Title: Frodo Queen of the Orcs Author: Anne Anymous (Chobblebard@aol.com) Pairing: Saruman / Frodo Rating: NC 32 (When NC 17 doesn’t cut it) Warning: Sirens! Flashing lights! If I could put a nuclear hazard sign here I would! Over eighteen Please! Not fit for gentle readers!!! BDM, non-consensual situations, h/t! Abandon hope for all ye who enter here. If you know you may be offended please don’t continue. Summary: This is in response to the plot bunny entitled Frodo Queen of the Orcs. Despite plot bunny requirements the Frodo character still remains very much Mister Frodo through the whole story. The word queen in this is figurative, not literal. Frodo does however, becomes a genetically engineered experiment of Saruman’s and although he’s become a wicked and vile creature (not exactly an orc), inside he still feels like a kind and good little hobbit. Angst, Goth, Sci-fi, kind of a scary read, but hey it’s Saruman after all. Disclaimer: I do not make any profit from this story. I do not own the Tolkien characters or the works. This is a fictional document about fictional characters. It’s just for fun just a concept and I mean no disrespect to any referenced characters or fans. Author’s note: I know what the plot bunny asked for, but I couldn’t write about female Frodo without tons of wise cracks or without it becoming a musical. The plot bunny seemed to me like an abstract painting and had to be turned upside down to be finished. So he’s very much male, maybe more so at the end of it all. If he’s got to be magically changed he may as well be magically delicious. (Note: incubus = male version of a succubus, its also old word for obsession). Frodo Queen of the Orcs Saruman stared down at the weepy little hobbit in contempt, wondering if it would be better to simply decapitate him and save him from his own incessant melancholy. The taste of bile rose in his mouth as he looked at him, hate, pity, desire filling him simultaneously Old tired eyes spied potential, a use yet a use that insisted on escaping him. The sheer sickness and depravity that ravaged Saruman’s mind made him fear such sweetness, such purity, such beauty. The hobbit seemed to be a thing that poisoned his thoughts, weighed pressingly on his mind like an indigestible idea, an obsession, an incubus! The old wizard's face twisted suddenly at the thought. ”Yes!” he whispered aloud in sudden realization, “an Incubus! Let his foul harlequin charms be a pox on all of middle earth as he is in my thoughts!” Saruman dared not touch the pallid little hobbit as he lay naked and bound, locked against the cold stone table yet even the orcs would not take this foul task from him Shivering with the fear of his own mind the wizard locked a cold hand against Frodo’s delicate cheeks, marveling as the young hobbit’s soulful eyes fluttered open instantly brimming with luminous tears. ”Oh, but you suffer beautifully, Mr. Baggins!” Saruman marveled. ”Who are you?” Frodo stammered, his air gently filling his sculpted nose and escaping through perfect pink lips. ”Who I am” Saruman grinned, “Is not as important as who you will soon become, my incubus.” ”I don’t understand!” protested Frodo, brows knit with apprehension, his soft words lilting exquisitely in the darkness. Saruman reached a hand down, sliding a black gloved finger between Frodo’s rosy lips, forcing his mouth open as he inspected, lips, teeth, tongue all perfect, too perfect! A soft moan of reluctance escaped Frodo as he struggled against the ropes, which held him. Saruman peered closer now, studying flawless cheeks fairer than roses, wide cerulean eyes, rich mahogany tresses. ”You will fare nicely” he grinned with wicked delight. Saruman grabbed a small dagger, glistening and jeweled dragging it past Frodo’s naked abdomen, watching as his pale chest rose and fell rapidly in terror. ”No!” screamed the hobbit, his panicked wailings echoing the cold corridors of the dungeon. ”Silence!” commanded Saruman, cupping a large gloved hand over Frodo’s mouth staring coldly at the frightened hobbit, “I assure you, mister Baggins, if I had intended for your death, I would not have taken such time in causing it!” Frodo winced as Saruman’s gloved hand moved gently down from his lips to the base of his ivory throat, slicing not but a single lock of hair, chanting and whispering while he went about his dark business. Yet Frodo’s eyes were wide as though he knew a fouler fate was yet in store for him. Hours passed like days for the hobbit as he drifted in and out of fitful sleep, his waking world worse than the dreams and nightmares that plagued him. When he awoke an orc loomed above him, a chalice in one hand, Frodo’s head in the other. A strange foul smelling liquid was poured quickly, rapidly down Frodo’s throat, filling both nose and mouth until he was forced to swallow and re swallow more and more of the rancid brew. Dark magic! It tasted foul and burned a bit, like strong bitter wine and his head grew light, as he struggled against it. Frodo’s fists clenched as he felt a sharp sting in his heart, in his throat suddenly growing to tingles, then numbness. Behind locked lids the half ling heard himself giggle, laughing like a madman as the poison went into his mind. The beating of his heart echoed loudly in his ears, pounding, then slowing and stopping. Eyes opened to blackness, a soft fog and Frodo could once again see the wraiths behind him no longer phantoms, but handsome kings of men, “Welcome,” they whispered, “Welcome to Mordor! Welcome you are!” Frodo struggled against them, spirit twisting inside his own lifeless corporeal body as he shouted at them, “By all of the Shire, you will not have me! You will not have..” But Frodo’s words held no meaning for them now, the wraiths did not move. They stood silent and watchful making no attempt either forward or back from him. Frodo could see Saruman looming above him now, working on a body Frodo no longer seemed to occupy. Saruman’s own mortal form seemed thin somehow, like wet paper. ”Awaken, Arachni!” Saruman called to him, “awaken my little spider.” And Frodo’s eyes flashed open; both worlds now seemed as one, the world of the wraiths, the world of dreams and the waking world Saruman was doomed to inhabit. Dark cold slumber came for him again and when he awoke he could feel his body again, not as he had once known it, but more like a fine warm robe he’d slipped into. Frodo stretched his fingers, the sensation of life coming back like a long lost cousin, the soft breeze in the air felt to Frodo like soft kisses against his hands, his toes, his cheeks until he slowly became aware of movement, of the room around him, of others. Two of Saruman’s orcs had come to clean him, not with harsh brushes and cold water but with soft velvet cloths and warm oil. Frodo’s sleepy eyes widened a bit until he could see within them the beautiful faces of the elves they once were. Soap, suds and slick oil comforted and caressed his naked skin and Frodo could feel a hunger he had never known rise like a warm chill up his spine, it filled his belly like sweet cake once had and he sighed moving gently against the motions of their hands. ”Ahh” whispered a wintry and archaic voice, “beautiful!” Frodo’s pants and sighs slipped into tiny gasps as the orcs stood around him, with Saruman creeping up above them like a malevolent sunrise, a gaze cold as winter scanned the writhing seething little hobbit, as he tugged lustily against his ropes. ”Arachni” Saruman addressed him,” Do you know what you have become?” Frodo lay silent, eyes narrowing in thought as sweet air rather than words softly escaped his lips. ”It tears at your thoughts now, what do you long for?” The sorcerer demanded. ”I can not name it.” Frodo confessed, in expectation of an answer that never came. ”Have you known a lover?” Saruman questioned. ”No” breathed Frodo, his member large and lustrous, like his feet grew dewy with longing as the wizard spoke. ”Excellent!” laughed the wizard as he stood above him, trailing a gloved finger down the hobbit's forehead, soft cheeks, silky navel. Frodo’s eyes rolled back in pleasure, gasping and sighing as the gloved hand touched him, painting runes and primeval symbols in crushed powder against his bare skin. Spells spilled from the wizard’s lips like soft shadows, as he cast them across Frodo’s naked writhing form. Saruman raised his hands, wand extended as he conjured, a beam of radiance glowing winter ice blue like sting, filling the rooms blackness, filling Frodo with magic and longing. Frodo struggled against it as it warmed him, warmth to burning a need he could not explain growing in his thighs, his belly as though he would explode. Moaning panting and whispering he struggled against it. The eerie light soothed him; called to him, as Saruman’s chants grew louder Frodo could hear himself as if far away crying out, as his soul was just about to burst into a thousand shards, and then suddenly the light was gone. All fell silent, and the poor hobbit cried out, tugging madly against his ropes, eyes spilling burning tears of frustration and longing. Frodo’s deepest desire, most personal longing nearly fulfilled then stopped suddenly with no relief to his unquenchable, unnamable yearning. ”He is ready” Saruman commanded the Orcs, “Release him, upon them all!” End Note: Little Arachni is bit freaky perhaps, but if he suddenly jumped out at you from the bushes, would you really mind all that much?