If the Dark Lord Were Smarter

Frodo Baggins stared out his window at the approaching storm. It was early September, and it seemed the weather that week had gone haywire. He felt the bulge in his trouser pocket; the Ring of Power seemed to hum to itself as lightning played across the horizon and thunder grumbled in the distance. His friends had gone down to the Ivy Bush for a few pints and songs, but he needed some time alone in peace, thinking it would be a precious commodity he would not be able to enjoy for long. He built a huge fire to contest the weather, since the temperature was dropping in advance of the rain, and closed his windows.

After he started the fire, he wandered the halls of Bag End, lost in memory. For most of his adult life, this was his home, and giving it up would be the first sacrifice he would make for the Quest. The bill of sale to the Sackville-Bagginses was drawn up, and soon his friends would load a waggon to take his things to the house in far Crickhollow. He knew he was going farther yet, but knew not where. Every room of Bag End held a memory for him, a place where Bilbo told him a story from his great adventure, a corner where he read a heroic, old Elvish poem, a table where he and Sam Gamgee and their friends whiled away many a long winter's evening playing cards, the window where Gandalf caught Sam eavesdropping last summer.

He ended up back in the front living room, next to his fire, where he put a kettle on. Sam, Merry, Pippin, and the rest would probably burst through the front door any moment ahead of the rain, full of ale and stories from the Ivy Bush. If they didn't, he knew it would be definitely be a long stormy night alone in the empty hobbit hole.

Down the lane next to a thicket, two figures emerged: one tall and one short. The short one was in a hooded elven cloak, his features hidden, but the hands and arms showing were of a gnarled and elderly goblin. The tall figure was elegant, a sunbeam yearning to emerge from behind a cloud. She threw back her cloak to reveal an elvish face and long blond hair, her skin ivory and her eyes two dark almonds. Shaking her head, she looked at her companion: "This had better work. I know I should be grateful I'm getting laid for the first time in millennia, but a hobbit?"

The voice replied in a harsh whisper: "I hear hobbits can be surprising. With a little encouragement, he may be interesting for you."

"Don't get my hopes up," she pouted. "It's no good being the Empress of Darkness if you can never get fucked. I swear they cut more than your finger off the day Mordor fell."

"Silence, bitch." In the distance, "A Elbereth Gilthoniel" rang out in high, sweet Elvish voices, sailing gracefully through the air. The two stepped back undercover, the short figure grimacing and plugging his ears with his fingers. The tall figure crossed her arms and stood there, tapping her foot in irritation. The booming thunder grew closer and rain started to fall in heavy drops. The song faded into the distance; she tapped him on the shoulder and they started to emerge again. Pushing her out into the open, he ripped her cloak off, exposing her to the torrent wearing a dingy white dress with gold trim.

"Hey, you bastard," she began.

"Silence. If you're wet and cold, you'll be more likely to succeed."

Her hair was plastered down almost immediately, and the dress began to cling to her form. "I don't know what you want this hobbit for in the first place."

"It doesn't matter to you, you'll find out soon enough. In the meantime, knock on his door and tell him the story after it gets dark. Let nature take its course, and by morning our mission will be accomplished."

"YOUR mission will be accomplished. Hobbits probably have tiny dicks, and I'll be left wanting again."

"Shut up and go. You'll think of something, maybe he can put it in sideways. Begone!"

It grew dark, and the kettle began to sing. Frodo took the pot off the hook and poured the boiling water into his favorite teapot. The rain lashed against the window, and the sky grew darker with the combination of the storm and sunset. "The boys will be staying until this is over," he said to no one. "They aren't going to be drownded coming back from the Ivy Bush if they don't have to. They'll stay there all night if this keeps up." He lit a candle and went down the hallway to the library to seek an old scroll to read.

A sharp banging on his front door brought him back quickly. He laughed as he imagined his friends outside, freshly drenched. "Caught in the storm, right you dimwits?" he said as he pulled it open.

The sight wasn't the one he expected: "Please sir, can you help me? I'm looking for a hobbit, Frodo Baggins. I have an urgent message for him from Mithrandir." She was tall and slender, her blond hair plastered to her white dress, her feet were bare and she shivered in the rain and cold.

"Come in, come in, I'm Frodo Baggins," Frodo said, pulling her through the door. "Let's get you over by the fire so you can warm up. Can't stand there cold and wet, can you? What to do, what do to? I just made some tea, and I have a little brandy I can put in it. Please."

Bustling her through his entryway was difficult, because she had to stoop over to keep her head from hitting the ceiling. He positioned her by the fire on a low bench, and darted to the kitchen to fetch a bottle. When he came back, she had taken off her dress and sat naked, her dress steaming on the hearth. "Had to get out of the wet clothes," she said, her voice quivering. "Don't want to catch a cold. Hope you don't mind."

Frodo almost dropped the bottle in his hand. He had never seen a female Elf before, and certainly not an unclad one. Her pure white skin glowed red in the firelight, her curves were long and lean except for two conical breasts with puffy nipples dripping moisture from their hard peaks. Frodo knew he was due for an adventure as he approached his 50th birthday, but perhaps it would be at home after all. He had been alone for many years.

Many of the hobbit girls of Hobbiton admired Frodo: a healthy, rich hobbit in excellent health, and were willing to consider marriage in spite of the reputation he had for eccentricity. Even Rosie Cotton gave him an interested look one night from behind the bar, although he was too loyal to his friend Sam Gamgee to entertain any thoughts of stepping out with her. His intellectual pursuits were not all pure: his research into Elvish culture included several epic love poems that were very detailed and explicit. He was comfortable alone, but that didn't mean he didn't long for soft company on occasion.

Shaking his head, he darted back to his closest guest room and returned with a blanket to lay over her shoulders. She was here with a message from Gandalf, and that demanded his first attention, he told himself. "Are you comfortable? Is there anything I can get you?"

"You said something about tea and brandy?" she replied in a small, meek voice.

"Yes, right away, how could I have forgotten it?" He went to uncork his bottle, pouring a little of the dark liquid in a cup before topping it from the teapot. After stirring it, he handed it over her shoulder, and she took it and sipped. Her shivering seemed to subside and she let the blanket sink down over her soft shoulders. "You said you had a message from me from Gandalf?"

She shook her head for a moment. "Gandalf? Oh yes, that's what he's called in these parts. He wanted me to tell you to leave for Imladris tomorrow, not to wait for him. The danger is growing too great, and you should go now, before the Road becomes too dangerous."

"Why couldn't Gandalf tell me himself? Why can't he come? Do I have go by myself?"

"He is being held prisoner by Saruman at Orthanc. Saruman has betrayed his order and seeks to rival the Dark Lord, he has built an army for this purpose. It is a lonely cell he inhabits, at the top of the tower, and he despairs of rescue. It was only through his arts he was able to communicate with me, and he told me to conduct you to Elrond right away." She shuddered delicately, and sipped her beverage, licking her lips.

Frodo shook his head, and looked at her earnest eyes. She was so lovely and seemed so sincere. "Yes? Yes? All right. Ah, and who are you?"

She shrugged her shoulders, letting the blanket slip a little more: "My name is Melkoradzhin. I was born long ago in Gondolin, and I have served Mithradir since he and his order arrived in Middle Earth. We have been through many journeys, many trials together, as well as many good times and celebrations. There is nothing I would not do for him. Since he asked me, there is nothing I would not do for you, either. I will be your guardian and your guide."

I can see why, he thought to himself. Gandalf used to dance and flirt with the hobbit women when he visited, but he could never imagine the old wizard having carnal appetites. The name Melkoradzhin rang false in his ear, but his Elvish wasn't good enough to translate it, and he didn't want to focus on his doubt right away. The bulge in his trousers was starting to feel uncomfortable, so he went to the pantry to grab some small cakes to distract himself. Stopping in mid step, he wondered how he was going to give them to her: she needed to be by the fire, but with a plate in her hand as well as a cup, she probably wasn't going to be able to keep the blanket up. Then again, he thought that wouldn't be a bad thing; it had been a long time since he had hope of fulfilling his carnal desires.

She looked around as he returned to the room, and reached up behind her to accept the plate of sweet cakes from him, letting the blanket fall from her shoulders and drop to her waist. Slithering off the bench, she maneuvered the blanket under her and put her cup and plate down on the smooth stone in front of the fire. Then she spread the blanker underneath her and lay on her side in front of the fire, the red light causing every inch of her porcelain skin facing it to glow. Frodo stood in awe behind her, drinking in the sight of her elegant form and the delicate way she nibbled at his cakes. "These are so good," she mumbled. "Honey and rosemary, right?"

"Yes. An old family recipe."

"Old family recipes are the best," she said. "I could eat these all night."

For a moment, Frodo began to doubt his good fortune. Why would an elf come to his hobbit hole, claiming Gandalf sent them, and why a female Elf when usually male Elves went abroad in the forest? Why would she be so casual about her nudity? Was she really trustworthy? For the most part, she looked and felt fair. She rolled onto her back, lifting her right knee up, exposing herself more as she continued to nibble the food. Between her legs was a soft tuft of hair, and what the Elves called the "Petals of the Lily". His mouth fell open as he regarded her: she was the most desirable female he'd ever seen in his life.

She finished the cakes and rolled over on her stomach, picking up her teacup. "I don't have much to prove myself to you, other than my word. You'd be right to doubt me, wonder why Mithrandir would send me rather than one of my brothers." She sipped her tea and wiggled her bottom. "I wouldn't blame you if you sent me back out when the storm passed. All I can do is ask you to trust me, especially if I'm going to take you through the Wild to Imladris."

"You're right, my lady," he replied. "I've never seen a female Elf before, much less this much of one. You could be a spy from the Dark Lord for all I know. I don't know how you can prove yourself to me."

"I do," she said, her eyes dancing. "Come closer to me."

He went over and she raised herself up to her knees, sitting on her feet. Her fingers went to the laces of his breeches and undid them, releasing his manhood. Her eyes went wide in surprise: "My goodness, I never knew hobbits were so well endowed. You're so thick I'm not sure I can handle you, and it looks like it goes almost all the way down your pantleg to your knee."

The hobbit cock sprang to attention and she grasped it. "This is the only way I can plead with you to trust me," she murmured before taking the head of his pecker into her mouth. He gasped as her tongue danced around his sensitive ridges; nothing in Hobbit culture resembled what was happening to him. Courting hobbits would dance together, kiss and hug, and if they were very interested in one another, would fondle each other until orgasm. Once married, their sex drive stayed active until they were past the century mark, but oral sex was almost never practiced among them. Frodo was no virgin, but it had been a couple of decades since Flora Brandybuck stroked his dick under the Brandywine bridge one stormy spring evening.

She let go and licked her way down his shaft. "My, my, my, your balls are bigger than any Elf's I've ever seen." Her tongue danced up and down, making his testicles slick. He moaned and touched her pointed ears, then buried his hands in her hair, moving her head back so he could penetrate her mouth more fully. She pulled his trousers down and off: he wore nothing underneath. His tunic came over his shoulders and he stood in the firelight, tiny red streaks of fire playing over his skin as his hair caught the illumination. She took a sip from the steaming mug, and a new wave of pleasure burst from her wet mouth to his penis upward through his entire body.

It wasn't long before he felt himself ready, and said: "I'm going to shoot my seed."

Her hands grabbed his buttocks and thrust him more deeply into her mouth, encouraging him as he violently fucked her face. His testicles throbbed, and he unloaded a load that overflowed her mouth, leaking out of the corners to run down her cheeks and drip on her rock hard nipples. Like most hobbits, he took several moments before he was empty, and spite of her efforts, more than half his output smeared her chin and chest.

"That was nice," she said, closing her mouth to swallow his hobbit sperm. "Tasty, too. Hobbits can be very surprising, as Mithrandir says." Licking around, she cleared any any leftover dribble on his privates. "And you stay hard, too. How long can you keep it hard?"

"A very long time. We're are famous for this: a hobbit can keep it up for six hours, shooting his seed several times."

"You must be like rabbits. Can't wait to put that wonderful thing between my legs. I think I've found just the gardener for my lily petals. Do you want to do it on the floor here, or someplace softer?"

The rain was pattering on the window, the storm was starting to pass. He glanced down the hallway and thought for a moment. "I've got a lovely feather bed in the first guest room on the left."

Tenderly, she picked him up and cradled him to her breast. "Let's go, and continue this." As she carried him out, he took her nipple into his mouth, and she stroked his hair as she sucked his tit. "It's been far, far too long," she murmured as they went through the door.

After dropping him on the bed, she stood before him, her hands dancing above her head, posing seductively. He stood up and beckoned her to kneel before him on all fours. Approaching her from behind, he penetrated her to enact the Bywater Spring Bullock, before switching to many of the thousand positions in hobbit sexual lore: the Bolger Tumble, the Took Tuppance, the Buckland Reel, and the Eastwold Elevator among others. She thrust back at him eagerly with each new position, a dark glow in her eyes, and she orgasmed many times that evening, much to her chagrin and delight.

His Uncle Bilbo warned Frodo only to trust those who "looked foul and felt fair", but this one looked very fair and felt fantastic. It was a night like other in his life.

After a short time, the rain stopped, and the front room window opened of its own accord. Silently, the small goblin-like figure slipped into the room and went directly across to the heap of clothes in front of the fire. The dress was dry, and he tossed it to burn in the fire without a second thought. Picking up Frodo's trousers, he reached into the front pocket and withdrew the Ring. "Precious," he whispered, hoarsely, eagerly. Loud noises came from a nearby room, and he detected Melkoradzhin's voice groaning in ecstasy. Nodding, he put the pants down and slipped the Ring on his finger, disappearing from sight.

Around sunrise, Melkoradzhin lay resting from her evening with Frodo. He had ejaculated for the sixth time, falling fast asleep after the last time, and she was covered with semen after taking his prick in all three of her orifices multiple times. She was sore, but smiled in satisfaction. A twitch and a muffled snore signaled his turning over, moving off her body, and she was free to leave. "I wish there was a way I could stay," she murmured, smiling in contentment. "Hobbits must be the best little fuckers in Middle Earth."

Tiptoeing out of the room, she went to the embers of the fire and poured herself a cup of tea, adding from the bottle still on the table. After one sip, she noticed only Frodo's clothes remained on the floor. "That rat bastard," she hissed. "He's going to make me walk all the way back to Mordor naked! He'll need more than the Nazgul to protect himself when I get there!"

Frodo awakened alone and confused in the bright morning. His clothes were where he left them, but he noticed immediately the Ring was gone. No point in traveling now, he thought to himself, and he spent a quiet week at Bag End with his friends without saying a word about the stormy night they were gone. His heart was very with guilt, and he dreaded the news that would be leaking over the borders of the Shire from passing Elves and other travelers.

After sunset on the seventh day, it seemed an Elven army was coming down the great East-West road to the Havens at high speed. Frodo was watching them pass, when he saw his Uncle Bilbo and a tall Elf split from the crowd and seek him out. Bilbo slapped him when he walked up, and shouted: "You fool! How could I trust you with something so important? Fool! Idiot!"

"What happened?" Frodo asked.

"Sauron has recovered the Ring," Elrond said sadly. "It was about a week ago, I felt it when he put it on his accursed finger. Now we're on the run, trying to get to the Undying Lands before his servants can catch us. Galadriel and Celeborn will delay him as much as they can, but it's hopeless without greater power. Maybe the Lords of the West will come to our rescue again, as they did at the end of the First Age."

"What was her name?" Bilbo demanded. "I know it, it could only be a girl."

Frodo looked down sheepishly, embarrassed. "Melkoradzhin, she called herself. I've never seen a female Elf before, and she, she, she. . ."

"Melkoradzhin," Elrond said reflectively. "The Empress of the Darkness. I thought her dead with the destruction of Angband, but clearly it was not so. The daughter of Morgoth and an Elvish princess he kidnapped, almost entirely evil, she has a gigantic thirst for all sensual pleasure. Sauron must have taken her with him on that day long ago. Well, this is nothing that will help us. We must fly, and hope the Eldar Gods will listen to me as they did my father two ages ago. Perhaps the Eldar host will return to save Middle Earth again, although the lands will probably be broken once more. Farewell."

The two hobbits watched him spur his horse and ride off. The creatures of the forest wailed with fear and dread at the Elves' passing, knowing they were losing their friends and protectors. Bilbo didn't join them, but stood by his nephew watching and looking to the growing darkness in the East. At last, he turned to the young hobbit and said sarcastically: "So you got the fuck the Empress of Darkness. I hope she was worth it."

Frodo stood there a long moment before nodding almost imperceptibly.