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Summary: When Elrond is short a courtesan for the fifteen year exchange, what will he do? Pimp out his daughter -- that's what! In this chapter, she falls for it: Parody, D/s, SI, slash, anal, bdsm, f/f, m/f, m/f/m, solo and general bad taste. NC-17
Introduction: Please Read First

Nine and a Half Weeks in Mirkwood
By Acharn Lend

A/N This chapter is being posted with extra haste to deal with Half Elf's questions concerning the use of the term 'courtesan' versus 'concubine' and some other, lower terms, which I shall not besmirch my virtuous and well-intended tale by repeating.

A concubine, is a kind of junior wife, with connotations of slavery and low regard.

A courtesan is more like a high priced call girl. They trade their favors for monetary reward and for power, if they choose their patrons wisely. While not entirely respectable, these ladies (and presumably gentlemen) of the Demi-monde hold a position of high status in their society and have control over their own destinies.

That said, while I describe a system of indentured sexual slavery more akin to concubinage, where the participant may be traded, lent and sent elsewhere at the owner's will, I shall blithely continue to call Arwen a courtesan because this is my story and I can do what I want to. Does that address your concerns, Half Elf? It ought to, because I don't want to give the whole thing away.

No one can bind an elf to servitude without corrupting them utterly. Just look at Morie, the perfect courtesan! Of course Elrond would never sell his children into slavery (although if Half Elf doesn't keep a civil tongue in his Noldo head, that might just happen in my next story.) Arwen must come to her conclusion on her own, with the evidence laid out before her. And I'm hoping to Thangorodrim that no one notices she isn't getting the full picture.

Now, on to the tale . . .

Chapter 5: Decisions (Really Stupid Decisions)

Morie and Arwen strolled in the garden and talked, surrounded by the heady scents of the summer flowers, the sunlit earth, and the sound of the Imladris waterfalls

She told her all she wanted her to know of Courtesanship, and shared with Arwen her own experiences of accepting the collar. "It would be different for you, Lady Undomiel. You're very different from the elleth I was when I took the collar. I was a spoiled child, left to be raised by my grandfather after my parents were slain."

"How sad for you," Arwen murmured. "The mortals call this 'angst,' and it excuses much bad behavior on the part of the one doing the angsting."

"I took what I wanted and thought only of myself. I seldom had a thought in my head for others."

"And now you think of the welfare of Firiel. I am inspired by your example to trust you with my own fate, Morie!"

"When my grandfather wished to sail, I was angry with him for wanting to leave me. I would have been so selfish as to argue with him, to keep him upon these shores until he faded from grief."

"Ah, you were so selfish as to cozen someone else into misery to advance your own ends. I am pleased that the Courtesanship has changed you. How did this come about, Morie?"

"It was The Lady and Lord who offered me solace in the form of a distraction. And, boy howdy, was it ever a distraction! After talking long with the Lady, and with her head courtesan, I thought perhaps thirty years might be just about right.

"I saw it as a grand opportunity. I wasn't aware then of what it truly means to submit, to give all yourself to another in trust. Although Galadriel warned me, I could not realize what it is like at that moment when the collar is soldered about your neck, and you put your hair down for the first time."

For the first time, Arwen was taken aback. "You mean your collar doesn't come off at night? I thought it was jewelry to denote your calling. Like our guard captains wear badges."

"Oh, nay, My Lady," Morie replied reassuringly. "Our collars constantly remind us of our status in society, and of our sexual freedom, so preciously won by becoming courtesan."

"Eh?" said Arwen, recalling her own affairs with half of Elrond's court. She had enough sexual freedom without soldering on a collar. "What sick fuck thought that detail up?"

"Maeglin, I think. He described the collar as a 'turn on.' The grand tradition of Courtesanship goes back to the days of vanished Gondolin."

"Did you resist?" To Arwen, the collar seemed rather demeaning.

"Not physically, but in fea, at first, "Morie replied hurriedly. She sensed her fish was slipping the line. "Oh, I was uncomfortable for a few days, but it was no biggy. Why, Tathryn always said, before she went on permanent mental vacation, that is, that when the collar was first placed about her neck she finally felt complete, as if her purpose in life and been defined at last."

"You said your first contract was for thirty years," Arwen said, still sounding dubious. "I know you have been at this longer than that."

"Well for the first ten years I was Galadriel's personal property, which meant getting a lot of Lord Celeborn."

At this, Arwen squinched her eyes. Celeborn was her grandfather after all and she really didn't want to hear the details.

"After that, I was a general courtesan to the court, which still meant a lot of Celeborn. When my contract ended, I re-upped, because I liked it so much and wanted a shot at serving the Galadhrim guard on the marches. When that extension ended, I went for a hundred years, which took me to Mirkwood, here, back to Lorien and back here again. I like it so much I just keep coming back for more! Truly, Arwen, it's great. You get lots and lots of sex, and you never have to worry about making your own decisions."

Morie smiled at the Peredhel Princess brightly. "I suppose that one of these centuries, I'll be ready to move on, to put up my hair and hear my true name spoken again."

"So Morie isn't your true name?"

Oh-oh, thought Morie, another mistake. "My Lady, we who take the collar often take new names to distinguish who we are now from who we were before. It is a way of stepping outside ourselves and going to a different place."

"Giving up your identity. That sounds psychologically healthy," Arwen observed dryly.

Morie stood and brushed her skirt free of the bits of summer grass that clung to it. "If you are considering what I believe you are, My Lady Undomiel, I would encourage you whole-heartedly. You have the strength, spirit, and compassion to do well as a courtesan. However, you must search your own heart and see if this is what you truly desire."

She paused, reaching out to squeeze Arwen's breast lightly, "It is not an easy path, My Lady. It has its trials, and its rewards. Know that if you go to Mirkwood, you leave the elleth you are behind, and you must be able to face that elleth when your contract is up and you return home." With that, Morie swept from the garden, thinking, 'There, I've kind of told her what to expect. Please, let the stupid bint be gullible enough to fall for this.'

Arwen stood amidst the flowers, considering long her words

* * *

She had entirely forgotten about breakfast Quietly, she slipped into the Great Library and searched the shelves. Erestor wandered by and asked if he could help her find something, but Arwen told him no. Erestor would laugh his ass off if he knew what Arwen was looking for. Just like he did when he came upon her reading the original copy of Great-grandma Idril's diary for the naughty bits.

Searching the Social Customs section, she came across a small black book, with fine gold lettering entitled, "Traditions of the Courtesans". It was penned by someone with only one name, Aliass, and the first pages told that the author was a courtesan of the House of the Golden Flower in Gondolin, before the fall of the hidden city.

Carefully, Arwen re-read the notations of the oath of the courtesans, the punishments for disobedience, and the manner of the lord in the sexual aspects of his interactions with his courtesans. (That section made her squirm uncomfortably in her seat as the images reminded her that she was as horny as a toad.)

She put two and two together to realize that this Lord of the House of the Golden Flower had to be none other than Lord Glorfindel himself, and she regretted more than ever that she had not gotten round to the Balrog Slayer before her father had cut short her dalliances.

This mysterious 'Aliass' had painted a clear picture of the formalities and rules, and explained them to some extent, but he had raised more questions than he had answered. Times had changed. The laws had changed, with each of the Elven realms adding and changing them to suit their needs.

That night at dinner, Arwen pondered. She watched Firiel wait upon her father with a noticeably sad demeanor. At a lower table, Fianal, sat and played his lute, entertaining with witty conversation. Morie waited upon her brothers, laughing mischievously as she dodged banter and pinches on the bottom.

Lots of sex, and the job of waiting at table, rather than be waited upon. How bad could it be? Oh, the collar wasn't such an appealing idea, but she was willing to put up with it to save Firiel from fading. And it was only for fifteen years.

The next morning, Arwen came upon Firiel in the gardens.

"Firiel," she said, "What would you think if I told you I could speak to Adar and get him to solve your problem?"

"My Lady, I would be eternally grateful," replied the delicate elleth with a look of relief and joy upon her face.

Arwen wondered if what she was about to do was a mistake. "Firiel, you know me well. Do you think I would make a good courtesan?"

Firiel looked surprised. "You would make an excellent courtesan, but what does that have to do . . .?"

Too late, she said these words to the Lady Evenstar's retreating back. There was only one thing left to do. Arwen left the garden to search out Morie and enlist her help.

Shortly thereafter, she stood in her father's study.

"Are you quite certain you wish to do this thing, Arwen?" the Peredhel Lord asked his daughter with a tilt of his dark brow. "Do you know what it would mean to leave this realm and go to Mirkwood as a servant?"

Arwen shrugged. "I have been considering it for days. And I would be your servant, would I not, on loan to Mirkwood?"

Elrond leaned upon his desk, pondering for the first time the implication of the scheme that he and Morie had earlier set in motion. Had he truly expected it to work? "Arwen, are you doing this for yourself or out of concern for Firiel?"

She sighed. "Both, I guess. You have forbidden me the comfort of lovers. What is there here for me at Imladris save needlework? And my heart does not allow me to stand by and let Firiel die. So what the hell?"

Does she really have a clue? Elrond wondered briefly, weighing the dual prospects of daughter and lover over in his mind. His johnson won the debate. "You know that once the oath is sworn there is no turning back."

She laughed bitterly. "Of all upon Middle-earth, we Noldor should understand the significance of an oath."

One last shred of conscience prompted Elrond next. "Then look at me, my daughter. Stand up and look me in the eye and tell me that this is the path that is in your heart."

Arwen stood gracefully and despite the pounding of her heart, managed to say the words that Morie had carefully coached her in earlier. "My Lord and father, I would seek the position of courtesan, for a contract of fifteen years, to be served in Mirkwood."

Valar, thought Elrond, if Celebrian were here at this moment to see this, she would have my nuts for this. Damn good thing she wasn't. "Then kneel before me, and swear the oath."

Arwen dropped to her knees. Her words were quiet as she forced them past her lips and into the still air. "My Lord Father, I swear to serve the House of Elrond, as a courtesan of this house. My fealty is my obedience. I take this oath willingly and in accordance with my fea as it is held by the Valar. Comfort, succor, care and compliance to you and your house, and those to whom your will commands me, is my will in this endeavor."

Silence followed for a long moment before Arwen was able to raise her hand and take Elrond's fingers, gently press her lips to the glittering blue surface of Vilya.

It was done.

* * *

Bada-bing! Another chapter ends. There's no going back for our spoilt princess now, is there?

Half Elf: I hope this answered some questions and portrayed a certain *cough* Peredhel Lord in a more 'human' light, to coin a phrase. I realize this plot device was thin, and that no loving parent would do this to their child, but we have to find some way of getting Arwen to Mirkwood and into the amorous clutches of King Thranduil.
Aglarond13: I didn't torture poor Arwen much in this chapter -- just fucked with her mind a lot. Naughty me!
Double Trouble: Yes, you can come to Mirkwood and watch, but we aren't there quite yet. There is much the little lady still has to learn.

* * *

L.T.: Oh, Adar, I have something to ask . . . Adar, what are you typing?

T.O.: Nothing my son, nothing. Just let me minimize . . .

L.T.: Is it a missive to Cousin Celeborn? He has been so morose lately. Let me see . . . Ai! Sweet Elbereth, have you taken leave of your wits?

T.O.: Hold, my son. Your Adar has not taken to writing internet porn without good reason. Do you remember that story on AFF.net in which I was portrayed as an evil buffoon and you . . ?

L.T.: Alas, alas! All too well! I've drunk far too much Dwarven ale of late in an attempt to drive those evil images from my mind, yet it does me no good.

T.O. Neither does the Dorwinion. I fear it will take a prefrontal lobotomy to erase those images from my skull, so I have taken a different tack. I have learned that the Mortals have such a thing as they call the 'parody.' Laughter heals the mind in a way that strong drink does not, and to tell you truth, son, this crapfic must die!

L.T.: Nay, Adar, that would be censorship, and no right-thinking elf favors that! This story must live, so that it might be held up to ridicule and infamy.

T.O.: That's my boy! I like the way you think. As your late grandsire always used to say, don't get mad; get even.

L.T.: Hmm, worked out well for him, didn't it?

T.O.: Hush, my Leaf, and let Adar do his thing.

Chapter Six: Buh Bye, Princess!