Title: A Bloody Black Rose Strangled By Weeds Of Destiny Author (including email): Princess Venus and Black Angel, princess_bertha@hotmail.com Pairing(s): Tom Bombadil/Aragorn, Aragorn/Legolas, Merry/Pippin, Grima/Eomer Rating: R Summary: This is PURE PARODY. Many people haven't figured that out yet. ^^;; Rampagingly annoying Mary Sues, badly written, strangely worded slash scenes, mind-numbing plots and crappy songs. What can it be? A parody of LotR fan fiction! Once again, this is a joke. Disclaimer: Warning (only if necessary): Non-con, BDSM Authors Note (if needed/desired): Included in fic. A Bloody Black Rose, Strangled by the Weeds of Destiny Prologue: Return to the Light AUTHORS’S NOTE: This is a co-authored fic by two of the kewlest gurls in da hood! Plz R&R. Thanx, God Bless. RETURN OF THE AUTHOR’S NOTE: This fic centers around what happens to the Fellowship after the Trilogy has ended. We have never read the Trilogy and this is the first fanfiction we’ve ever written. But don’t worry, our psychiatrists say we write really good. ^_______________________^ I am happy and fat. KEY: *stuff goes here* means a character is thinking. ~stuff goes here~ means they are having a dream. “stuff goes here” means they are talking in English. (stuff goes here) means they are talking telepathically. means they are talking in Elvish. () means they’re talking telepathically in Elvish. <*stuff goes here*> means the character is thinking in elvish. Centered text means the character is singing. Bold means the character is yelling. Capitols means the character is screaming. Bold capitols means the character is whispering. Italics means the character is having a dream in Elvish. //stuff goes here// means the character is speaking in Russian. \\stuff goes here\\ means the character is dead and is speaking to living people. @stuff goes here@ means the character is singing a song in Dwarvish. AUTHOR’S NOTE 2.1: This fic is an action and adventure, romance with mystery, suspense, comedy, and angst. In this story the Elves didn’t leave Middle Earth and Aragon is still a prince, not a king and Arwen is trying to decide if she loves him and there were 11 ringwraths instead of 9. Our main character is Tom Bombadil cuz he is the mac daddy. The piercing cry of the stillborn child pierced the midnight air. The woman lay in the birth bed, feeling her life blood slowly dripping away. The baby’s body fell from his mother’s arms and hit the ground with a thunderous crack. The mother shed one final tear, glanced at her loving husband, Tom Bombadil, and proceeded to extinguish her own life by wrapping the bloody umbilical cord around her neck and hurling it over the chandelier, hanging herself sadly. Tom Bombadil, staring at his dead mate and son, began to sing a sorry, sad song. “It is sad, I am mad, I wanted to be a dad. This is really bad. My wife is dead. My son cracked his head. As he fell from the bed, I would have named him Ted. Man, my life really sucks. I’m going to kill some ducks, And stop singing.” Thus ended the epic, mournful song of Tom Bombadil. *I should join the Elf army and protect others from this violent fate. Yes, I will stop the mindless suffering that the Dark Lord had imposed on the creatures of Middle Earth.* **** Sweat glistened on the Human Prince’s manly forehead as he raised his powerful sword into the air and brought it down onto the evil ork. He lifted one massive masculine hand and wiped the perspiration from his brow, surveying the land beneath the hill on which he was fighting. Scattered around the impressive male’s black boots were the bodies of the orks which he had single handedly managed to fight off. His broad and manly shoulders heaved as he sucked breath into his large and powerful lungs, tasting blood on the air. His dark hair hung in streaks against his head, sweat and grime forcing the individual strands into manly clumps. Prince Aragon smelled like a warrior, and that he was. His powerful and well built chest heaved as he caught his breath after his morning excursion. Not as though fighting off four score orks was much of a challenge to the masculine fighter. Upon his glistening chest hung a silver necklace, which his foster-sister and lover had given him. While his entire body was encrusted with the dirt of so many battles gone unwashed, the necklace glowed with the eternal light of his betrothed. The well built warrior’s thought traveled back to the elf princess whom he had not seen in many fortnights. ** The prince thought in elvish. The English language lacks words which can adequately convey the emotion of this thought, but the closest translation would be *my beloved, I will love you always.* The man’s senses alerted him that there was still an enemy left to fight. His ears pricked at the slight rustling that heralded the advance of the horrific beast. Almost before our hero had time to react, the gruff swordsman was pulled to the ground beneath the beast. Aragorn struggled to pull the creature off, put to no avail. It punctured the prince’s flesh with its massive claw, Aragorn’s royal blood spilling out and dying the hill beneath him. With a grunt, the impressive fighter finally pulled the creature off his body. The terror-inspiring lobkeet flapped its green wings menacingly at the man. The warrior was staggering due to massive blood loss as the lobkeet circled him. Dipping his head to avoid the razor sharp claws of the dreaded monstrous foe, Aragorn dived, sword extended towards its vulnerable, exposed underbelly. Thrusting his sword upward, he was oblivious to the fact that the lobkeet was poised, ready to deal its fatal blow. As he wrentched his mighty weapon upward, he caught the barest flash of movement, and spun, just in time to avoid the creature’s dagger- like talons from ripping out his fragile human heart, and sadly sacrificing his left arm in the process. Aragorn let out a feral cry as his left arm hung by a thin sinew of manflesh. Filled to the brim with burning rage, Aragorn dove at the lobkeet. His impressive muscles rippling in the morning light, he mercilessly smote the bloodthirsty mutant hybrid lobster parakeet. “Curse you demon!” Aragorn bellowed at the fallen creature. His left arm lay against his body, utterly useless, still attached by only a thin strip of flesh. He would not cry, even though there was none to see the tears. No, the human prince would not cry over the loss of such an appendage. He was still a warrior, was he not? Then doubt entered the brooding prince. He was useless now, not fit for anything. What would the Evenstar say when she saw what he had been reduced to. There was nothing left for him now. He knew what happened to warriors who were disgraced in such an un-honorable way. Surely now Arwen would refuse to marry him. Surely now she would not bed him. There was only one thing left for him to do. * * * The tall, slender, curvaceous woman paced the dark and shadowy room, her high heeled boots clicking softly against the deep black granite floor. She raised one petite, delicate and feminine hand to wipe a strand of waist length onyx hair away from her blood red eyes. There was no way that this woman could be called anything but beautiful. It was said that she was almost as beautiful as she was deadly. The one known as Black Angel licked her black lips while staring out the window at her kingdom. Her red orbs gazed about the black charred earth below. On her lips was this: “Dead and beautiful beyond all conception.” She was an angel of sorts, although if angels were the messengers of the Gods then surely she was from the seven layers of hell. To her credit, she had wings, but they were great and black as the wings of a mournful and solitary raven. They were bandaged too, healing from too many fights with her sister. Upon her petit body was wrapped black silk in the form of a black dress, complete with onyx lace. The neck was low cut, showing of luscious, smooth skin. The sleeves of the dress flared out at the elbow, and a pattern of black roses was printed on the perfect silk. In one had she held a scepter with the power to command all the dark forces of her realm, and in the other she held a glass of blood red wine. Her scepter as a masterpiece in its own right, the top held a red orb glowing mysteriously with death’s secrets. The most impressive thing about it was the black snake caring that seemed to travel up the scepter, wrapping its fearsome coils around the orb. It was said that sometimes in the black of midnight the serpent seemed to move. The sound of birds chirping happily and a brook bubbling over smooth rocks awoke the sleeping beauty of a woman. Her delicate eyes opened slowly, and she batted her long, feminine eyelashes. Her tiny lips were closed tightly in delicate yet intense concentration as she rose from her soft feather bed. Even in her night gown she was stunning, long blondish white hair falling to below her waist, enormous purple eyes quickly glancing about curiously. As she moved across the room, the fire leaped up in greeting and the birds grew suddenly quiet and contented. The young elven princess wandered out of her open bedroom engraved with symbols of long ago onto the balcony which jutted from her room and looked over the picturesque river which ran through this kingdom. It was an elven kingdom, but yet it was not one known to the world. The princess lived isolated, in a realm free from the passing of time. She appeared to be no more then a teenager, when in reality she was as old as the earth she stood on. She, like the Dark Maiden, was clad in a beautiful silken dress, although hers was a pure green like the forest she stood it. To say that it was green alone is far from correct; her clothing only appeared green now. Sometimes it reflected the deep white purity of its wearer, and sometimes it was as purple as her eyes. Princess Venus was jolted out of her quiet meditation by a strong sensation in her skull. She knew immediately who it was. There was only one other creature in the universe who’s telepathic bond to the evish maiden was this strong. “Black Angel” Venus breathed quietly. A thousand miles away, her twin answered her. (Hello, pathetic woman) she said, her black dress swishing around her feet as she walked away from her fortress window. (What do you want?) Coming from any other woman this would have sounded cruel, but no words uttered from Princess Venus’s lips could have been harmful or harsh. Not so with her sister. (You know damned well what it is.) Princess Black Angel snapped. Her red eyes were glowing intensely with impatience and she snarled at the room around her. Her long, luscious black hair framed her pale beautiful face perfectly, even in her rage. (The world is dead to me, as I am dead to it. You know this) (Indeed, dear sister) (And yet you will not join me?) The dark haired woman demanded. (You know that I cannot do such a thing. The world is far to precious to throw into shadows. The light of all that is good and pure in the heart and soul must live on. I know that you are angry, but think of the innocent children who have not yet begun to live before you condemn Middle Earth to eternal darkness) (Foolish wench. The world is already in shadows. I will prevail.) The two women were indeed sisters. Who their parents were they did not know, they could never remember a time when they were not just as they were. They each lived in isolated kingdoms, away from the realms of mortal creatures. It was said that if any mortal man were to look upon them he would fall madly in love and be unable to think of anything else save the perfect creature his eyes beheld. They were like yin and yang, these two perfect beings. Their names were so pure and in a language so old that they have no translation or meaning that mortals can comprehend, but in some legends they were called simply Venus and Black Angel. They argued now, and they argued always. But this was different. For a prophecy was written that said that a girlchild would be born into Middle Earth, one with the power to heal all wrongs. It was said that she was the sister of the Twins (as Venus and Black Angel have been called) and that she would be the one to save the world from the apocalypse. The legends were far from specific, but something in the Goddesses’ (for that is what Venus and Black Angel were) told them instinctively to take notice. (Let us not argue again today) Pleaded the Light Sister. (You think of she-who-will-be-born) (Indeed) (Then perhaps on this one thing we can agree….) * * * Prince Legolas cracked one beautiful blue eye open in the early morning light. He let out an impressive yawn, and rolled onto his back, his wondrous blond hair framing his face perfectly. Then he realized that he was not alone. He turned on his side and stared intently at the woman who shared his bed. Memories from the night before flooded back to him. Her screams, his moan, their journey to paradise. But alas, Prince Legolas was saddened by this memory. No matter how many he bedded, no matter how pleasurful the love-making had been, he always longed for the lips of another, for the arms of another, for the…. Heart of another. “’Ay, honey, you ‘wake?” the husky voice of Legolas’ voluptuous bed-partner rang out. She twisted her sinewy body to face the Elven beauty, her supple breasts pushing against Legolas’ chest. Snaking one arm around his back, she pulled his closer, probing every inch of his slender body with her own. Legolas’s mind and heart longed for the one he loved, but his body craved this bar wench next to him. Her flaming red hair shown out against the white sheets on which they lay as he took her one last time. When he was finished, the youthful elven prince rose from the soiled bed naked and paced across the room. Dawning his tunic, he left the rented room in the tavern to bath in the fresh stream waters outside. ****** 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. ************ 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 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. "WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" ******* 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.)