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Fifteen Years	By : Ertia Category: -Multi-Age > Het - Male/Female Views: 14168 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
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Not my garden, I just play in it. Ah, but isn't it full of such lovely flowers to play with? Flowers... and Balrog Slayers. I especially like that bit...
Fifteen Years

Chapter 7 - Becoming Courtesan
Glorfindel led them through the Greenwood. Beside him, Prince Legolas rode cloaked and silent, his bow across his back. Behind them, the ten warriors he had selected for the escort surrounded Mirie and the other, their laughter sweet on the hard blowing spring winds.

Smoothly, Glorfindel wheeled about and rode back. "I'm well aware of the distracting charms of our companions," He snapped, "But I do wish to reach Imladris alive. Let us not forget out duties."
There was a shifting of the guard, and they spread out, keeping the Mirie and Hereval at the center, their attention turned back to the alert for danger. Satisfied, Glorfindel rode back to Legolas' side.
"We'll make Imladris in a week, if we keep the pace." He said conversationally.
When Legolas didn't respond, Glorfindel glanced over. The Prince rode tall and straight in the saddle, his eyes forward. "Prince?" Glorfindel asked.
"Yes?" Legolas turned to meet his eyes, "I am sorry, My Lord. What were you saying?"
Glorfindel repeated his earlier words and Legolas agreed. They discussed briefly where to stop for the night, and then fell into silence, but Glorfindel watched the handsome prince closely as they rode on.

Though the ride had started out well enough, Legolas was growing increasingly distressed. What had started as a small irritation where the collar rubbed the burn on his neck had slowly spread, an itching, burning sensation that soon encompassed his throat. At first, he tried simply ignoring it. But the sensation grew. He tried casually turning his head this way and that so that the collar rubbed the burning itch and eased it. But it wasn't enough.
Soon, Legolas was in serious discomfort. Mirie's words came back to him, "some are ill for weeks". Weeks? Could he survive this for weeks? The temptation was to reach up and yank the collar from his throat, to use his knife to pry apart the careful welds and tear the metal away from his burning skin.
Tears began to sting behind his eyes, even as he reminded himself that he was a Prince and was strong enough to manage anything. A voice whispered in the back of his mind, 'But you aren't a prince anymore. You're just a slave, with a collar around your neck. Just a splendid gilded toy for powerful lords and rich ladies to play with. That is all you are now.'
He tried to tell the voice to be silent, that he knew very well who he was. What he was. He glanced at Lord Glorfindel, who was riding beside him, his golden braids bouncing with the stride of his horse, his strong legs moving in rhythm of the ride. 'Powerful lords, like the Seneschal of Imladris.' the voice whispered still and Legolas flushed, nudging his horse forward.
"Come, Lord Glorfindel, our campsite is just ahead."

They had dismounted, the guards coming forward to take their horses and allow them to stretch and relax, as much as Legolas could without displacing his cloak and with the terrible rash beneath his collar. He sank down against a tree trunk, dropping his head against the panic he was beginning to feel.
"Legolas, I saw the track of pheasant behind us. Shall we slip back and see about some fresh bird for dinner?" Lord Glorfindel was standing before him, the rays of the westering sun glinting through his hair as he lightly swung a leather sling in one hand.
Pushing himself to his feet, Legolas nodded carefully. Perhaps he could find an excuse to stay out a bit longer and drop his subterfuge for a short time. Following the warrior through the trees, he watched carefully for pheasant sign in the low underbrush. They were some way from the others when Glorfindel held up his hand and gestured.
Legolas moved smoothly, hearing the light rustle of the ground birds as they hunted for bugs on the forest floor. At Glorfindel's nod, he rushed forward, frighting them from their hiding place. In a movement too quick for even Legolas' keen eyes to follow, Glorfindel's sling swung once, released, dropped and swung again. A loud squawk signaled a miss, and he spun again, this time the stone meeting its mark.
"Well hunted, my lord!" Legolas exclaimed, his misery falling away for a brief moment as he admired the golden warriors skill.
"Hannon le, Legolas." Glorfindel raised the brace of pheasant, tying their legs together with a loop of his sling. He returned to Legolas' side and then gestured with a nod of his head. "Come, there is something I would show you."
Legolas gave him a puzzled frown but moved back as he passed and then followed him into the wood. When they reached a small mossy clearing, where a burbling spring flowed, Glorfindel stopped and paused, head tilted and eyes closed as though listening.
Legolas listened as well, and when nothing out of the ordinary reached his ears, whispered, "What is it?"

Glorfindel's blue eyes opened and he gave Legolas a sharp look. "There is no one about, Legolas. Open your cloak."
Legolas stepped back instinctively, his face flushing with heat. He knew that he would soon have to reveal himself to his traveling companions, but had the great lord perceived his deception? "Why, my lord?"
With a swift movement, Glorfindel's hand flashed out, unhooked the clasp and shoved the cloak away from Legolas' shoulders, letting it slide to the forest floor. Legolas gasped as he stood exposed in his plain garb and the burning collar at his throat. Acutely aware of the crystal gaze that studied him, Legolas found himself dropping his hands to his sides, his eyes averted into the green of the forest.
The legendary warrior sighed heavily. "Then it is as I suspected."
Legolas turned his head away, ashamed. The voice that had whispered the word 'slave' within his head all day crowed in some kind of triumph, while the voice of the Prince that had denied it slipped further into the background. Strong fingers caught his jaw and raised his head.
"None of that, Legolas. Look at me." Glorfindel's voice was firm, but not sharp. "I know not what brought you to the Courtesanship, but it was well done. You've nothing to be ashamed of."
Legolas looked at him at last, and felt his mouth fall open. The Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, the one in the little blue book he'd found in the library, was standing before him; a curious mix of courage and compassion and cruelty. The fingers on his jaw tilted his head up and turned it this way and that, and Legolas allowed it, unable to protest.
"This is recent. No more than this morning, or I miss my mark?" Glorfindel asked, yet he knew the answer even without Legolas' slight nod. "Does it burn? Or does it itch?"
"Both." Legolas admitted in a voice that sounded more distressed to his ears than he would like to admit, his head craned back by the warriors hand as he inspected the rash.
Glorfindel stepped back, at least releasing his jaw as he gazed appraisingly at the former prince. "Will you trust me, Legolas?"
"Do I have a choice?" Legolas asked aloud, then seeing Glorfindel's sympathetic smile, shook his head. Although his heart thudded in his chest, he said softly, "I will trust you."
His reward was a radiant smile that warmed his entire being. "Then remove your boots and trousers and lie down."
Legolas jerked back. "Here?"
"We are not elsewhere, Courtesan." Glorfindel replied, his voice gentle in spite of the unmistakable order, crossing his arms as he waited.
Extremely self-conscious, Legolas hesitantly stripped off his soft leather boots and the tan coloured linen trousers. He was no stranger to sex, certainly, and it was not modesty that made him look away from the crystalline eyes that watched him. Something inside him quailed at what was to come. Somehow, he managed to glance at Glorfindel, a tremor finding it's way into his voice. "And my tunic, my lord?"
"That will not be necessary." Glorfindel replied, watching the new courtesan closely as he gracefully lowered himself to sit on the cloak. "Lie down."
Legolas complied, watching with suspicious eyes as the golden lord moved to kneel beside him.
"Close your eyes, Courtesan." Glorfindel instructed in an even voice. "Tell me. What is your name?"
Legolas' eyes shot open and he stared at him. What sort of question was that? Lord Glorfindel knew very well who he was! He was Legolas, Prince... his thoughts froze and slowly reversed as he realized what the lord meant. Swallowing and wincing as his tormented skin brushed the collar he mumbled, "Sarnlass."
"Close your eyes." Glorfindel repeated, waiting for Legolas to obey before he nodded, appreciating the meaning of the name. His voice soft, he prodded, "Sarnlass, Courtesan to the House of Thranduil?"
"Aye, Sarnlass, Courtesan to the House of Thranduil." Legolas felt his new name and title come easier to his lips after hearing it spoken aloud by the golden lord at his side. With his eyes closed, he could sense Glorfindel's presence and strength, a balm and a thorn together at the same time. He started when a firm hand landed on his bare thigh, squeezing lightly to still his movement.
"You must learn to surrender, Sarnlass, Courtesan to the House of Thranduil." The hand stroked broad circles across the fine muscles before sliding further up his thigh as Glorfindel continued to speak in a calm tone. "This I can teach you. Tell me your name?"
"Sarnlass, Courtesan to the House of Thranduil." Legolas trembled with the effort not to move away from the stroking hand that now reached the top of his thigh and slid down to delicately stroke the top of his testicles.
"And what is your oath, Sarnlass, Courtesan to the House of Thranduil?" Glorfindel asked softly, sliding his fingers more firmly, feeling the smooth skin twitch beneath his fingers.
"To ...to...offer comfort, succor, care and compliance to the House of Thranduil and all to whom his will commands me." Legolas managed to get the words out as the hand pressed down, separating his thighs and moving them apart. As a reward for completing the oath, the fine fingers slid back up to his tender sac, kneading it gently.
"Try it again." The command came low and reasonably, almost as though they were on the training field and Glorfindel was showing him a new sword-stroke.

"My oath..." Legolas paused as the fingers squeezed gently and he felt himself growing hard. Swallowing, he tried to calm himself, breathing deep of the moss-and-musk scented forest air. Unfortunately, this also brought the cedar and salt scent of Glorfindel to his senses, deepening his arousal. "I.."
"Your oath, Sarnlass." The fingers stilled and waited.
"My oath is to offer comfort, succor, care and compliance to the House of Thranduil and all to whom his will commands me." Legolas said more boldly, desperate for the movement of those strong fingers to start again.
"And to whom does his will command you, Sarnlass?" Glorfindel asked as he concentrated and focused the movements of his fingers. Slowly, he moved them up to circle the flesh that sprang erect beneath their movements, lightly teasing as he waited patiently for Legolas to answer. Moments passed, and Legolas moaned, the question slipping further from his mind. Glorfindel prompted him softly, "Sarnlass? To whom does his will command you?"
"To the House of Galadriel of Lothlorien." Legolas gasped out, his hips bucking up, trying to increase the contact with Glorfindel's seeking fingers.
"Yes, To Galadriel of Lothlorien." Glorfindel rewarded him with a few firmer strokes, only to return to teasing his fingers lightly over the smooth head. "And who are you to the Lady Galadriel of Lothlorien?"
"I am Sarnlass!" Legolas ground out in frustration, tossing his head, the collar rubbing a heated flare across his skin. He started to blink his eyes open.
"Keep your eyes closed." Glorfindel reminded him with a firm command, as he smoothly deepened his touch, "Tell me again, who are you to the Lady Galadriel?"

Legolas tried to form the answer in his mind and bring it to his lips, but he had had no release in over a week and felt any control he may have had slipping away from him under the Seneschal's skilled hand. He felt the flush of his arousal sweep through him and tried to roll closer to Glorfindel, who suddenly froze, denying him the touch he craved. Somehow, Legolas found the words and moaned, "Sarnlass, Courtesan of the House of Thranduil."
"And who, Sarnlass, are you to me?" Glorfindel asked, shifting position to press one hand to Legolas' chest, effectively pinning him down as the other hand began to work with a steadily rhythmic purpose.
"I am Sarnlass, my lord." Legolas felt tears threaten as the sensations rose. The collar seared at his throat. Glorfindel's hand pressed on his chest, over his heart, holding him still as he sought to thrust into the other hand that was searing his flesh in an entirely different way.
When Glorfindel felt the inexperienced Courtesan began to shudder, and saw the eyes squinched tightly against the threatening tears, he increased his strokes, and commanded lightly, "Who are you now?"

The tears overflowed. "I am Sarnlass, your courtesan."
A stronger touch, a more frenetic pace. "And what is your oath?"
"Comfort, succor, care and compliance..." Legolas squirmed, his breath rasping in his throat."To you, my lord."

Legolas jerked as the hand that had pressed to his chest left him, and his lips were captured a powerful dominating kiss. The scent of Glorfindel surrounded him, and he felt something within him shift, fall, and shatter. In a flash of burning need, welling release, and pure white power, Legolas felt himself surrender thoroughly. The prince and slave merged as one beneath the awesome strength that was Lord Glorfindel. His seed streamed from him into Glorfindel's hand as his body collapsed utterly, and his tears finally fell.
Glorfindel drew back, releasing the soft mouth with a final teasing lick to the slack lips. As he cupped Legolas' seed in his hand, he raised the other hand to stroke away the tears that ran down his temples and into the sunshine yellow hair. "There. You see. It is not so hard to become the elf you chose to be."
He paused a second, then lightly commanded, "Tilt your head back."
Legolas did as he was told, the raw emotional state he was in allowing nothing but complete trust. Gentle fingers stroked around the top of the collar, smearing his own fluids across the burning rash. Nearly immediately, it began to ease, and he breathed a sigh of relief, opening his eyes at last to look up at the lord who sat beside him.
The Balrog Slayer tenderly soothed the rash, a serious expression on his face. When he noticed Legolas' eyes on him, he gave him a slight wink. "There. It's sticky, and you'll smell of sex, but it is effective." Glorfindel finished and sat back. "Besides, nothing smells better on a courtesan than sex."
Legolas found himself smiling in return, even as he moved to dash the tears from his eyes. He rolled to his side and propped himself on one elbow. "Perhaps you only believe that, my lord, because you have never had the pleasure of the rose scent that Mirie wears in her hair."
Glorfindel's laugh rang across the little clearing, startling a small blackbird into flight. "Oh, but I have had that pleasure, Sarnlass. And truthfully, I like it better when she smells of sex."
Legolas laughed as well, then sobered, Mirie's lessons returning to him. "And for you my lord? May I offer you succor this day?"
Glorfindel smiled in approval as he rose, but shook his head. "Nay, not today. You have much to think on. Rest here in the glade awhile." Then he considered seriously for a moment. "Tomorrow we leave the borders of Lasgalen, and your physical cloak shall come away much as your emotional ones have. You must be prepared, Sarnlass."
Legolas nodded soberly as he reached for his trousers. Remembering his manners, he spoke formally, "Hannon le, hir nin."
"You will make it up to me, Sarnlass, I have no doubt." Glorfindel wiped his fingers in the damp moss before scooping up the brace of pheasant and hanging them from his belt. He gave a thoughtful smile as he turned away. "Tonight, however, I believe I owe Mirie further discussion on the size and power of the fonts of Imladris."
Legolas paused, then called after him. "My lord, if I may be so bold?"
Glorfindel paused and looked back. "Yes?"
"Who was Toress?"
Glorfindel blinked in astonishment and then laughed again. "Valar take Toress and his little blue book!"
Legolas shook his head in amusement at the great lord's reaction. "They will take Toress, I think, but I doubt they want anything to do with his book."
Glorfindel's answering laughter could be heard echoing back through the trees as he walked away. Legolas dressed, then lay back on his cloak, his mind replaying the past hour for him to contemplate.

Ta Da!
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heh heh. And that's all the answer yer gonna get as far as the 'little blue book'...in this story anyway. ;)
Special thanks to my readers, as always!

Emmess: Darling, you'll have to take up borrowing that certain Courtesan with the Lord and Lady... somehow I think they won't mind. ;)

Sagi: Thanks for reading! And I'm glad you're enjoying!

Tuxedo Elf: Glad you liked the last chapter! Hope this one works as well! :) We'll meet Mirie again before the story ends, I promise. She's having her own adventures in Imladris and we wouldn't want to take her away from that, now would we?

Soda: Here it is! Hope it's worth the wait! :)

Thanks all!
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Fifteen Years