The Lord of the Rings: The Banshee Queen

Chapter 22

Wine-colored curls were mutated into a long mass of blue-black waves that contrasted against her pearl-like alabaster complexion. Her corneas were tinged a terrifying crimson with her irises ebony and the pupils narrow.
Her luscious mouth was a screaming cerise and fangs peered out under her upper lip.
On her head sat the black knotted crown and her mauve knife-like nails tapped on the arms of the horrible throne.
Her square neckline exposed the full tops of her breasts and she donned a magnificent jet necklace. The eyes were outlined in black; her raven's wing velvet gown had a very high slit and large triangular sleeves.
She was lust incarnated with a dreadful aura; she was the heir to the Banshee throne and I needed her back.
No...no! No! No! No! This couldn't be her! They corrupted her!
Rising up, her wings blossomed and she flew to me, glaring.
Those eyes were no longer precious and kind; they held terrible intent and immense power.
Did she recognize me at all?
My dear Dawn...
"My Lady," began Rydja. "Forgive me for taking so long. Oeaz was being a terrible pain."
Her glare flickered to her and in a husky voice, Dawn said, "What did she do?"
"She wanted your slave to herself. She threatened your life and we can't let a pathetic weakling like her overthrone you, your Majesty."
"Dawn!" I cried. "It's me, Frodo! Don't you know your Frodo?"
Her mouth closed, Dawn continued to glare at me.
No, this wasn't her.
Standing before me was evil personified; the one light in my life was gone and the darkness had won.
"Dawn..."
I waited for an eternity.
"I know you indeed, but no longer are you Frodo. You are my pet until I am finished with you."
My heart sank to my stomach and bile was ejected out my mouth. The real Dawn wouldn't dare say such things.
I have lost her...
Rydja laughed, her hands on her belly. "Oh, Your Majesty! Your mother would be so proud of you!"
My body was tired of crying.
All I wanted was to let death take me in its embrace.
"Get him ready for me."

Rydja deprived me of my rags and strapped me to a wooden table, securing the leather bonds around my limbs and I was fully spread out.
"He is too handsome to be a Halfling," said an unknown Banshee.
"I can see why Her Majesty chose you to be hers. If she wanted to, she could pull those shiny eyes of yours right out of their sockets and eat them."
Her forked tongue lewdly lapped at her bottom lip, turning her attention to my flaccid organ.
"I wish she could share you with us. I bet she adores it when you fill her womb with your Halfling seed."
Before that hideous tongue of hers could lick the tip, Rydja yanked her back and smacked her ruthlessly.
"You lecherous little toad," she scorned. "Jafilyn never shared Theweo, so what makes you think her daughter will?"
"Look at him, Rydja! I have lived for thousands of years and I have never seen such wondrous eyes!"
"Haslo, shut your dirty mouth and help me already!"
I struggled endlessly until Haslo grabbed my jaw and poured a green sludge in my mouth.
It bubbled in my throat and I spewed it out, swallowing air to cool the vile sensation it left behind.
A tall Banshee in hooded robes chuckled sinisterly as she fondled a whip.
Inch by inch, she stepped forward and flung the whip.
Somehow the Morgul blade didn't feel as excruciating as that.
Its stings set me on fire and blood beaded from the lashes; it melted my flesh with each hit.
I sobbed and implored for them to stop.
"Stop your whining, you dirt-sucking piglet!" my tormentor demanded and the beatings were twice as hard.
Red-hot pain stabbed me as I fainted, relieved to be away from the torture even if it was temporary.

"Get in there, filth," Haslo barked, throwing me into the dark chamber.
Anger boiled in my veins as I stared at the purple welts and caked blood.
Limping to the full-body mirror, I faced the beaten stranger.
My ringlets were mussed and my eyes bloodshot from the trauma, the blue irises brilliant.
Dark circles stood out severely around them and I turned away to inspect the small scars irritating my flesh.
My lips were split and blood stained them; a shallow wound on my right leg oozing.
My body was used to the pain after the Orcs captured me all those years ago.
I am still Frodo Baggins of the Shire no matter how disfigured I get.
"Are you ready for me, my precious one?" asked the familiar voice, her flowery fragrance heavy.