FIC: TROUBLEMAKERS Part 3/? 
 
Author: Lily Baggins 
 
PAIRINGS: Frodo/Aragorn 
 
RATINGS: NC-17 sex, violence, angst, bad language 
 
WARNINGS: NON-CONSENSUAL SEXUAL SITUATION IN THIS PART. NO RAPE, BUT  
CLOSE.ANGST, ANGST, lots of angst, and h/c. Haters of angst beware.  
Don't say I didn't warn you. 
 
Disclaimers. The usual. I make no money off of this and do not own  
these characters, much to my chagrin. They belong to Tolkien  
Enterprises, or whoever has the rights now, and I only give them  
interesting---and usually unpleasant---ways to spend their time. So  
here I am, getting Frodo into all sorts of precarious  
situations . . .  
 
Setting: The Prancing Pony. More movieverse than bookiverse. I find  
the Prancing Pony of the movie to be a much more sinister place than  
that described in the book. We all remember those nasty-looking men  
at the bar . . . they were plot bunnies that couldn't be ignored.  
This is almost an AU --- boy, am I taking liberties here.  
 
*** 
 
The instant Aragorn noticed the red-faced man was not at the bar, a  
stab of fear went through him. Frodo had been too long in returning.  
Standing, the ranger quietly made his way to the back door---then,  
getting closer, he noticed a sign next to it that read, "Use other  
door," with an arrow pointing to the far end of the building. The  
sign was hung at least six feet high---a man could see it easily  
enough, but a shorter person----such as a hobbit---would probably  
overlook it. Frodo hadn't known to use the other outhouse, but had  
instead gone outside where all was quiet and alone. And that could  
prove very, very dangerous.  
 
 
Outside, all was dark and quiet, and Aragorn surveyed the scene. A  
rickety old outhouse, a large muddy field. There was no one about.  
Suddenly, the ranger heard the door opening again and whipped around,  
dagger in hand---and met the terrified eyes of Samwise Gamgee. 
 
 
"At ease, little hobbit," said Aragorn, putting his dagger  
away. "What are you doing out here? It's not safe for you to be out  
and about this time of night by yourself." 
 
 
"Beggin' your pardon, sir, I had some business to take care of . . ." 
 
 
"Look, Sam," said Aragorn, watching the hobbit's eyes widen at the  
use of his name. The ranger went and knelt in front of him. "I know  
who you are, Sam, and what brings you and your friends here. I'm a  
friend of Gandalf's---sent to look out for you. In fact, I've been  
guarding the Shire for many years ---- before you were even born. I  
know you're out here looking for Frodo. I am concerned, too. But you  
stand little chance against the fell beings out here at night. Go  
back in---I will find your friend, I promise." 
 
 
Sam was dumbstruck. His eyes narrowed. "How do I know you know  
Gandalf and aren't in league with the enemy? Or a spy?"  
 
 
Aragorn shrugged. "You do not. But I am not going to stand here  
arguing with you while time is wasting. You must trust me. For  
Frodo's sake. Now go back inside---it isn't safe out. I must do this  
alone. If you want to help, stay here, in case Frodo comes back ---  
or someone has seen him, okay?" 
 
 
Sam started to protest, but Aragorn would have none of it. "Go back  
inside, Sam," he said firmly. "I will find Frodo. I will be back, I  
promise." 
 
 
He watched Sam haltingly go back inside. And with that, the ranger  
took off across the field.  
 
 
Aragorn checked the outhouse and found nothing there. And the  
alleyways and backbuildings around the Prancing Pony were a maze,  
offering plenty of opportunities for criminals to hide.  
 
 
But tracking was what he excelled at---he was confident he would find  
Frodo. And he was equally confident that the red-faced man at the bar  
had something to do with his disappearance. Aragorn could only hope  
that he reached Frodo before anything evil happened to him, and he  
cursed himself for waiting so long to go looking for the hobbit.  
 
 
The field was only subtly illuminated by moonlight, and Aragorn could  
barely see the muddy ground at all. Even so, he walked slowly, hand  
on his dagger, looking for any sign of man or hobbit tracks.  
Suddenly, the ranger's ears perked up and he stopped, listening. Was  
it his imagination, or had he heard a faint sound, much like a pained  
cry, coming from one of the alleyways to his left? The ranger  
stealthily crept forward, hoping he was headed in the right  
direction.  
 
 
Then he saw it. Something dark, lightly carried by the wind on the  
surface of the ground. What was it? Aragorn walked over and bent down  
to pick it up. It was soft, and holding it up, the ranger saw that it  
was a dark curly lock of hair. His throat tightened. Frodo's hair--- 
it had to be. He felt sudden hope that he was going in the right  
direction. But as he caressed the soft lock of hair and realized how  
it must have found its way there, his chest ached with pain for the  
innocent hobbit and he prayed that he was not too late.  
 
*** 
 
The two men dragged Frodo far down into a black alleyway. "Hold him,  
Nettles," Rancit told the other man. The taller man---Nettles--- 
clutched the hobbit tightly, hand still clamped around his mouth,  
while Rancit squatted in front of the hobbit so that their faces were  
practically on the same level. The man waved his knife in Frodo's  
face and laughed at the hobbit's frightened blue eyes.  
 
 
"Scared, you little good-for-nothing cock-sucker?" he drawled. "Like  
I said, I won't kill you, just play with you a bit." So saying, he  
reached out and began unbuttoning Frodo's trousers. When he had them  
undone, he slowly put his hands on either side of the hobbit's hips  
and thrust downward until Frodo's breeches and underpants were in a  
heap around his ankles. Frodo whimpered as he was exposed to the big  
man and shut his eyes tightly. Rancit laughed as his eyes took in  
Frodo's nakedness.  
 
 
"Well, I guess you wish you'd taken me up on my offer before, huh?"  
Rancit asked with wildly shining eyes. He reached out and gently  
caressed the Frodo's soft genitals, watching Frodo wince. "Your  
dick's not hard at all, is it, little one? If you'd taken me up on  
it, we might be having a good ol' time right now and you`d be hard as  
a rock. Nice and easy, nice and slow, instead of painful, like it's  
gonna be for you now."  
 
 
With Nettles' hand over his mouth, Frodo couldn't speak, but his eyes  
could and did tell his feelings. The blue eyes looked at the big man  
with fear and disgust---which only seemed to spur Rancit on.  
 
 
"You are an innocent one, ain't you?" he asked, reaching his probing  
hand up and brushing hair back from Frodo's brow. "Bet you've never  
done this sort of thing before, even though I'm sure most of the  
population would loooove to get their hands on you. That face and  
that body . . . well, we could just eat you up!" he laughed crazily.  
His hand returned to its former position on Frodo's penis, lightly  
caressing it. But in his intense fear and hatred, the hobbit was not  
aroused.  
 
 
"What are you, impotent, you little creep?" Rancit yelled at  
him. "Maybe I oughta just geld you right now, huh?" he asked,  
brandishing the knife. "Nah . . . you might not be fit for me to play  
with, then. I'll wait until I'm done with you--- then I'll cut your  
little balls clean off."  
 
 
Hearing the man's words, Frodo felt a wave of nausea crash over him.  
His stomach churned and he vomited all over Nettles' hand.  
 
 
"Goddamn it!" Nettles roared, shaking his hand away as Frodo heaved  
again---this time partially soaking Rancit's head and boots. Rancit  
cursed, grabbing the hobbit by the front of his shirt collar and  
shaking him wildly. Frodo tried to get a sound out, but could only  
cough.  
 
 
"You undergrown son-of-a-bitch!" he yelled and raised his knife up  
over the hobbit. At that instant, Frodo knew it was over---the man  
was going to slit his throat. But instead, Rancit brought the hilt of  
his knife down hard on the hobbit's temple. "Elbereth!" Frodo cried  
out as the pain lanced through his head and blackness threatened to  
overtake down. He would have fallen had not Rancit still held him by  
the collar.  
 
 
Without further ado, Rancit shoved Frodo roughly to the ground. The  
half-naked hobbit, with his breeches around his ankles, tried to  
stand and scramble away, but a horrible dizziness had overtaken him  
and he found it even difficult to move. He managed to finally make it  
to his hands and knees when suddenly a booted foot kicked him hard in  
the side.  
 
 
It was Nettles. "Be quiet, little one," he ordered, with another  
knife in his hand. "We'd just as soon kill you as look at you," he  
said. "I wonder what it is you've got that makes that Southerner want  
you so?" Grasping a handful of Frodo's hair, he pulled Frodo's head  
back until he could see the hobbit's face easily. Out of the small  
pale face covered with filth and mud two large blue eyes looked  
beseechingly at him, and he could see tears threatening to spill over  
any minute. The side of the hobbit's head was bleeding profusely, and  
blood was now running down his face. "Let . . . me . . . go . . .  
please," Frodo whispered.  
 
 
"Nah," said the tall man, refusing to let the hobbit's plea get to  
him. "In fact, I think maybe I'll take a turn with you when Rancit's  
done. You do look like you'd be a damn good lay . . . nice and tight,  
I'll wager, huh Rancit?"  
 
 
Rancit laughed. "We'll soon see, old man. Just remember --- I get him  
FIRST." He motioned to the taller man. "Put him down. No, on his  
face. I don't want to see those goddamned pathetic eyes looking at me  
the whole time."  
 
 
Without further ado, the tall man threw Frodo to the ground, face  
down, and kneeling over him, held the knife just above the hobbit's  
neck. "Don't you even try to scream, you understand? You do, and  
you're dead. Got it?"  
 
 
Frodo didn't answer. He just bit his lip and concentrated on the cold  
hard ground underneath him. The chill air swept over his bare lower  
half, and he shivered. He was half naked, he was cold, his head was  
throbbing, his ankle was aching, and his stomach was churning, but  
still he thought gratefully of the Ring, deep in his pocket, that  
they hadn't found. They hadn't even searched him, which surprised  
Frodo. They probably didn't expect a hobbit from the Shire to be  
carrying much of value.  
 
 
As long as they didn't touch the Ring . . . as long as they only used  
his body and then let him go, he could get through this, he told  
himself. Or as long as Sam found his body and took the Ring to  
safety. . . . For the first time that night, Frodo thought of his  
friends back in the inn. He fervently hoped that Sam wouldn't come  
looking for him. It was too dangerous . . . the thought of Sam, or  
Merry, or Pippin in this situation was more than Frodo could bear.  
Suddenly, without meaning to, a sob escaped him.  
 
 
"Shut up!" Nettles yelled, cuffing him. "Hurry up, Rancit!" he yelled  
to the other man, who was unfastening his own pants and looking  
around to make sure they were indeed alone. 
 
 
Frodo whimpered as he felt Rancit's strong hands grab his pants and  
pull them totally off. He had to grit his teeth at the pain he felt  
in his ankle as the pants came away. Rancit tossed the pants aside.  
Suddenly, Frodo felt Rancit's sweaty hands on the backs of his legs.  
With a grunt, Rancit parted Frodo's legs, pushing Frodo's rump high  
in the air. Frodo shut his eyes tightly and bit his lip hard, willing  
his mind away from what was coming next.  
 
 
Suddenly, Rancit gave a cry, and Frodo gasped as he felt the full  
weight of Rancit's body fall on top of him. Frodo groaned softly,  
waiting for the painful intrusion he knew was coming . . . then  
realized with a shock that the man on top of him was quite  
unconscious. And that Nettles and his knife were gone.  
 
 
Frodo could now hear the sound of a scuffle behind him. Wheezing in  
pain, he slowly started to pull himself out from under the big man's  
limp body. And craning his neck around, saw that a long-bladed dagger  
was buried deep in Rancit's back.  
 
To be continued