1703: Brego’s Mistress – Chapter One

Title: Brego’s Mistress
Author: hannah.jpg
Media: Books
Topic: Lord of the Rings
Genre: Drama and Romance
URL: Chapter One
Critiqued by Angie

Howdy guys, gals and non binary pals! My name is Angie and today I am on a mission to prove that the Lord of the Rings is my favorite movie trilogy of all time. By…reviewing a bad Lord of the Rings fan fiction? Yeah, I don’t really get my logic either.

On my adventure through fanfiction.net, I found, to my dismay, that most LotR fics don’t really take themselves very seriously. Which is great on the surface, until you realize that most of the fics I sorted through don’t even reach the 2k mark.


And in the midst of The Girl and the fact that my Uncle’s wake is in two days (or, depending on when this goes up, it was…two months ago?), I haven’t really been the most chipper person. But I feel like I can hopefully turn that around.

The word of the day being hopefully.

So, without further ado, let’s dive into Brego’s Mistress!

God, even that title makes me cringe. Moving on.

Chapter 1

The colt was born during a star-filled night at the beginning of spring.

Great, our main character is a 45. Or…a horse? Or maybe this is just some Swedish bullshit I couldn’t care less about. Like IKEA. And gravy on meatballs. And Pewdiepie.

Labor had been difficult for its mother, but the crooning and soft singing from the young girl attending the birth had a calming affect on all four participants.

Oh yes, it’s a girl. Even though the definition is a young Swedish boy. I’m not gonna lie and say there’s not the possibility that she’s trans, but I’m fairly certain you can’t make the decision when you’re fresh out of the womb. Bull. Fucking. Shit.

The prince would not have normally helped during a birth, even one of horses, but he had been wandering the flowing grasses of the prairie with troubling thoughts.


Oooooooh, okay. I get it now.

But wait. That still doesn’t make sense. Why would a fic about a mistress begin with a girl singing at the birth of a pony—oh, fucking forget it.

Having heard the mare’s cries of pain, it was a simple matter to find her, and the girl soothing the skittish mare had welcomed his help.

Pffft.  Clearly this author has never experienced childbirth. If the baby is fucking yodeling or whatever, comforting it doesn’t instantly make everything better. Hell, what is the young girl even doing? Breast feeding?

His part had been to pull the slippery bundle out of the mare – gruesome, but rewarding.


The…the slippery bundle out of the mare? That’s got to be within the top three most gross depictions of childbirth ever. Right after the one in Alien.


The girl had brought a single lantern, but when the colt was rubbed clean with grass and patted dry by the girl’s own cloak, Theodred had to admire the beautiful star on its forehead.


Wait just a minute! I…let me just do some research. Just to make sure. *consults Uncle Google* Yeah, bullshit. If you expect me to believe this asshole is…look, I get it. I know. The horse is Brego. I know. But what in the fuck does this little girl have anything to do with? Is this just gonna be a rehash of Flicka? Is this girl gonna have sex with Brego? Because…sure as hell don’t know what else you would mean by ‘Mistress’.

“He’ll be a handsome one,” he murmured, not wishing to startle either horse.

Oh, shut your fucking trap, Theodred. You’re only making this weirder. I don’t need your bullshit commentary.

“He certainly will,” the girl replied, rubbing the colt’s ears as she helped it to find its mother’s milk. “And he’ll be fast. His sire is one of Shadowfax’s own offspring.”

*imitates gagging* Oh my God. This isn’t just bad, this is insultingly bad. Even though there is a candle in this scene, Hannah sure as hell ain’t holding it to Tolkien.

“Truly?” he asked, delighted. Already he was feeling a measure of bonding towards the colt, and knowing that he himself was one of the privileged few that could own it, he felt immeasurably and inexplicitly pleased.

Inexplicitly, huh? Well, it’s nice to know Theo isn’t swearing like a sailor in this scene. Not like he ever would. Thank you, wise Lord, for bestowing upon me this wonderful bullshit.

The girl smiled politely, but her attention was obviously elsewhere. She began to sing a Rohirric lullaby, and with a pang, Theodred recognized it as one he had heard his aunt sing to his cousins when they were young. No one had sung to him.

…BECAUSE THAT’S IMPORTANT TO THE STORY, I’M SURE. I mean, god damn! I had a feeling this would have some Fifty Shades of Grey vibes, but damn. Not in the aspect that we’re gonna describe, in excruciating detail, every god damn story aspect ever.

“What is to be his fate?” he asked, breaking the calm with a rather abrasive tone.

Gee, I don’t know, dickface. I thought that was your choice.

“I will return them to my father’s house,” she said, stroking the mare’s withers now that the colt had latched. “I am responsible for his horses from birth until sale or breeding.

Yes, and you’re also four fucking years old. Not only that, but you’re an OC! I mean, fuck! I might have to pull out my OC jokes hard drive. All seven of them.

He will start his training next summer, and he’ll be mine until one of the king’s family takes him away.”

Here’s the thing. Why did this author make the stupid ass decision to revolve this story around a horse that is mentioned maybe twice, and a character that doesn’t even exist in the Middle Earth canon? I’m calling my lawyer. *dials number* Hello, mom?

She did not seem entirely pleased at the prospect, and he inquired after her hesitation. She paused only for a moment before answering, her eyes still on the horses. “I bond quickly to my charges.

*cringes* Can we stop referencing bondage? It’s really freaking me out.


I am wrapped in pain whenever one is sold, though I know it is necessary. Royalty has right to our best steeds, and they are not required to pay.

Yes…because…they’re motherfucking horses.


Fuck it!

For every one that goes to the king, we lose the cost of any other three we might sell.”



*thumbs up*

This was new information to the prince. He had not questioned where his own current stallion came from, as his father having given him as a present for a long ago birthday.

*throws a giant book at Hannah* Webster’s Dictionary, motherfucker! Have. You. Read. It.

He felt injustice rising in him, witnessing the genuine affection this woman had for the mare and the colt, and he knew firsthand how powerful an attachment to a horse could be.

Oh yeah? Well why don’t you cry me a table, Mark? Huh? Because nobody here is throwing you a pity party in this library. Check the one down the street.

The thought that she had not recognized him as the king’s son, and treated him as she would her equal, did not even enter his mind.

*snort* I mean, yeah. You’re Paris Howe Strewe. I’d be surprised if anyone took you seriously.

He leaned forward to scratch the colt’s long neck, already decided that he would pay for the colt when the time came. “I think I love you already,” he whispered to himself.

Be honest, am I the only one getting really creeped out by this fic? I don’t need to hear about Theodred’s secret fetishes. I’ve heard enough about BDSM as it is.

Though not meant to hear, the girl’s head whipped towards him, her brows narrowed in suspicion.

Oh boy, here it goes.

“Who are you?” she asked.

A rapist, apparently. Or just a guy with issues.

For the first time that night, her voice was not sweet and loving, but rather demanding. He paused, considering whether to answer.

Well, come on. Don’t keep me in suspense for too long. Spill the beans.

“I am a Rider,” he finally said. Not exactly a lie. “And I am most interested in purchasing a horse from your father in the future. Will you tell me his name and where he sells from?”

Ah, I see. So we’ve been playing the pronoun game this whole time. See, I figured this guy was Theodred this entire time. I’d say I was sorry if Hannah made any recognition that this asshole Rider may be anyone else.

“My father is Gerdhelm, and he dwells two miles from where we are now, near the village Isenburg.”

…another made up person!


“And what is your name, that I might inquire after your health, and be assured that the horse I choose has been raised in your care?”

“I am Léofe.”

*gasp* How could it be?! Léofe, the guy who…he did the…and then he…wait, who are we talking about? Hopefully this next line will clear it up.

I’m waiting.

Oh. *headdesk* That’s where the chapter ends.

That’s the bullshit that constitutes as a cliffhanger in this flaming crapstack of a fic. Brilliant.


See you next time, patrons. I just…I have no words. I’ve been Angie, and…keep me in your prayers.


16 Comments on “1703: Brego’s Mistress – Chapter One”

  1. AdmiralSakai says:


    The…the slippery bundle out of the mare? That’s got to be within the top three most gross depictions of childbirth ever. Right after the one in Alien.

    Six of one, half-dozen of the other, really.

  2. AdmiralSakai says:

    “I bond quickly to my charges.

    The Sue is a strongly polar molecule?

  3. AdmiralSakai says:

    I am wrapped in pain whenever one is sold, though I know it is necessary. Royalty has right to our best steeds, and they are not required to pay.

    If they don’t have to pay then the horses aren’t being sold.

  4. AdmiralSakai says:



    A story about people I don’t care about arguing over topics I don’t care about in a country I don’t care about.

    So thrilling.

  5. S.M.F. says:

    Slightly unrelated, but “guys, gals, and nonbinary pals” is a wonderful greeting in my opinion. \o/

    Also: this would be a sludge of a fic if it had that much substance.

  6. BatJamags says:

    “I think I love you already,” he whispered to himself.

  7. BatJamags says:


    This story is about horses or something, right? And… people talking? I was dozing off there.

  8. Delta XIII says:

    The colt was born during a star-filled night at the beginning of spring.

    …please tell me this isn’t a My Little Pony crossover. The Library’s track record with those is… not the best, to put it politely.

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