit hood and squeezed tight. Bilbo moaned as though he were dying as she kept squeezing, milking him like a cow. All too soon, her hand was taken away, but a magnificent errection, such as Bilbo had not had in years, was left behind!

"Behold!" Gandalf thundered. "He is cured! A thousand thanks, O great lady!"

"No, please!" begged Bilbo, writhing and moaning in desire. "Please…please…"

"Ah, you wish me to finish you!" cooed Rhiannon with a shining beam on her face. "I shall!" With that, she stroked Bilbo's shaft again, over and over, and her hand felt wonderful. Then Bilbo felt something building up in his loins, something he had not felt for years, and he screamed with extasy as he exploded into Rhiannon's hand.

For a while there was silence as Rhiannon watched him wipe himself off. Then she cooed, "Feel better now?"

"Oh yes!" blushed Bilbo, throwing his arms around Rhiannon's waist. "Thank you, great lady. I will remember this forever. "

"And—I can leave the Ring behind with no trouble now!" he roared in excitement, removing the Ring from his pocket and casting it onto the floor like so much useless rubbish.

"O, great lady, we owe you our thanks forever!" wailed Gandalf, clapping his hands in delight.

"Ah, 'twas no trouble," Rhiannon giggled modestly. "I am always available to help." As Bilbo walked out the door, she smoothed her silver silken gown over her large, firm ripe breasts and her shapely sinuous hips and tossed her long waste length firey red hair over her shoulder. Her shining pink red lips puckered as she kissed Gandalf's cheek, and one shining white porcelain hand came up to caress the enchanter's cheek. Then she turned away, her wondrus silver silk gown swishing around her, and disappeared in a burst of piercing bright light.

[jules14]

Hi guys!! It’s my next chapter!! Aren’t you happy? Oh and to all flamers; if you don’t like it DON’T READ IT!!!! You must be color blind since my prose isn’t purple, it’s black! Duh!! But to all the cool people who loved my story you rock! Keep reviewing and I’ll give you a Frodo plushie!!!
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
Frodo finally returned to Bag End, after a long and lonesome night praying to the Great Goddess Rhiannon and satisfying himself. It did not take long for him to come to climax, for just imaging Sam’s sweet plump lissom lips wrapped around his throbbing member caused his loins to explode in a wondrus glissening rush of a crystaline shower. After basketing in the warm after glow, Frodo zipped himself up and promenaded home to Bag End. By now the field was deserted, with only the party decorations remaining. Frodo wondered if Sam were now revelling in Rosie Cotton’s bed, but when he sensed crystal tears inundate his eyes, he decided not to think about it.

Upon entering his humble Hobbit hole, he noticed that Bilbo was nowhere to be found. Instead, Gandalf reclined in Bilbo’s armchair in front of the conflagration in the fire place. Imediately, Frodo’s dainty cheeks flushed with embarassment, as he remembered how Gandalf had comforted him mere hours before.

“H-h-has Bilbo g-g-g-gone, then?” the little Hobbit stuttered, timid as a doe risking a glance from behind the hazel tree at the mighty hunter.

“He has,” the enchanter sniffed, as he exhaled a smoke ring. “He’s left you Bag End.”

“Oh, Gandalf, what does Bag End matter?” Frodo wailed, feeling his cobalt orbs swimming with salt drops yet again. “My love takes no heed of me, and I shall live and die alone, like a lonsome sand dollar by the sea!”

“Courage, my Hobbit friend!” boomed Gandalf, erecting himself from the chair and setting a hand on Frodo’s shoulder. “Don’t give up hope. You may comfort yourself with Peregrin Took and Meriadoc Brandybuck, if you and they so wish.”

“But I DO NOT LOVE Merry and Pippin!” stormed Frodo, his saphire eyes flashing. “Their so immature!”

Gandalf shook his head in a morose fashion. “Alas, my little friend, I cannot help you now. For I must depart Bag End for an undetermined time, perhaps years.”

“What?!” gasped Frodo in pure electric shock. “But you only just arrived here!”

“Indeed,” spluttered Gandalf, bustling through Bag End. “But I still must leave anyway. There are many things about which I must learn.”

“I don’t understand!” bawled Frodo.

“Nor do I,” answered Gandalf gently. “But I must discover it for myself. And by the way Bilbo bequeeethed you his Ring. You must keep it secret and keep it safe. And remember; the Ring is no subsitute for true, pure, wondrus love. Remember that.”

Frodo still didn’t understand, but he promised to obey Gandalf, and the wizard left Bag End. For a while, Frodo stood there thinking, then he went to the mantel and took down the envelelope in which the Ring rested like an egg in a nest. He dipped his delecate twinkletoe fingers into the evelope and removed the Ring. It shoen like the gold of Sam Gamgee’s hair, causing Frodo to moan in lust and feel a stirring in his trousers yet again. Entranced, he slipped the Ring onto his finger and turned to the mirror and gasped. It was true! Bilbo’s Ring really did make him invisable!! Oh, the things he could do with such a power!! Frodo’s beautiful scarlett lips grew into a smile as he thought.
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
Gandalf rode his noble steed to the White City of Gondor. The rocking motion of the horse reminded him of the rhythem of sexual intercorse. For a while, his thoughts blossomed with lust and longing, but he ruthlessly sqashed his desire down like a defenceless insect under a filthy hiking boot. Denathor, the Lord of Gondor, was rigid, uptight, and quite simply boredom-induceing. Once Gandalf had sensed a steaming passion for him and had offered himself to him one night after indulgeing themselves in potente Mirkwood wine. Dennethor had rejected him with scorn, stating that it was unbecoming in such a pussent warlock to feel such feelings and then had said angrily that he was strait as a goldenrod line on a highway on Earth and that he always loved Findulas and always would. Gandalf had left Minas Tirith in anger and discrace.

By the time Gandalf had finished his musing, he had reached Denethor’s palace. The guards let him inside and he strode to the throne room, where Denathor sat staring solefully at a picture of his long lost wife. Gandalf bearly restrained a sniff. So Denythor was still mooning after the vapid, pin headed Findulas, who was beautiful but idiotic like an empty statue that had nothing underneath. And Dennythor was not nearly so hansome as Gandalf had thought. His iron gray locks had grown long and tangled as a waterfall of noodles and his back was hunched worse than that of Qasimodo.

Of course Gandalf didn’t say any of this. Instead he proclamed, “Good day Stewart of Godnor! I have come to peer into your library and browse through the many tombs you have collected over the years!”

Denathor’s steel gray eyes bored into Gandalf’s own ocean colored orbs. “So you have returned at last Gandalf the Gray. I must confess I am dissapointed.”

Gandalf growled like an angry dingo. “This is no time for such things!” he stormed. “The fate of the world rests on my shoulders alone! You must let me into your library or the world will perish in fire and blood!”

Even the painfully boring Denethor relized how serious Gandalf’s quest was. “Very well,” he grumbled. “What do you wish to see?”

“The records of Isildur!” Gandalf said importantly.

Dennethor called a page to show Gandalf to the library. Once Gandalf had deposited himself there, searched the stacks of pages of the history of Gondor for any refrence to Isildur. Finally, he discovered what he saught in a leather-blanketed album entitled Everything about Isildur and the One Ring.

I hath burnt my palm upon the Ring after I hast cut it from the Dark Lord’s finger. Yet now it hath grown cool. I seeth writing on it before but now the writing is gone. I hipothesise that fire will cause the writting to appear again. Meanwile, this Ring is beautiful and shiny. It glows like the shinyest object on this Earth, like the sun itself. I could look at it forever. Its so pretty. Its my precious.

Gandalf shuttered. He was almost SURE Bilbo’s Ring was the infamus Ring of power! He had to leave Gondor at once!! He had to warn Frodo!!!
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
Meanwile, Frodo had snuck into Sam’s dweling using the Ring to render him invisable. He crept as quiet as a sick rodent to Sam’s bed chamber, where he saw the shadowy ombrus figure of his love sleeping cuddled like a squirrel in a hallow tree under the covers.

Frodo’s sky colored orbs twinkled with delight as he watched his true love sleep. How pieceful he looked! Frodo imaged himself cuddled beside him after a night of sultry love making. His hobbit hood burjoned in his trousers like a thunderstorm on a hot summer night. Carefully, so as not to wake Sam, Frodo unbuttoned his pantaloons letting his turgid shaft spring free like a flower from the spring soil. He stroked a hand up and down the velvety soft lenth, imaging Sam plunging his own throbbing hobbit hood into Frodo’s quivering rosebud hole, thinking of crying out in lust, of Sam’s callused palm touching Frodo’s pulsating tool until his hot creamy release sprayed from it like a shower head! Frodo couldn’t hold back a moan as his semen was freed from the prison of his loins and erupted over his hand like an active volcano.

But suddenly, a loud querilous voice interrupted him!

“WHO’S IN MY HOUSE?!” yelled the voice. It was the voice of Sam’s father, the Gaffer!

Frodo gasped. As fast as his furred feet could carry him, he scuried out the door past the Gaffer who didn’t see or hear him because he was invisable. He had to be more careful, or the Gaffer would seperate him and his true love Sam forever!!
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%Uh oh!!! Whats going to happen to Frodo and Sam!! Will the gaffer find out? What will Gandalf say when he comes back? Will Dennythor get any less boring?! Stay tuned!!!