A bloody Black Rose, Strangled by the Weeds of Destiny Prologue: Return to the Light (New Author's not added on 7/14/03. We'd just like to respond to many of our flames by saying that this is a parody. Everything about this fic is a parody. We're sorry no one got that before. Anyway, just remember everything from here on out is meant as a joke.)

AUTHORS'S NOTE: This is a co-authored fic by two of the kewlest gurls in da hood! Plz R&R. Thanx, God Bless.

RETURN OF THE AUTHOR'S NOTE: This fic centers on what happens to the Fellowship after the Trilogy has ended. We have never read the Trilogy and this is the first fanfiction we've ever written. But don't worry, our psychiatrists say we write really good. ^_______________________^ I am happy and fat.

KEY: *stuff goes here* means a character is thinking. ~stuff goes here~ means they are having a dream. "stuff goes here" means they are talking in English. (Stuff goes here) means they are talking telepathically. means they are talking in Elvish. () means they're talking telepathically in Elvish. means the character is thinking in elvish. Centered text means the character is singing. Bold means the character is yelling. Capitols means the character is screaming. Bold capitols means the character is whispering. Italics means the character is having a dream in Elvish. //stuff goes here// means the character is speaking in Russian. \\stuff goes here\\ means the character is dead and is speaking to living people. @stuff goes here@ means the character is singing a song in Dwarvish.

AUTHOR'S NOTE 2.1: This fic is an action and adventure, romance with mystery, suspense, comedy, and angst. In this story the Elves didn't leave Middle Earth and Aragon is still a prince, not a king and Arwen is trying to decide if she loves him and there were 11 ringwraths instead of 9. Our main character is Tom Bombadil cuz he is the mac daddy.

The piercing cry of the stillborn child pierced the midnight air. The woman lay in the birth bed, feeling her life blood slowly dripping away. The baby's body fell from his mother's arms and hit the ground with a thunderous crack. The mother shed one final tear, glanced at her loving husband, Tom Bombadil, and proceeded to extinguish her own life by wrapping the bloody umbilical cord around her neck and hurling it over the chandelier, hanging herself sadly.

Tom Bombadil, staring at his dead mate and son, began to sing a sorry, sad song.

"It is sad,
I am mad,
I wanted to be a dad.
This is really bad.
My wife is dead.
My son cracked his head.
As he fell from the bed,
I would have named him Ted.
Man, my life really sucks.
I'm going to kill some ducks,
And stop singing."

Thus ended the epic, mournful song of Tom Bombadil. *I should join the Elf army and protect others from this violent fate. Yes, I will stop the mindless suffering that the Dark Lord had imposed on the creatures of Middle Earth.*


Sweat glistened on the Human Prince's manly forehead as he raised his powerful sword into the air and brought it down onto the evil ork. He lifted one massive masculine hand and wiped the perspiration from his brow, surveying the land beneath the hill on which he was fighting. Scattered around the impressive male's black boots were the bodies of the orks which he had single handedly managed to fight off. His broad and manly shoulders heaved as he sucked breath into his large and powerful lungs, tasting blood on the air. His dark hair hung in streaks against his head, sweat and grime forcing the individual strands into manly clumps. Prince Aragon smelled like a warrior, and that he was.

His powerful and well built chest heaved as he caught his breath after his morning excursion. Not as though fighting off four score orks was much of a challenge to the masculine fighter. Upon his glistening chest hung a silver necklace, which his foster-sister and lover had given him. While his entire body was encrusted with the dirt of so many battles gone unwashed, the necklace glowed with the eternal light of his betrothed. The well built warrior's thought traveled back to the elf princess whom he had not seen in many fortnights. ** the prince thought in elvish. The English language lacks words which can adequately convey the emotion of this thought, but the closest translation would be *my beloved, I will love you always.*

The man's senses alerted him that there was still an enemy left to fight. His ears pricked at the slight rustling that heralded the advance of the horrific beast. Almost before our hero had time to react, the gruff swordsman was pulled to the ground beneath the beast. Aragorn struggled to pull the creature off, put to no avail. It punctured the prince's flesh with its massive claw, Aragorn's royal blood spilling out and dying the hill beneath him.

With a grunt, the impressive fighter finally pulled the creature off his body. The terror-inspiring lobkeet flapped its green wings menacingly at the man. The warrior was staggering due to massive blood loss as the lobkeet circled him. Dipping his head to avoid the razor sharp claws of the dreaded monstrous foe, Aragorn dived, sword extended towards its vulnerable, exposed underbelly. Thrusting his sword upward, he was oblivious to the fact that the lobkeet was poised, ready to deal its fatal blow. As he wrenched his mighty weapon upward, he caught the barest flash of movement, and spun, just in time to avoid the creature's dagger-like talons from ripping out his fragile human heart, and sadly sacrificing his left arm in the process.

Aragorn let out a feral cry as his left arm hung by a thin sinew of manflesh. Filled to the brim with burning rage, Aragorn dove at the lobkeet. His impressive muscles rippling in the morning light, he mercilessly smote the bloodthirsty mutant hybrid lobster parakeet.

"Curse you demon!" Aragorn bellowed at the fallen creature. His left arm lay against his body, utterly useless, still attached by only a thin strip of flesh. He would not cry, even though there was none to see the tears. No, the human prince would not cry over the loss of such an appendage. He was still a warrior, was he not?

Then doubt entered the brooding prince. He was useless now, not fit for anything. What would the Evenstar say when she saw what he had been reduced to? There was nothing left for him now. He knew what happened to warriors who were disgraced in such an un-honorable way. Surely now Arwen would refuse to marry him. Surely now she would not bed him.

There was only one thing left for him to do.

* * *

The tall, slender, curvaceous woman paced the dark and shadowy room, her high heeled boots clicking softly against the deep black granite floor. She raised one petite, delicate and feminine hand to wipe a strand of waist length onyx hair away from her blood red eyes. It was said that she was almost as beautiful as she was deadly. The one known as Black Angel licked her black lips while staring out the window at her kingdom. Her red orbs gazed about the black charred earth below. On her lips was this: "Dead and beautiful beyond all conception." She had wings, but they were great and black as the wings of a mournful and solitary raven. They were bandaged too, healing from too many fights with her sister. Upon her petit body was wrapped black silk in the form of a black dress, complete with onyx lace. She held a glass of blood red wine.

The sound of birds chirping happily and a brook bubbling over smooth rocks awoke the sleeping beauty of a woman. Her delicate purple eyes opened slowly, and she batted her long, feminine eyelashes. The young elven princess wandered out of her open bedroom engraved with symbols of long ago onto the balcony which jutted from her room and looked over the picturesque river which ran through this kingdom. She appeared to be no more then a teenager, when in reality she was as old as the earth she stood on.

Princess Venus was jolted out of her quiet meditation by a strong sensation in her skull. She knew immediately who it was. There was only one other creature in the universe who's telepathic bond to the evish maiden was this strong.

"Black Angel" Venus breathed quietly.

A thousand miles away, her twin answered her. (Hello, pathetic woman) she said, her black dress swishing around her feet as she walked away from her fortress window.

(What do you want?) Coming from any other woman this would have sounded cruel, but no words uttered from Princess Venus's lips could have been harmful or harsh. Not so with her sister.

(You know damned well what it is.) Princess Black Angel snapped. Her red eyes were glowing intensely with impatience and she snarled at the room around her. Her long, luscious black hair framed her pale beautiful face perfectly, even in her rage. (The world is dead to me, as I am dead to it. You know this)

(Indeed, dear sister)

(And yet you will not join me?) The dark haired woman demanded.

(You know that I cannot do such a thing. The world is far too precious to throw into shadows. The light of all that is good and pure in the heart and soul must live on. I know that you are angry, but think of the innocent children who have not yet begun to live before you condemn Middle Earth to eternal darkness)

(Foolish wench. The world is already in shadows. I will prevail.)

The two women were indeed sisters. Who their parents were they did not know, they could never remember a time when they were not just as they were. They each lived in isolated kingdoms, away from the realms of mortal creatures. It was said that if any mortal man were to look upon them he would fall madly in love and be unable to think of anything else save the perfect creature his eyes beheld. They were like yin and yang, these two perfect beings. Their names were so pure and in a language so old that they have no translation or meaning that mortals can comprehend, but in some legends they were called simply Venus and Black Angel. They argued now, and they argued always. But this was different. For a prophecy was written that said that a girlchild would be born into Middle Earth, one with the power to heal all wrongs. It was said that she was the sister of the Twins (as Venus and Black Angel have been called) and that she would be the one to save the world from the apocalypse. The legends were far from specific, but something in the Goddesses' (for that is what Venus and Black Angel were) told them instinctively to take notice.

(Let us not argue again today) Pleaded the Light Sister.
(You think of she-who-will-be-born)
(Then perhaps on this one thing we can agree..) * * *

Prince Legolas cracked one beautiful blue eye open in the early morning light. He let out an impressive yawn, and rolled onto his back, his wondrous blond hair framing his face perfectly. Then he realized that he was not alone.

He turned on his side and stared intently at the woman who shared his bed. Memories from the night before flooded back to him. Her screams, his moan, their journey to paradise. But alas, Prince Legolas was saddened by this memory. No matter how many he bedded, no matter how pleasurful the love- making had been, he always longed for the lips of another, for the arms of another, for the.. Heart of another.

"'Ay, honey, you 'wake?" the husky voice of Legolas' voluptuous bed-partner rang out. She twisted her sinewy body to face the Elven beauty, her supple breasts pushing against Legolas' chest. Snaking one arm around his back, she pulled his closer, probing every inch of his slender body with her own.

Legolas's mind and heart longed for the one he loved, but his body craved this bar wench next to him. Her flaming red hair shown out against the white sheets on which they lay as he took her one last time.

When he was finished, the youthful elven prince rose from the soiled bed naked and paced across the room. Donning his tunic, he left the rented room in the tavern to bath in the fresh stream waters outside.

* * *