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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! Arwen displays her horsewomanship. And some other attributes. 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


Not my garden, I just play in it. So I can go ahead, rip up the sod, and put down Astroturf.

Chapter 17: Farewell To Glory


Arwen shifted comfortably in the strong arms that held her, only slowly becoming aware that sharp fingers were prodding her shoulder. Blinking to clear her eyes, she was startled to find herself looking into the eyes of the Seneschal. The loud snoring at her ear told him that Thranduil was not yet awake and aware. Galion sighed.

"Wake up, you two Horntoads," the butler said briskly. "Lord Glorfindel departs today, and it will be a blessing to us all to see him off, not the least to poor Firdal, who has had no decent rest in three days."

"Mmm, Firdal, "Thranduil muttered sleepily. "You like that, don't you, mellon?"

"Oh, by Yavannah's bounteous tits!" Galion exclaimed and pinched off the Elvenking's nose.

Thranduil awoke with a snort. "Wha . . .? Ai! Good morning, Galion."

"Lord Glorfindel. The bridge. Half an hour hence," said the Seneschal before stalking off.

* * *



"Be well, Sarnwen" said the Golden Lord as they all bade him farewell at the end of the stone bridge. "Perhaps upon my next visit you may grant me recompense for all I have done for you."

"Aye, truly. When I have deemed what 'all that' might have been," Arwen said softly.

"Yes, have a safe trip home, O Mighty Balrog Slayer!" intoned Thranduil. "If you make it safely through the orc infested pass, you may always return the same way to have a crack at my pretty toy next year. You might get lucky. Or not."

"Bye, Glory," waved Firdal sleepily. "Me and the Balrog will miss you. Not to mention Elrond. *cough*"

The Golden Lord narrowed his eyes and galloped off down the Elf Path.

"Okey-doke, let's all go get some chow,' Thranduil said brightly.

* * *


Two hours later, Arwen made her way to the Great Gate. She had been hard pressed to sew herself a pair of trousers that would fit King Thranduil's decree, but as she strode down the stone halls and saw the gapes of the elves she passed, she knew she had been successful. She was bare to the waist, her long dark tresses covering her firm breasts. Her leggings were tight. So tight that she heard mutterings as she walked. The word she heard uttered was of Easterling derivation and it referred to the split pads of a two humped beast of burden they called a dromedary.

As Arwen left the cave, she was not surprised to find a few other elves assembled and waiting at the other end of the bridge, amongst them Prince Legolas, astride his grey horse, his expression nothing short of pained. His voice was curt, "Courtesan. Your horse awaits you."

Arwen beheld a black mare standing ready, her glossy bare back shining like satin. She went and gave the horse a pat on the nose in friendly greeting, trying to ignore the dagger sharp stare of the prince boring into her back. She knew the other glances were most appreciative of her pulchritude. Glavras went so far as to let out a soft whistle, and was silenced by a swift glare from Legolas.

"Her name is Divan," Glavras told her. "King Thranduil was most insistent that she be your mount for today."

Arwen looked the mare in the eye. 'Do we have something in common, my dear?' she thought. The horse snorted loudly and broke wind. 'I guess not,' Arwen concluded hastily.

"Ah, a most beautiful sight!" boomed Thranduil, appearing in forest green riding clothes. "Two lovely and willing mounts." Arwen felt the king's eyes sweep over her as she heard Legolas stifle a sniff of disgust.

"A gracious good morning to you, Adar," the prince said, his voice carefully formal.

"Good day, my son. Is all made ready?"

"Indeed. We shall follow the river to the eastern edge of the wood and then circle round to the south." He made a gesture to those around him. "Mount up!"

Arwen made as if to spring onto Divan's broad back, but Thranduil grabbed her by the waist and placed her atop the horse. "Here," he said, reaching up to brush her long black hair back over her shoulders, "I like it better this way." Arwen's breasts, which had been concealed by her long tresses were now left bare for all to see. Grinning wickedly, the Elvenking swung himself aboard his huge bay charger, and the small group trotted off.

Legolas was in the lead, his face carefully impassive. "Would not a walk or perhaps a leisurely canter be a more comfortable pace, Adar?" he ventured tightly,

"Nay, my son, this pace suits me just fine," said Thranduil, and the other elves in the party murmured their enthusiastic agreement as Arwen's breasts bobbed gaily. "In fact . . . Sarnwen, bring your horse forward and ride just behind the prince," he ordered. "I cannot see you properly back there. Why should Master Glavras and the lads get the best view?"

Obediently, she urged her horse forward. The Lady Arwen Undomiel would have been mortified to be paraded half naked for a bunch of leering Wood-elves, but Sarnwen the courtesan was secretly enjoying strutting her stuff.

"Hmmm," Thranduil mused. "I am almost regretting my earlier magnanimity. The view would have been so much more stimulating from back here were you not wearing those trousers. Maybe next time we can throw a blanket over the horse . . ." There was more happy murmuring from the other Mirkwood warriors.

She looked daggers at the back of the prince's blond head. He was doing his best not to look back. She was beginning to think that Eliene was right and that the son of the king was not a fan of the fairer sex. But she did not allow this to dampen her spirits as they made their way along the river.

At that moment, a Mirkwood mosquito the size of a craban alighted on her left breast and gave her a vicious bite. "Ai! That's going to leave a mark!" she squealed, swatting it away desperately.

Thranduil snickered, and Legolas muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "Clothing in Mirkwood serves a purpose." Arwen's spirits were dampened now. And then it began to rain.

* * *


Bada-bing!

Some chapters write themselves. Some need help. Some chapters, indeed, entire stories, ought to be taken out and burned. But this has never stopped me.

Faithful Servant: Better?
Double Trouble: Nothing to write home about this time, I fear. But I hope you liked our bare--breasted courtesan.
White Lady: You're still here! Yes, we'd like to have a naked Arwen doing just about anything. No, it wouldn't have chafed. The coat of a well-groomed horse against bare flesh is actually quite comfortable. I see you and I both know what I mean! *wink*
Denny: Sorry I fell down on the smut quotient this week. This is not like me. Perhaps I need to take some vitamins. Fear not -- it will be remedied soon, and beyond your wildest dreams!
Lady Abendstern: You have the cutest pout! Too bad it doesn't work on me. (Well, it DOES, but that's another story) Do not worry, it will be explained sooner, or later, or perhaps never . . .
Artanis: Yes, we all want to see some Legolas/Arwen action. Will I or won't I? You could always go look in that birdbath of yours.
Don: Tedious? You think the sex scenes are tedious? Just hold onto your hat, because I'm about to 'escalate' the action. About your questions, I have about ten more chapters to go in this charming and innocent tale, but I don't like to box myself in with anything like a plot or logical planning. Cheeky elves -- just won't behave for me the way I'd like, but you might know a thing or two about that yourself. And what in the name of Iluvatar's Holy Light has gotten into all of us? I've already dropped a hint a few chapters back, but sometimes I can be just too darned subtle for my own good. Now, please, put away the eraser. :D

* * *


L.T.: Divan? What the Thangorodrim kind of name is that for a horse?

T.O.: It is an ancient Doriathrin term meaning, 'She whose well-padded back is as comfortable as a settee.' I would not have expected you to understand that obscure Sindarin dialect.

L.T.: Yeah . . . right. It makes as much sense as some of the other 'elf' names in this . . . masterpiece.

T.O.: Some of the elf names are actual Sindarin derivations, and you may recognise them as elves of our own realm, who are no doubt thrilled and honored to be appearing in this tale. The others have been changed to protect the innocent and to cover my own sweet royal behind against charges of plagiarism.

L.T.: You have been portrayed in fanfiction as indulging in every sexual peccadillo known to mankind, elfkind and orckind, Adar, but 'plagiarism' is a new one for me!

T.O.: Hmmm . . . you have a fine, dry wit, my son. Your grandsire would be proud. Now, on to a chapter of which no member of our family would be proud.


TBC in Chapter Eighteen: Conflict With Sanity and Good Taste