Hobbi(t)

This has not been beta'd, so if anyone wants to add some advice, that's welcome.

The characters in this story belong either (1) to the estate of the late J.R.R. Tolkien or (2) to George Lucas and his associates. Suing me will get you nowhere, as unemployed college students are frequently rather low on money. Though I play pretty rough with the characters, I mean no disrespect to the creators of these fine works of art that I'm playing with.

Pairings: [for simplicity's sake, the name of the main character is as he is aware of his name at the time that the sex first happend.] All members of Fellowship/each other in various combinations; Boromir/Faramir (implied); Faramir/Eowyn (implied); Boromir/various Orcs (rape!); Hobbie/Wes; Hobbie/Wedge; Wedge/Luke

This, with some variations, can be found in the fanfic archive of the Wedge Antilles Admiration Society.


I don't know how long the tortured me. Endlessly, it seemed. Endlessly they beat me, endlessly they twisted me, endlessly they shattered my bones and ripped my skin. Endlessly they violated me in ways that would make the strongest Man blench.
But I would not tell them.
They continued, trying new things on me. Still, despite my agony, I kept enough of my self-control to bite my tongue every time the thought of the Fellowship rose in my brain. I buried it deep within my psyche.
The Dark Lord would never learn of the hobbit and his mission until it was too late!
I could not name the things they did to me, nor would I want to. Yet still, no matter how many times my body shuddered to an obscene beat, no matter how many Orcs grunted into me, no matter how much blood ran between my thighs and down my chin, I did not speak.
Eventually, the figured out that I wouldn't tell them anything and they threw me in a pit below the Black Tower. Naked, I huddled against the wall and hugged my knees. My body shuddered, and blood seeped out of my torn skin. Broken bones scraped together and poked. Yet through all my pain, I managed to keep my sanity. If I closed my eyes and tried real hard, I could remember my home, Minas Tirith. My family. My brother, Faramir. My father, Denethor. My grandfather, Ecthelion, who whe when I was seven. My mother, Finduilas of Dol Amroth, who died when I was ten.
She was very beautiful. When I was young, she would hold me close and sing songs to me, songs of her homeland. She was as beautiful as the sea she lived on before coming to Minas Tirith to be the bride of the son of the Steward of Gondor. She seemed so strong, invincible. But she wasn't.
When I was six, my brother Faramir wasn. Hn. He was a big baby, and she never healed from birthing him. Four years later, the fever that killed only children, the infirm, and the old carried away the Lady of Gondor. My father never forgave the son who unwittingly caused his mother's death by being born. I was the perfect son, despite my faults. Faramir could do everything I did, and more, but he could r plr please our father. Always, when Father looked upon Faramir, he saw our mother and the fact that she slept in Rath Dínen, and did not sit next to him in the Citadel. I tried to comfort him, I tried to show him that while his father did not love him, his brother did. I held him as he wept, I held him as he cried out, I held him as his body shuddered. Then the dreams came.
Seek for the Sword that was Broken:
In Imladris it dwells;
There shall counsels be taken
Stronger than Morgul-spells.
There shall be shown a token
That Doom is near at hand.
For Isildur's Bane shall waken,
And the Halfling forth shall stand.
The words of the dream that haunted me. Father did not want me to go, but I went anyway. I traveled for a hundred and ten days until I came to Rivendell, the House of Elrond. I presented myself to the gatekeeper that gray morning when I came to the River Brunien. "I am Boromir, son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor. I seek an audience with the Lord Elrond."
They sent me to see him, but to my surprise, there were perhaps thirty people there, sitting in chairs in a circle. One of the chairs was higher and grander than the others, and in this chair sat an Elf.
I looked at him and saw wisdom, greatness, and yetnessness. I looked at the others. There was a man, dark and tall, with a grim countenance. His cool eyes terrified me. Those are the eyes of a man who has stared Death in the face. I thought. I looked at the others. There were a few Dwarves, and I nodded respectfully to them and got a nod in return. There were a few Elves, that from their rainment I guessed to be from Mirkwood. To my surprise, there were two children! One seemed ten or so, with bright perky eyes and round chubby cheeks. The other didn't look like a child at all, but at that height, what else could he be? I supposed that they may have been midgets, but whatever they were, the eyes of these two were horrible to behold: they had the look of those who had seen worse than Death.
I stared, entranced.
"Why do you stare at them?" I turned to see a Dwarf, bristly and hairy like all Dwarves, holding a battle-axe.
"Why are there children here?" I asked.
He chuckled. "They be not children! They be hobbits!"
"What are hobbits?"
"They are sometimes referred to as the `halflings,' Man of Gondor. But they call themselves hobbits."
Halflings? Would one of these be the halfling referred to in my dream?
"Who are they?" I asked, nonchalantly.
"The older one is Bilbo. The other is his nephew, Frodo. They are a long-lived people, I'm told. Bilbo is much over a hundred years old and Frodo is not young either!"
"Why do they look so…so…"
"Haunted? I do not know. Mayhap we will learn this here! This Dwarf has come to learn much. Gimli, son of Gloín, I am, of the Lonely Mountain of Erebor."
"I am Boromir, son of Denethor, Steward of the High King of Gondor."
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the dark Man stir and look at me.
"Who is he?" I asked Gimli in an undertone.
"I do not know truly, Boromir. He has high favor with the Lord Elrond, and, it is said, the Lady Arwen."
"Who is she?"
"The Lady Arwen? She is the daughter of Elrond, and maiden fair she is. It is said that she and that Man have sworn that they will one day bind themselves together."
I looked at Gimli, startled. I knew my history, and there had only been two unions of Elf and Man before! Who was this Man who was so high that he thought that he was good enough to take the daughter of an Elf-Lord, and was great enough to win her esteem?!
Even as I eredered this, Elrond called us to order an the meeting began.
When I left Rivendell as a member of the Company of the Ring, I was still numb with shock. He was Isildur's heir! He meant to claim the throne of Gondor! But I followed him, and gradually I learned to love him, as a man learns to love the leader that he follows, and then as a man loves his brother and then as his lover. I knew that Aragorn would do anything for any member of the Company, including me. When Gandalf fell into Moria, Aragorn was the natural leader. We followed him to Lórien and back out again. I don't know what madness seized me, but I tried to take the Ring from Frodo.
No!
I cannot even think about THAT here! I cannot think it! The Dark Lord must NEVER learn of it!
I huddled against the wall and shivered. It was very cold. They brought me before him. They chained me to a wall in front of him. The great Eye, the terrible wheel of flame, was before me. His voice just appeared in my mind, demanding answers.
But I wouldn't tell him.
So he destroyed me. He shattered my memory and wiped my mind clean.