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For those of you who missed my trash...
Title: Bree Games 16/?
Author: Claudia
Pairing: F/A, F/Vik, F/everyone else
Rating: NC17
Summary: Frodo goes to Bree to look for Bilbo after he leaves. There are some roads Frodo should never have taken…
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and make no money from them.
Story notes: More fluff… This is probably my ultimate in Frodo filth. Prostitution, graphic sex, other crimes to Tolkien, mpreg? Heh. Not yet, but I’m open to it. I mean, I’m RILLY going to Tolkien Hell for this one.
Bree Games 16
When Frodo next woke, he was hungry and Strider was still gone. Strider -- Frodo scowled -- the one Man who was utterly unaffected by him, had imprisoned him and now he had disappeared, leaving Frodo hungry, thirsty, and with no fuel to build a fire in this chilly room. Frodo rolled out of bed, wincing at the sharp pain that assailed his ribs. He was more sore than he had been yesterday, his abdomen so stiff that he could barely breathe, much less move. Frodo limped to the window and peered down into a gray alley. Gray morning mist swirled on the sidewalk. He shivered. His torn silk shirt was simply too flimsy for a chilly morning like this. He smiled ruefully as he noticed that Strider had come back for his cloak.
Frodo was not bound or tied to anything, though his wrists were still sore from where Strider had bound them so tightly yesterday. If he could get the window open, the drop was not too far. At most, he might injure his ankle, and he could endure the pain for the time it would take him to flee the village before Strider realized his halfling prisoner was missing.
He pushed at the window, but it stuck, and the effort sent jagged pain over his ribcage. He groaned, clutching his stomach with his arm. He didn’t have time to be weak. If Strider caught him trying to escape he might very well change his mind about throwing Frodo into a Bree jail.
What was he supposed to do? He sat on the edge of the bed with a frustrated sigh, shivering.
His stomach growled, and he stood again, pacing the room. His rib gave sharp protest to the movement, but he was too agitated to lie down again. If he stood on his tiptoes, he could see part of his face in the mirror. What a mess he was! His flawless pale skin was now battered, swollen, bruised. He had a black eye, and he hadn’t had one of those since Lotho had punched him as a tween newly arrived in Hobbiton.
Frodo pushed against the window with all his might and determination, this time ignoring the pain that seeped over his chest and abdomen. The window finally flew up with a giant squeak.
“I would prefer not to heal a broken leg atop all else. That is a longer jump than it looks, Frodo.”
Strider’s voice made Frodo jump, and he whirled around, breathless. His heart thudded horribly in his chest and he sank to the ground, wrapping his hands around knees, now fully yielding to the pain in his stomach and ribs. Now Strider would surely take him to jail. Still, he looked hopefully at Strider, trying to see whether he had brought any food. He didn’t smell anything. He swallowed in disgust at himself. He wasn’t very hungry anymore anyway.
“You are a sorry sight,” Strider said with a laugh, falling to one knee in front of Frodo. Frodo scowled at him. If Strider seized him with intent tie him up to take him to jail, he would fight with everything he had, no matter the cost to himself.
“What did you think you would do?” Strider asked, and though there was a teasing quality to his voice, it was not unkind. “You’d not make it far in your state.”
“Why do you bear me such hatred?” Frodo asked. “Does it disgust you, all I’ve done?”
“Disgust?” Strider lifted his brows slightly. “Nay, halfling. You seem overly concerned about my opinion of you, and I am but a ranger of the wild. My duty is to protect the people of these northern lands, including this village of Bree.”
“Am I such a threat?” Frodo asked bitterly. “That you spend your time and energy keeping me imprisoned?”
Strider laughed. “A threat only to the hearts of men who can see you as more than an Elvish beauty.”
“Elvish?” Frodo could not help but smile a little at being associated with anything Elvish. His stomach growled.
“That lawman from Thrushwood,” Strider said thoughtfully. “He confronted me once again about you. It seems you have captured his heart. I told him you are in safe hands, but I am not sure he believed me.”
Frodo’s breath was nearly taken away at the mention of Vik. Somehow he had assumed that now that Vik had seen him arrested and beaten, the lowest he could have fallen, that Vik would give up on him. He would realize that the lust he had felt for a hobbit was not worth the trouble. “Is that so?” Frodo whispered.
“Come,” Strider said with a smile. “You should be back in bed. You are shivering in that flimsy cloth. I purchased a shirt for you at the market that is thicker and covers more of your skin.”
“I do not need it,” Frodo said, his throat filling with prideful injury that once again, Strider was unaffected by what the flimsy shirt was revealing.
“Will you get into bed willingly or shall I help you?”
Frodo glared at him before climbing to his feet, wincing, bent over in pain.
“And,” Strider said in a more serious tone. “I will look over your injuries again. You are clearly in much pain.”
“I am all right,” Frodo said through gritted teeth.
Once tucked into bed again, propped up by pillows, Frodo felt his stomach growl again, and he felt annoyed that Strider seemed far from dealing with the issue of breakfast.
“So is it the nature of men to starve their prisoners to death?”
Strider looked surprised for a moment, and then he began to laugh. He laughed so long and loudly, Frodo feared that the neighbors would wake.
“What is funny?” Frodo hissed. He now had a headache from being so hungry.
“I had forgotten that I am dealing with a hobbit when it comes to food.”
“Well,” Frodo said, thoroughly annoyed. “If you cannot see that I am a hobbit, then perhaps you should jump headfirst out that window and have some sense knocked into you!”
Strider held his palms up in surrender. “I am sorry, Frodo. I did not mean to laugh.” His expression became sober. “When is the last time you ate?”
“Truthfully, I do not remember,” Frodo said with a sigh. “Butterbur sometimes forgot, but after a time, I did not dare remind him.”
“You dared to remind me,” Strider said with a grim smile. “And I am apparently much crueler to you than Butterbur.”
“Do not jest so,” Frodo said. “I do not believe you will strike me for asking about food.”
“No,” Strider said in a low voice. “That I will not do. Did Butterbur beat you often?”
“No,” Frodo said, looking at his hands in shame. “For his part, I believe Butterbur was quite fond of me in his own way. But he had a temper, and nothing angered him more than dealing with a hobbit appetite when things were busy.”
Strider nodded, and swallowed in distaste. “Frodo, I will fetch you something to eat, if you will promise me one thing.”
Frodo looked at him expectantly.
“Do not attempt to escape through the window, for if you do, I guarantee you will hurt yourself badly enough to not be able to go anywhere, and on top of that, I will be very cross with you, and you will then be at the mercy of whatever food I pick for you. Do you promise?”
Frodo could not help but smile. “Yes,” he whispered. “I promise.”
Strider winked as he left the room, and Frodo found himself looking after him in an amused daze. He just could not fathom this ranger of the wild who leaped from sardonic teasing to gentle care to cold indifference.
Title: Bree Games 16/?
Author: Claudia
Pairing: F/A, F/Vik, F/everyone else
Rating: NC17
Summary: Frodo goes to Bree to look for Bilbo after he leaves. There are some roads Frodo should never have taken…
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and make no money from them.
Story notes: More fluff… This is probably my ultimate in Frodo filth. Prostitution, graphic sex, other crimes to Tolkien, mpreg? Heh. Not yet, but I’m open to it. I mean, I’m RILLY going to Tolkien Hell for this one.
Bree Games 16
When Frodo next woke, he was hungry and Strider was still gone. Strider -- Frodo scowled -- the one Man who was utterly unaffected by him, had imprisoned him and now he had disappeared, leaving Frodo hungry, thirsty, and with no fuel to build a fire in this chilly room. Frodo rolled out of bed, wincing at the sharp pain that assailed his ribs. He was more sore than he had been yesterday, his abdomen so stiff that he could barely breathe, much less move. Frodo limped to the window and peered down into a gray alley. Gray morning mist swirled on the sidewalk. He shivered. His torn silk shirt was simply too flimsy for a chilly morning like this. He smiled ruefully as he noticed that Strider had come back for his cloak.
Frodo was not bound or tied to anything, though his wrists were still sore from where Strider had bound them so tightly yesterday. If he could get the window open, the drop was not too far. At most, he might injure his ankle, and he could endure the pain for the time it would take him to flee the village before Strider realized his halfling prisoner was missing.
He pushed at the window, but it stuck, and the effort sent jagged pain over his ribcage. He groaned, clutching his stomach with his arm. He didn’t have time to be weak. If Strider caught him trying to escape he might very well change his mind about throwing Frodo into a Bree jail.
What was he supposed to do? He sat on the edge of the bed with a frustrated sigh, shivering.
His stomach growled, and he stood again, pacing the room. His rib gave sharp protest to the movement, but he was too agitated to lie down again. If he stood on his tiptoes, he could see part of his face in the mirror. What a mess he was! His flawless pale skin was now battered, swollen, bruised. He had a black eye, and he hadn’t had one of those since Lotho had punched him as a tween newly arrived in Hobbiton.
Frodo pushed against the window with all his might and determination, this time ignoring the pain that seeped over his chest and abdomen. The window finally flew up with a giant squeak.
“I would prefer not to heal a broken leg atop all else. That is a longer jump than it looks, Frodo.”
Strider’s voice made Frodo jump, and he whirled around, breathless. His heart thudded horribly in his chest and he sank to the ground, wrapping his hands around knees, now fully yielding to the pain in his stomach and ribs. Now Strider would surely take him to jail. Still, he looked hopefully at Strider, trying to see whether he had brought any food. He didn’t smell anything. He swallowed in disgust at himself. He wasn’t very hungry anymore anyway.
“You are a sorry sight,” Strider said with a laugh, falling to one knee in front of Frodo. Frodo scowled at him. If Strider seized him with intent tie him up to take him to jail, he would fight with everything he had, no matter the cost to himself.
“What did you think you would do?” Strider asked, and though there was a teasing quality to his voice, it was not unkind. “You’d not make it far in your state.”
“Why do you bear me such hatred?” Frodo asked. “Does it disgust you, all I’ve done?”
“Disgust?” Strider lifted his brows slightly. “Nay, halfling. You seem overly concerned about my opinion of you, and I am but a ranger of the wild. My duty is to protect the people of these northern lands, including this village of Bree.”
“Am I such a threat?” Frodo asked bitterly. “That you spend your time and energy keeping me imprisoned?”
Strider laughed. “A threat only to the hearts of men who can see you as more than an Elvish beauty.”
“Elvish?” Frodo could not help but smile a little at being associated with anything Elvish. His stomach growled.
“That lawman from Thrushwood,” Strider said thoughtfully. “He confronted me once again about you. It seems you have captured his heart. I told him you are in safe hands, but I am not sure he believed me.”
Frodo’s breath was nearly taken away at the mention of Vik. Somehow he had assumed that now that Vik had seen him arrested and beaten, the lowest he could have fallen, that Vik would give up on him. He would realize that the lust he had felt for a hobbit was not worth the trouble. “Is that so?” Frodo whispered.
“Come,” Strider said with a smile. “You should be back in bed. You are shivering in that flimsy cloth. I purchased a shirt for you at the market that is thicker and covers more of your skin.”
“I do not need it,” Frodo said, his throat filling with prideful injury that once again, Strider was unaffected by what the flimsy shirt was revealing.
“Will you get into bed willingly or shall I help you?”
Frodo glared at him before climbing to his feet, wincing, bent over in pain.
“And,” Strider said in a more serious tone. “I will look over your injuries again. You are clearly in much pain.”
“I am all right,” Frodo said through gritted teeth.
Once tucked into bed again, propped up by pillows, Frodo felt his stomach growl again, and he felt annoyed that Strider seemed far from dealing with the issue of breakfast.
“So is it the nature of men to starve their prisoners to death?”
Strider looked surprised for a moment, and then he began to laugh. He laughed so long and loudly, Frodo feared that the neighbors would wake.
“What is funny?” Frodo hissed. He now had a headache from being so hungry.
“I had forgotten that I am dealing with a hobbit when it comes to food.”
“Well,” Frodo said, thoroughly annoyed. “If you cannot see that I am a hobbit, then perhaps you should jump headfirst out that window and have some sense knocked into you!”
Strider held his palms up in surrender. “I am sorry, Frodo. I did not mean to laugh.” His expression became sober. “When is the last time you ate?”
“Truthfully, I do not remember,” Frodo said with a sigh. “Butterbur sometimes forgot, but after a time, I did not dare remind him.”
“You dared to remind me,” Strider said with a grim smile. “And I am apparently much crueler to you than Butterbur.”
“Do not jest so,” Frodo said. “I do not believe you will strike me for asking about food.”
“No,” Strider said in a low voice. “That I will not do. Did Butterbur beat you often?”
“No,” Frodo said, looking at his hands in shame. “For his part, I believe Butterbur was quite fond of me in his own way. But he had a temper, and nothing angered him more than dealing with a hobbit appetite when things were busy.”
Strider nodded, and swallowed in distaste. “Frodo, I will fetch you something to eat, if you will promise me one thing.”
Frodo looked at him expectantly.
“Do not attempt to escape through the window, for if you do, I guarantee you will hurt yourself badly enough to not be able to go anywhere, and on top of that, I will be very cross with you, and you will then be at the mercy of whatever food I pick for you. Do you promise?”
Frodo could not help but smile. “Yes,” he whispered. “I promise.”
Strider winked as he left the room, and Frodo found himself looking after him in an amused daze. He just could not fathom this ranger of the wild who leaped from sardonic teasing to gentle care to cold indifference.