Sevends ods of Passion

I posted this on fanfiction.net and thought i might asl well post it here too. I owe this enitre idea to my good friend HyperHenry who co-wrote this with me. There is an entire plot involved in this so you must be patient. It WILL definately be rated NC-17 in future chapters. It will have some scenes that are both sexual and non-sexual at the same time. Confused? Read! mwahaha. HyperHenry's note follows below.


Disclaimers: Guess! However, Alana and her estate incl. friends and foes belong to US!

A/N

HyperHenry: Let me start by saying that it has been a true privilege to write this chapter in cooperation with Krystal, the pervy and kinky hobbit. She has popped into the tale with the dexterity and agility of a greyhound and adjusted her dialogue accordingly in the most perfect way. Acknowledgements go to her and my deceased mother.

As for the story, let me point out that this is NOT a story in favor of or even about pedophilia. I cannot stress this strongly enough: pedophiles should be strung up by the balls with a drooling balrog waiting for them to fall down. No, this is a story about being caught in a hopeless situation and experience sensations and feelings completely out of one's control. If you do not like the aspect of this, you should not read on. You have thus been properly warned.

*

Seven Winds of Passion Chapter 1: Alana of the Seven Winds

North east of Rhûn in an age no one remembers but for the very old and wise, the land of the rough, aggressive and proud mountain people was torn and divided in never-ending strife and feuds. Chieftains and war lords were replaced as often as the eternally blowing winds changed, and the people tried desperately to change with them. The geography matched well the people and its lords with its sharp, angular and hard surfaces, its persisting cold wind and its merciless rain. It was therefore the theory of most historiahat hat for once the land had shaped its occupants contrary to the occupants shaping the land as seen more often in the south. Here you either adapted and perished.

A few of the estates were holding together, maintaining a proud heritage and a firmly believing belief in the coming of a miracle that would heal the land and forge it into sound steel that would never bend. These estates knew that unity was instrumental in the creation of such a place, and therefore they sent their representatives to scout the desert immediately south of the mountains. And just as uneven and cold the mountains were, just as flat and hot the desert was. Its barren ground glowed in the glaring sun that so ruthlessly welcomed its visitors from the cold north. Many representatives died in the attempt to find equal minds, and several mountain estates and otherwise obstinate chieftains gave up, having no more people to spare. However, one prevailed, and contact with nomads of the desert was established. The one who prevailed was Alana of the Seven Winds.

Her estate was old and revered, her parents long gone and dead of sickness that bereaved the formerly fruitful household of busy and diligent workers and family members. Yet Alana, with pride to match even the oldest and meanest chieftain, survived and started rebuilding her childhood home, swearing that she would never surrender the esteemed place to anyone. Known as the mountain chief shield maiden, she was respected and feared by most and challenged by few. When challenged, she would go to the appointed place with fire and satisfaction swelling in her warrior heart, secretly reveling in the pain that she was about to endure and openly enjoying the opposition that she was facing. Alana thrived on resistance.

A day in January, the iold old winds howling through the seven rock portals around her home that were incandescently clad in snow, she received another challenge. She broke the blood red seal of the roll with a smirk. She had recognized the intricate pattern of the device. The moron Behal of Snow Summits was challenging her. She had never fought this second generation immigrant, but she had had endless political discussions with him. He was childishly enthusiastic, but lacked honor and pride. She would have to look out for the rat's guile when it is cornered, but she believed herself capable of such a task.

And there was another thing. As the challengee it was her right to choose location for the duel. Behal had a problem with heat. So she would choose the desert. She smirked.

*

"But, Master - what if she chooses the desert for location?" Behal was illogically shivering at the thought of fighting a bone-marrowing and exhausting duel under the burning sun of the Argas desert.

A low rumble seemingly coming from nowhere sounded almost like a chuckle. It scared the living shit out of him. Sulphur was stinging the air.

"Let her, you sniveling coward," the hallow voice snarled, "we will have an unpleasant surprise for her that will literally blow her away. Soon, my treacherous little fool, you will be Lord of the Seven Winds."

A pleasurable tremble shook Behal's lanky body. "Oh, Master - do you promise?" Another rumble of something resembling laughter.

"I guarantee it, you puny idiot. And you will pay the price too." Behal looked as if he was in trance. A small shivering smile made his lips curl up in an unattractive fashion and he exhaled heavily as if ejaculating. When he spoke, it was but a whisper.

"I don't care. The Seven Winds will be MINE. mine!"

"You know, you are extremely despicable and miserable, Behal!" "Yes," he whiningly admitted.

"I like that in a person."

The days became longer and the nights shorter. But the coldness prevailed and the frost permanent.

*

The day that Alana left for the challenge, the clouds were heavy with tears and the winds swift and cool. This boded well for the desert weather; most likely the sun would be blazing hot and painful to look at. As she mounted Mirage, her jitty and lively bay mountain pony, she inhaled the sharp air deeply, thrilled by the upcoming battle. She would not let him win too easily. She would let him spank her round a bit before going in for the kill. Aah. This was life. Alana pressed her legs firmly into Mirage's flanks, and her favorite mount leaped forward, - smitten by its mistress' eagerness and zest.

Mirage's step was steady and light, but even this dependable horse stopped gingerly right before entering the desert.

Argas Desert. The mountain people had not known this place to exist until six years ago when desperate battles and a torn leadership had forced them this way. Since then, still more of their people had set their foot upon the glowing sand of this completely different land. Six years with negotiations with the nomads and deaths of several people. Not in battle, no. But from thirst in the unsympathetically dry country.

Alana had felt fine, not feeling the thirst as much as many of her male colleagues. And with her terrific stamina and infamous stubbornness, she had managed to establish the contact with the Argas people, who were now almost celebrating her as a goddess; the only mountain inhabitant to cross the desert alive.

However, though Alana felt fine in the desert, her horse did not. The tough, long-haired mountain ponies were not cut out for long, exhausting journeys under the hotter than hot sun. Its rider knew and appreciated this; she would leave Mirage in the cool shades of the last rocks before she dismounted and went to the appointed place by foot.

Alana trotted just as lightly as her horse. But her pace was determined and even enthusiastic in anticipation of the upcoming battle. Small, shy gophers of the same color as the desert scuttled quickly away out of her way over the burning sand, their little beady black eyes blinking nervously almost as if they knew.

Then she saw something from a distance - something that was considerably bigger than a gopher if not nobler.

Alana of the Seven Winds eyed her opponent. He stood silently and watched her in return, looking somewhat taller than he really was, compliments to his incredibly slim frame. When she noticed the first blink of his eye, she drove her shield into the ground with a loud clatter. A spear hit the ground next to it, challenge accepted. The spear had helped her estimate his height; it felt slightly disconcerting that he should lose it. Her hand tightened round the sword hilt ever so slightly. She found the sensation of the cold steel reassuring. Oh, yes; she would take this one down.

Behal suppressed a smirk. He had feigned weakness and she had taken the bait. Very good. She would make a per add addition to his harem. He looked at her as she stood there with her long, black straight pony tail flowing in the wind, a nice complement to her honey colored skin and her amber eyes. A wild cat, obviously. He liked wild cats.

*

The battle was short and dull. She couldn't even prolong the exhilarating feeling of the cat playing with the mouse as her opponent was much too poor to match her skill and experience, not to mention her incredible speed. She slowed down. It didn't help. Behal would back up, suspiciously eyeing her with the unshakeable conviction that she was planning on leaping at him any moment. She wasn't; and it made for a slow and boring fight. Next the woman with the raven hair tried dropping her shield as if by accident. He backed up even further, hiding himself behind his own shield. This was no use.

Finally, at some point, he would make a pitiful attack at her, which she would easily riposte with her sword. Bloody hell, but he was bad; why had he challenged her in the first place? Even he could not be this stupid?

She lifted her sword and pointed it at him, marking him for prey. This sword. She had killed so many with this sword whose thirst for blood seemed impossible to satisfy. The "Peacemaker" had been her father's, of course. He had clutched it in his fever delirium, profoundly regretting that he would not die by it - and so had slit his own throat before the disease had claimed his dying body. Now, . it claimed Behal's throat.

Alana frowned. Why did she have this nagging feeling that something was not right? Her blow was swift and murderous, and still Behal had time to cry out. He said. what? It wasn't until the huge shadow was looming over her that she realized his exact words. "OH, MIGHTY DEMON. I BESEECH YOU: HELP ME!" And next Alana was looking into the face of the ugliest demon creature anyone had ever seen on the continent - and recognized him.

*

"Juggernaut," she breathed, her voice heavy with wrath and disgust.

"The pleasure is all mine," the twenty foot demon rasped with his sulphur breath that made her cringe and cough.

"Still having a dental problem?" she commented with stark humor. The reddish black monster chortled.

"Still having a foul mouth?" he returned. Alana tightened her hand round the hilt of her sword. Finally a challenge. A real challenge. One that she might not survive as she was totally unprepared for such a foe. But - hey. It was a good day to die. Then she laughed.

"What is so funny?" Juggernaut snarled, smoke pumping out of his ears accentuating his growing frustration. She answered him - by plunging forward, sword lifted high above her head.

This took the demon completely by surprise, and he screamed his anger and pain out as the sword was buried deep, deep in his chest. Alana almost choked in the smoke and foul smelling blood that oozed out of the wound, but she persisted in driving the Peacemaker still deeper into the unwelcome creature from hell. A high pitched squeal was heard in the background. Behal was getting nervous.

But demons are not so easily killed as Alana very well knew. The sword would have killed him had it been hexed or dipped in mandrake. As for now, it merely injured him - and irritated the hell out of him.

With a roar Juggernaut ripped the sharp sword out of his body and flung Alana aside. Dripping with demon blood, the stench almost unbearable, he limped closer to where she had fallen and hissed: "You have forfeited your chance of an easy death. I will make sure that you will suffer greatly before your last breath. So much sweeter for me."

Sharp yellow fangs glinted in the sun above, and a crooked finger with an unreasonably long nail was raised to point at her. Working desperately to catch her breath after the rough fall, Alana tried to get hold of her sword that lay only a few meters away from her. Chanting in ancient tongue reached her ears. Her heart beat stopped.

Alana's heart had never as much as missed a beat. Now it stopped altogether and the pain was intolerable. A sting in her chest that was about to rip her apart pressed on insistently until she felt like clawing out her own heart to make it stop. Her skeleton was contracting to the point that she thought she was giving birth to her own bones. Had she been able to look down herself, she was sure she would have seen bones sticking out through her flesh, working their way out of her body and leaving it as an empty shell. Or perhaps it was the other way round. Her jaw was perhaps the worst agony; it felt as if it was shrinking, closing in on her molars and squeezing them all to a pulp. It hurt beyond belief. Juggernaut wasn't kidding!

She must have lost consciousness at some point. She! That had never happened before. But then, she was also surprised to find herself to be alive still. Something, however, was very different - and wrong. The demon, Juggernaut, was nowhere to be seen, but Behal was. And he looked four times the size he had been before. She just had time to crease her forehead before his grinning and maniacally sweating shape stooped and picked her up, and soon she found herself dangling from his fist in clothes much too big for her, facing his evil grin with the mad eyes.

Something was very wrong. "Who's the small one now, eh?" he close to drooled. And that's when Alana understood what had happened to her incredibly aching body. Juggernaut had shrunk her to child size!

*

She had focused on his words. His words that taunted her and told her in detail how he would take her estate and be the Lord of the Seven Winds, rape her household and kill those who opposed him. How he would lead an army into the Argas desert and enslave the nomads and how she would be his child slave to take as often as he wanted to. Focusing on those words that so nurtured her hatred and lust for revenge, almost made thee bee bearable.

Almost.

*

Legolas straightened his tall, slender and agile body and rid his face of one stray golden lock of hair. He had never been this north and never visited the desert, but curiosity - and a certain verbal challenge from a certain teasing dwarf - had urged him to come this way nevertheless. He smiled at the memory and stooped to pick up a pouchful of the finest white sand. A souvenir - or rather, proof as to where he had been. This would show the dwarf, he thought with an affectionate grin.

*

He had thought she was half dead and therefore went to fetch her mount as well as his own, not bothering to carry her. He would never, in his right mind, dream that such a tiny body could entail any kind of the strength that's needed to crawl bleedingly over the hot sand and hide in the dunes.

Nor would he ever have thought that it would be this bloody difficult to find one stray kid in the a desert virtually without any hiding places. Which is why it was no wonder that Behal almost knocked himself silly when he came back with the ponies only to find an empty spot and no trace of bare baby feet in the sand. He searched for her for hours, but had to give up as dusk announced its arrival in the desert. The cold night would get her. Waste of prime meat.

Now. how to break this to Juggernaut?

*

Hatred and hurt burned inside of her as she stumbled into the darkness. She keenly felt the trickle of blood running down the delicate, trembling skin of the inner side of her thin immature child thighs. The defloration of a child; what a jackass. How this could possibly turn anyone on was beyond her. She gritted her teeth; enough for now. He would be wise in counting his blessings before she got her adult shape back and killed him slowly with a rusty spike shoved up his anus. A cruel smile spread spookily over those tiny lips and deformed her angelic child features.

It could have been wrath, it could have been survival instinct. Whatever drove her, this transformed child staggered towards south all through the still of the night. When the day finally saw fit to dawn and stretch its lazy rays, it bestowed them on a very strange sight that made her wince grimly.

In front of her was the oddest forest she had ever seen. It basically consisted of deadness and solitude, and yet the trees stood. Almost in spite. The wind, contributing to the enigmatic atmosphere of the place, was blowing windpipes among the gray deceased trees, sealing the decaying forest with a sleepy hush. She had left Ghróne.

*

The dead forest was no place for an elf, Legolas decided. He wrinkled his nose. He should never have come. Not even to meet Gimli's challenge. So much death could only depress a thoroughbred elf of Elrond's House.

But the night was closing in, and even an elf needs a place to sleep. He winced. Not many trees were suitable for a bed site. Yet he managed to find a tree whose branches were broad and strong enough to support his weight for the night.

Impervious to the icy cold of the night, but feeling heavy at heart and sad in mood, Legolas turned to leave the dead forest as soon as possible in the morning. And that's when he heard it.

It was only a soft whimper, but it was enough to rouse Legolas' interest, hearing it very clearly with his acute hearing. He knew what it was before he even approached the spot, and yet still the vivid, predator yellow eyes startled him as he leaned down to pick up the puny bundle of legs and hair that was cowering underneath the bush.

It was a human female child of five with long black hair, honey colored skin and disconcerting amber eyes that were unusual not only in the manner of their color, but also and mainly in the manner of their expression. They were much, much too adult.

Was it fear and hardship that had done thus to these eyes peeking out from a baby's face? He did not know; all the elf knew was that this child needed someone to take care of it. Legolas considered his options. He could not care for a human child - his life was not for a infant - and he knew not of any elf who had the capacity for taking care of a human baby. He could take it to the King, but the King had his own coming children and family to care for. The child would not receive proper attention in the busy household of a King.

But he knew of someone who would even welcome someone to care for - someone who might see it as something to fill a void.

*

"Legolas - I'm thrilled to see you - but a human child???" Frodo Baggins Nine Fingers, former Ringbearer, looked at his friend with expressive eyes. In front of him was a taciturn human child of five who, for some reason, refused to speak when spoken to and took care not to look at anyone. She seemed traumatized. Frodo sighed; he had enough problems with his own trauma.

Legolas' voice came soft and persuasive: "You could heal together." Frodo pinned his friend with a sharp glance. So that was his angle.

"What do you know of this child? You found her under a bush in a dead forest in the north, she's human and she won't talk. Is that it?"

"That pretty much sums it up," Legolas murmured in acknowledgement. "What of her real parents?"

"Obviously not in the vicinity."

"Patron?"

"None that I know of."

"Clothes, possessions?"

"What you see." Frodo sighed, carefully eyeing the much too big clothes that his tiny guest was wearing.

"What can I possibly do with an orphan kid of whose origin neither you nor I have a clue?"

"You can take care of her, bring her up, teach her right and wrong, protect her, perhaps find her family if you can."

Another mission. Swell.

But he knew what he was doing, didn't he, Legolas. Already as they were approaching the Shire after the Ring quest did Frodo feel he was falling asleep again whereas his friends were feeling they were waking up. The destruction of the Ring had left him numb and devoid of meaning of life. Here was a chance to revive the sense of meaning.

Frodo accepted.

*

"Can you at least tell me your name, dearie?"

Frodo was trying for the umpteenth time in various languages to get in contact with this child that had been left in his care. He was already regretting it as she had been eerily taciturn and looked at him with disconcertingly hostile and adult eyes. This would not be easy; he feared she might have been too traumatized to return to Life. She was sitting in a chair facing him, a glass of sugar water and a piece of cake by her elbow, but she hadn't touched it. Any normal child would have attacked this royal feast fervently and swallowed it before permission was given. Yet she was different.

Like someone else I know? The inward question sent shivers down his spine. No, he mustn't give up on him. her. Suddenly a deep, mature sigh escaped the girl's mouth. And then she spoke. "Alana - I am Alana of the Seven Winds."

Frodo looked at her with a surprised smile. She spoke The Common Language! "Why, Alana - that was a pretty name. What are the Seven Winds?"

"The Seven Winds is are the estate that I was born at."

Quite a vocabulary for such a little thing, wasn't it? "Do you know where it is?"

"In the land of Ghróne, north of Rhûn."

Frodo almost jumped. Why, that was far. "How did you end up here?"

was was challenged to a fight, so I went, but he was." She stopped. Frodo looked at her waiting for her to continue. But Alana bit her lip. What the hell was she doing? Would this guy believe that she had been turned into a kid by a demon? A particularly bothersome demon at that? She had heard of the countries south of Rhûn - they were not into demons and transmogrifications. She knew of the story about the Ring, of course, and personally she was very grateful to whomever had wasted the big baddie, but everyone knew: they were different down here, and they were not likely to believe her story at all.

She moved restlessly and uncomfortably. Her private parts hurt. They hurt a lot. Lawd knew she wasn't a virgin, but her child body was, and so it had hurt terribly when her opponent had taken her. She had been taken before in battle - the few times she had lost when she was young and inexperienced the winner had taken his prize and more. So she had sworn never to lose again. And she hadn't for many years. Until now that this challenger had played foul play and cheated by using a demon. Even Juggernaut at that. She had met Juggernaut before. He wasn't a pleasant foe, and she hoped she would fry his butt one day.

But for now, he had the upper hand, for here she was, trapped in a child's body and no one would believe her.

Pity; her . um. foster father looked worn and serious, but nice - and darn attractive.

The object of her musings reached out a gentle hand and patted her cheek. "Go on, lassie. What challenge?"

Bloody hell, she would have to come up with something - quickly! "Um. a challenge to. play hide and seek. Well, he found me - and hid me and took me here."

Child abduction. Frodo gasped softly. "What happened then, love?"

Should she tell him? Could he cope with the idea of a child being raped? Though, she wasn't a child, right? But he didn't know that.

"Well - ahem - he said he wanted to sell me. . But I got away." Well, that sounded plausible - didn't it?

Apparently he bought it; the gentle hobbit sat nodding pensively. "And that's when Legolas found you. You were hiding."

"I was afraid he might want to sell me too. I don't know people in these countries."

"Well.," Frodo got up and stretched. "We must bring you back to your parents, then."

"Oh, they're dead," she blurted out without thinking. Realizing that she had just forfeited a marvelous chance to get home and beat Behal's ass, opted her immediately to utter 'shit' with feeling - again without thinking, and Frodo looked at her sternly.

"I know you have been through a lot, but you mustn't use that kind of language, de" Al" Alana, completely unable to look apologetic, stared back at him with fierce eyes, not knowing what to say. "It's terrible to be an orphan - I am one myself," he then said, a little more gently. After all, she had been through an awful ordeal, and now was not the time to start berating her. "How did you lose them?"

Actually, they had died from an illness some years before. Alana had been more than adult at the time, and though she grieved them, it was no trauma in her mind. But that was not what she was now - she was a small child whose life had been shattered.

"Raiders. came to our esta. house. Killed mum and dad and took my sisters. They overlooked me because I hid."

And then someone had come to play with her later - hide and seek. And she was grabbed anyway. What a heavy fate. "When was this, honey?"

"Several years.," she said, forgetting to use kiddy language, "I mean. um - two years ago, I think."

"You were only three?" Frodo asked in wonder, completely confused by her language.

"Yes. I . begged for a living - until now." The former Ringbearer shook his head. This was an enigmatic shield with a vast vocabulary, a mature behavior and a cheeky eye. All the wrong things assembled in one kid. He would have to take her apart and put her back together into a healthy child. But first - she must heal from her initial shock.

*

She couldn't believe it! He actually put her to bed early! Mind you, she was rather tired - her petite body not being used to too much and already having been abused - but put to bed??!? Of course, she gave him a hard time.

"NO! You canNOT tell me when to go beddy bed! Under no circumstance!!"

Frodo was stunned. Not only did her already amazing vocabulary go over the roof, but she also stood in front of him with her hands on her tiny hips, trying to stare him down with those outlandish amber eyes. The eyes of a mountain lion, perhaps? She certainly was wild cat, suitably accentuated by the long, incredibly straight raven black hair. Hobbits just didn't have straight hair like that, so that was one thing among many that would make her stand out once she started school. Frodo shivered. One problem at a time, and he would have to attend to the current one first.

"Alana - it is not up for discussion," he said as gently as he could without losing authority, "you have been through a lot, no matter how brave and adult a face you put up. In bed! Now!" Alana narrowed her eyes and scowled at him evaluatingly the way she would a sword fighter. This was intolerable - should she tell him? How could she ever stand living like this as a child for several years to come? Frustration welled in her. "Now, now - do as I say, and I promise you I will have a nice surprise for you in the morning."

She looked at him in disbelief. He must be kidding. A nice surprise. The situation was not only bizarre - it was totally grotesque. She suddenly laughed heartily. Her foster father misunderstood her laugh. "That's better," he smiled in relief, "now put on your nightgown and I'll tug you in."

Completely taking her by surprise, he shoved the afore-mentioned gown into her arms and started undressing her himself. Once the initial surprised had abated, her next instinct was to belt him like she would any man who presumptuously was taking her clothes of. But he was seeing and treating her primarily as a small kid that as nas nursing. This was getting weirder by the minute. When she finally woke up from her catatonic state, she reached out to stop his busy hands.

"Hold it right there, mister - I mean - stop, please. I can do that myself." There was a tone in her voice that made him look up and meet her eyes. Her eyes - so adult and frightening. The eyes meant business. She was not kidding - she would not let him undress her.

And right there and then, Frodo thought he understood what had happened to her and it made his heart sick. Tears threatened to flood his tear ducts, and a shiver was on its way throughout his entire body frame. Yet, he must suppress it. For the child's sake - she must not feel his shock, disgust and pity.

He forced out a careless smile and let go of her clothes with a light movement. "Okay, little one. You're a little lady now, I can tell. You change and call me when you're ready, 'kay?"

With one last reassuring smile he quickly left the room, leaving her to stand with her jaw carelessly lying round on the floor. "Shit!" she finally managed as comprehension dawned on her. "Shit, shit, shit!"

*

"Alana love. Wake up now." Frodo gently brushed back some of her straight soft hair. She opened her piercing eyes to see her foster father looking down at her smiling warmly, but she could still see pity in his sapphire eyes. Blast. It wasn't all a bad dream. Frodo had already eaten breakfast and it was now time for second breakfast. He was about to wake Alana up earlier, when he remembered that she was a human child and only ate a mere three meals a day. Frodo had six light meals, and even he was as thin as a rail. He couldn't fathom how humans stayed alive and still maintained so much meat on them.

She groaned a little and sat up rubbing her eyes, then threw the covers off herself. She subconsciously reached for her private area. It still had a burning sensation. She cringed at the memory, and Frodo noticed this and the same feeling of disgust leaped back into his stomach. He felt a lump in his throat, feeling the hatred towards whom ever did this to her rise within his heart. She realized that he was standing right above her and quickly snatched her hand back. She looked up, and he forced a smile at her. As if she couldn't tell what he was thinking now. But how could she expect him to know? He thought she was a mere child of five.

"Come on now, little one. Breakfast is waiting for you in the kitchen." He was about to help her out of bed, but she waved his hand off grumpily and hopped out of bed herself. "Oooh. Someone is cranky this morning," Frodo said in a playful voice one would use if they were to address a child. She just rolled her eyes. It was going to be hard to deal with this. Very hard. "And someone said they weren't tired last night." Frodo smiled, but Alana still did not look happy. *Poor thing. Still traumatized. The poor, sweet little thing. Mustn't be playful at a time like this. Not until she feels better,* Frodo thought to himself.

"Come on now, love. Let me take you to the kitchen. I'm sure you'll feel better after you eat something." He took her hand in his and was about to lead her to the kitchen, but she snatched it away.

"That's quite alright sir. You don't have to hold my hand. I remember where the kitchen is." Frodo raised an eyebrow at the tone in heice,ice, but this action just made his heart hurt more. The poor thing clearly did not trust anyone now. He couldn't blame her. He was going to have to spend a lot of time with this little thing. Gain her trust. And show her love. She had a lot of healing to go through. That was quite clear.

"Very well little lady. I'll follow you, then," Frodo said gently. Alana just sighed and rolled her eyes again when he wasn't looking. When she got to the kitchen, her pan cakes were already set out for her on the table, along with butter and a bottle of home made syrup. She hopped in her chair, and before Frodo could do anything, she took the knife and started buttering up her pan cakes herself.

Frodo snatched the knife away from her immediately, and she glared at him with those wild cat eyes again. "Let me help you with that, love. I will not have you playing with knives and hurting yourself." Alana growled. Was this bloke serious? She was quite grumpy, so having to deal with him babying her didn't really sit well at the moment. It also didn't help that she wasn't really a morning person. Especially when she was a kid and had to get up for school. And that was effecting her now. It was as if she was starting life all over again. And her foster father already seemed overly protective. It was a butter knife for crying out loud. Not even sharp enough to cause a scratch.

"I can butter them myself," Said Alana.

"Now dearie, you'll only go and make a mess. I will teach you to butter pan cakes when you're a bit older," said Frodo. He took a fork out of one of the kitchen drawers and started cutting her pan cakes up into tiny little pieces. Alana just sighed, and mumbled something under her breath. She had to remember that he thought she was a child. Had to keep her natural wild cat ways in check. He started pouring syrup on her pan cakes. "I'll bet we want lots of syrup don't we?" he grinned at her.

She just rolled her eyes and went along with it. "Yes. Wots and wots of syrup" she said alsealse baby talk. "I loves syrup, mister."

Frodo winked at her then ruffled her hair. "I know that all little girls love sugar. After all, they're made of sugar and spice and everything nice!lanalana almost gave him a disgusted look. Must have been some Shire saying. She remembered how Shire folk loved to write lame songs and poetry. Oh lord. She beto eto eat, but Frodo stopped her. "Wait a minute, love. We don't want you to drip anything on that pretty night gown of yours."

"I won't," said Alana.

"We don't want to take any chances," said Frodo. She just let out another heavy sigh, and Frodo got a cloth. She lifted up her hair without him even having to ask her. "Good girl." He smiled and tied the cloth around her neck as a bib. This was ludicrous. Bibs were for infants. But she'd just grin and bear it for now. Hopefully she wouldn't have to put up this charade for too long.

So Alana ate her first breakfast with her new foster father. Frodo noticed how good her table manners were. She ate like a little lady. Not one drip did she leave on her bib. Nothing even got on her lips. It was quite cute to see such a little thing displaying such wonderful manners. She must have come from a very sophisticated country. Perhaps a place where children were expected to act this mature. Even though it was cute, this, to Frodo, was quite unhealthy for a girl her age. She should have had the carefree spirit of a playful happy little girl. Not the disgruntled mature, traumatized spirit he saw within her. It wasn't fair. The poor little thing needed to experience the joy of childhood. Act as a normal, healthy little girl without any cares besides getting home in time for supper after a long day of playing with other children.

"So, Alana. I told you I'd have a surprise for you this morning and I never forget my promises. I'm going to take you toy shopping down town today, and you can pick out any toy you want. Maybe we could get you a nice dolly or anything else your little heart desires, how does that sound?" Frodo asked, grinning.

Alana felt like saying 'Give me back my old body and then I'll feel better.' But she knew that if she said that, he'd think she was a child mental case. She sighed again and d tod to look thrilled. "That sounds sple.." She stopped herself again remembering to use child talk. "Gee mister. I can't wait," she said as enthusiastic as possible. Frodo smiled and ruffled her hair again.

"You don't always have to call me Mister, dear," Said Frodo. "You can call me daddy if you want." Frodo knew it was a bit early to mention that, but since she was going to be in his care from now on, he might as well. He wouldn't force it on her, though. It might be a while before he had her trust.

Alana glared at him again. This was too much. But he just smiled at her warmly, his el fac face gleaming with kindness. Looking into his sapphire eyes, so kind and caring, she couldn't say no. After all, this gentle creature believed he had brought an abused child in out of the cold to take care of her. Obviously he was a very compassionate creature. Though very humiliating, at least she was in the hands of someone she believed she could trust. She just sighed and said in a child like voice, "Okay, foster daddy." She looked up at him. "Just daddy, I mean." Alana corrected herself. She would have to get used to the idea of calling this bloke daddy all together which would be difficult. But hell, everything was going to be difficult now.

Frodo smiled and took her little hand in his then gently squeezed it. "You're a beautiful, brave wonderful little girl, Alana honey." Frodo's sapphire eyes shot her a caring, nurturing look. She managed a smile. Her new 'daddy' WAS very attractive. It kind of made her uneasy. Of course, this seemed unholy and unnatural. She wondered how she could have the body of a five-year-old, but still be attracted to a male in a sexual way when her body wasn't even developed in that area yet. This whole idea seemed very ludicrous. Yes, he was quite handsome, but she couldn't think such thoughts now. No way. She quickly shook that thought out of her head.

*

Alana stared at herself in Frodo's bedroom mirror, as Frodo brushed her long raven coloured hair gently. Normally, she would have protested and insisted that she could brush her own hair, but right now all she could do was stand there stunned, glaring at the tiny little girl before her. This was the first time she had seen her new reflection. So this is what she looked like at five. She was rather cute. Almost putridly cute. She brought a tiny hand up to her face and felt it. Her skin was as smooth as silk, and a lot lighter now, as if it had yet to be touched by the sunlight. So fresh and new. She had a little button nose, and chubby little cheeks. Obviously she hadn't lost all her baby fat yet. Her deep amber eyes seemed too large for her head. Big and grotesquely adorable, yet frighteningly mature, seeming very out of place with the rest of her baby face.

Her body was so little and frail looking. No more womanly figure. No more breasts. No more monthly menstrual cycle..well. That was one thing she actually wouldn't miss. But she dreaded the idea of going through puberty all over again. Frodo sensed her uneasiness as she looked at herself in the mirror. He could see the stunned, blank expression in her reflection. He just gave her another pitiful look, getting the impression that something else was bothering her. Thinking he knew what must have happened to her, almost made him want to cry.

He brought a warm hand up to her cheek and stroked it. Then he set down the hair brush and held both her arms gently, whispering in her ear, "You're such a pretty little lady, Alana. Don't you ever, ever feel like it's your fault if something bad happens to you. It's NOT your fault, darling. Remember that." He kissed her cheek, and she sighed. She was obviously making this poor guy sick to his stomach. She saw his face in the mirror, and she could almost see tears forming in his eyes. Good lawd. "I'm here to protect you, Alana. And I would NEVER hurt you. And I certainly won't let anyone else hurt you either. So everything is going to be alright, little one, kay?" He brushed a strand of straight hair out of her eyes, and she forced a smile, then nodded.

*

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