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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! This chapter contains a visit to Grandma's and other good fun! 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



Disclaimer: Not my garden. I just play in it. Such pretty flowers -- I shall now pluck the petals from them and feed them to my gerbil.



Chapter Eight: Lothlorien

They passed the borders of Imladris the next morning, and the portion of the escort that had consisted of Elrond's guards peeled away and headed back for home. All but Lord Glorfindel who said he wouldn't miss the rest of the trip for anything.

As soon as they were out of sight, Glorfindel turned to Arwen. "It is time, Sarnwen, to fulfill your oath."

Arwen took a deep breath and swept off her cloak, revealing her simple linen garb and the collar that encircled her neck. Wheeling her horse, she cantered back to the rear of the train, her dark hair flying loose in the breeze.

At the same time, Lalie took off her high collared cloak with a sigh of relief and made tracks forward to ride beside Glorfindel. A murmur of surprise ran through the Mirkwood soldiers of the remaining escort. It was quickly silenced by a look from the Golden Lord.

Morie gave Arwen a sly smile and nodded her head. "Mae govannen, Sarnwen."

"The less you say during the rest of our journey to Lothlorien, the better we will get along, Morie," Arwen said in a tone of voice that matched the stone in her assumed name.

"As you will, fellow courtesan," said Morie and fell silent.

The good weather held, and the party reached the borders of Lorien on the afternoon of the eighth day. "Hold, we shall make camp here tonight and proceed on to Caras Galadhon in the morning," proclaimed Glorfindel, who was somehow under the strange impression that someone had died and made him leader.

One of the Mirkwood guards spoke up. "Why halt now when it is but four hours to Caras Galadhon? I hear tell of a little tavern, The Balrog's Bollocks,* 'neath the tenth Mallorn to the west of the Royal Talan, where the wine is sweet and the company even better. I would disport and rest myself this night, rather than spend it on hard ground in some forsaken mead on the edge of the trees."

"Yes, we could be there by midnight." Glorfindel replied with a thoughtful nod, "But what of our dear Morie? Would you have her arrive like a human whore in the middle of the night to be thrust unrested and unbathed into her dear lord's bed?"

"Manwe tapdancing Sulimo!" the guard muttered, rolling his eyes. "Why not? I see little difference between our Morie and a pleasure woman of the Edain, for all your airy talk of the honor and prestige of the Courtesanship. Save that the adaneth does not wear a collar, may go where she will, and gets a day off now and then."

*Because I want to spend this night with her myself, you Mirkwood git!* hissed Glorfindel, lapsing into Quenya, which of course went right over the head of the Silvan but was quite understandable to Arwen. The guard retired in haste, fearing that the Golden Lord had offered a death threat or perhaps insulted his mother, which would require a response if the Golden Lord should be inspired to translate. He had no wish to get into an altercation with the big Vanya, for this elf had managed to slay a Balrog, after all.

Glorfindel approached Arwen and Morie, who sat amiably eyeing daggers at each other as had been their wont for the past eight days.

Morie rose as he approached and raised her hand to her heart in respect. "Hannon le, hir nin. That was most . . . thoughtful of you."

He smiled warmly. "To do otherwise would have been unfair to you and to the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood. They deserve your full attention, my beauty. As I deserve it tonight."

Morie nodded knowingly as Glorfindel's eyes rested on Arwen. "And how do you fare, Sarnwen?"

"Oh, wonderful! Never better," she replied sardonically. "I'll just go off beyond the nearest tree and leave you and Miss Trustworthiness here to go at it."

"Before you go, Sarnwen, we must go over the procedure for tomorrow," the Golden Lord said. "When the train enters Caras Galadhon tomorrow morning, you and Morie will be at the rear. Bring your hood up to cover your face, if you wish. Morie will ride forward, and you will be joined by the courtesan Celeborn is sending to Mirkwood. After Morie has returned her contract into Lord Celeborn's hand, we will ride out again."

Arwen nodded and went off. She spent the rest of the night trying to get some rest and ignore the giggling, sounds of slapping flesh, and the occasional cries of 'Elbereth!' which drifted from Morie and Glorfindel's direction.

* * *


The familiar sight of the great Mallorns filled Arwen's eyes as they rode through the Golden Wood the next morning. She always had taken such delight in the lambent light and joy of visiting beloved kin. How different today was.

Her grandparents stood waiting at the foot of their Royal Mallorn, tall and grave. Morie rode forward without a parting glance. Glorfindel helped her down from her horse and she knelt before Celeborn. As he held out her contract for his acceptance, Arwen was joined by a new rider, a silver haired elleth, one of the smallest she had ever seen. Her new companion could not have stood above five foot seven at most, and she was correspondingly delicate in appearance.

As Morie rose and was given a kiss on the hand by Celeborn, Arwen felt a presence in her mind and a flash of momentary surprise. She looked over to find herself staring directly into the eyes of Lady Galadriel. Unwilling to be shamed, she fought to keep her mental cry of 'Help me Gramma,' from her conscious thoughts, and even in so doing, she knew she had been unsuccessful.

The answer, inside her mind as clear as a bell, surprised and chastened her. "I see my useless half-blood son-in-law has sent King Thranduil a most royal gift! So be it. Whatever led you to this, my granddaughter, you have done it of your own free will. You have made your bed, now lie in it. Which I imagine you will be doing a lot in the next fifteen years, knowing Thranduil. Namarie, child, and may the Valar protect you."

The ceremonies over, Glorfindel gave the signal and the train pulled out, heading back toward the northern marches of the Wood. As they rode, Arwen could hear the Mirkwood soldier from the night before muttering to himself. "Didn't get a chance to bathe that I could see. And didn't get much rest last night either from the sound of things. Oh, well, maybe I'll get to visit The Balrog's Bollocks next time through . . . "

"I'm Eliene," her new companion said companionably.

"Sarnwen. Courtesan of the House of Elrond," Arwen replied. Each time she said it, it became easier, as her old self slipped farther and farther away. "Mae govannen, Eliene."

"I was head courtesan to Celeborn while Miss Manipulation of the Third Age did her stint in Imladris. Now that she's back, he trades me to Mirkwood rather than taking a few years off my contract as he had promised. Isn't THAT a kick in the pearly whites?"

The cortege rode northward through the beauty of the summer day.

* * *



Dearest Readers: Busy evening tonight! I haven't the time to acknowledge you all separately, so I will say a hearty thanks to all.

Yes, Glorfindel seems to know an awful lot about the intricacies of the Courtesanship. I wonder why? I'd like to distribute individual copies of the Little Black Book, but if I did that, we'd never get any work done, and we all might find out if Arwen truly knows what's in store for her. I prefer to keep it a mystery.

To all who made kind comments about my other WIP 'Legolas Becomes Glorfindel's Butt Buddy and Personal Whipping Boy' -- hannon lle! I do love to write about hot young elves getting their character built.

* * *


T.O.: Stop looking at me like that -- I wouldn't! This is a parody -- get it?

L.T.: I am almost afraid to ask -- do I appear in this tale?

T.O.: You do, but you must trust me. It may not seem so at first, but I treat you far more kindly than I treat myself -- er, King Thranduil. Believe me, my Leaf, no parent likes to see his own child appearing in a porno!

L.T.: It not this entire tale of yours a porno?

T.O.: Aye. And I shall be the one to star in it, as is meet.

L.T.: I have the strength to endure seeing my noble parent star in a porno. But Adar . . . . Grelvish?

T.O.: Alas, my son, it was necessary for verisimilitude. My alias as a Suethor must be maintained. The things we do for our art!

L.T.: *Sigh*

T.O.: *Sigh*


* * *


* The Balrog's Bollocks belong to ajhalluk . I borrow this reference with all due respect and gratitude.

Chapter Nine: Faux Pas