The Dark Star of Gondolin
folder
-Multi-Age › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
15
Views:
7,600
Reviews:
17
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
-Multi-Age › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
15
Views:
7,600
Reviews:
17
Recommended:
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.
4
Title: The Dark Star of Gondolin
Author: Lynsey
Fandom: Lord of the Rings
Chapter: 4/?
Rating: R
Website: Find updates and more at my livejournal first: http://lynsey-schadegg.livejournal.com/ and also read my stories in the Dream Elf Archive: http://swoon.dreamelf.com/viewuser.php?uid=42
Beta: Patricia Pleasant aka slayer9649
Warnings: Underage content (nothing graphic, or even really implied), hermaphrodite
Summary: Durel finds his place in the House of the Flower
A/N: This chapter is an ‘excerpt’ from Durel’s journal. Remember, the Courtesan in my world is vaguely related to the geisha of our world.
I don’t know which Vala smiled upon me in my hour of need, but I owe them so much more than I could ever accumulate in my immortal lifetime. In the two years that I have lived in the House of the Golden Flower, I have never really stopped believing that I was dreaming. However, even in my dreams I am not dumb enough to disregard such a gift.
“What is this gift?” one might ask. The gift of my savior, my Lord, my everything. My Glorfindel. He swooped in like some avenging angel, pulling me from the depths of despair and depravity. He gave me an opportunity, a second chance. He gave me the life of a Courtesan.
Every day, I spend from before dawn until well after dusk with my mentors. I have learned so much in two short years that my mind nearly bursts with knowledge. Simply writing this journal is a tribute to the wonders that my teachers have wrought upon me. I could read a little, and write even less when I first started learning the ways of the Courtesan. Now, I read tomes, larger than my hand with my fingers outstretched, in less than a week. I have learned a little of every subject one can imagine. The only subject they have skipped, thus far, is the one of sex. They say that I am too young, and that I shall have that part of my training later. I asked them how hard it was to spread my legs and lay on a bed that I would need training for it. They laughed and told me that sex could be so much more than that. Sex could be power. I am intrigued, but I will have to wait a few more years until that part of my training begins. Until then, I busy myself learning everything I can in a very short amount of time.
I have learned two languages beside the one I was born using. I am nearly fluent in both. I have learned math. Not just simple, basic math either. Geometry and algebra I am still learning, but my mentors say I have a head for numbers. Which would be why Glorfindel has put me in charge of keeping his accounts. I have learned architecture, history, painting, music, dancing, science, politics, and so much more. Sometimes I fear that information will simply start falling out of my ears should I pack any more inside my mind, yet with each book I devour I yearn for another.
My subjects have not been limited to that of the mind. I mentioned dancing above, and oh, how I have danced! I have learned to dance with fans and scarves. I have learned to dance with partners, or without. Just today, I have started learning how to dance for the pleasure of my benefactor…my Glorfindel. He does not know it yet, as I have no intentions of telling him. He would surely find fault with it, as he has found fault with any of my teachings that deal with anything sexual.
He is so cute when he becomes protective of me. He furrows his brows and speaks in a low, dangerous voice to my antagonists. He is also so innocent in a way. My Lord Glorfindel blushes like virgin when a word with any sexual connotation is uttered. Then, of course, I’m sure he is a virgin or at least extremely chaste. Just by saying the word ‘penis’ he turns a scarlet shade better suited on a rooster and tells me to clean up my mouth. Absolutely adorable. He huddles over me when we are out in public, and I can imagine I hear him growl when someone looks at me in a lustful way.
He nearly caused a riot when some lord or another groped my ass in the city market the other day. Not that I wasn’t asking for it the way I flirted with the old bastard, but Glorfindel would have none of it. He acts as if I were a fragile flower to be shielded from even the smallest gust of wind lest I fall to pieces. Does he not remember where I came from? Does he not remember what I have endured in my rather short life? I often wonder why he bothers. Then he takes me home at night and treats me like royalty, and I tell myself it matters not. I will let him do as he pleases, as I have no room to complain about my new station in life.
Speaking of as he pleases, he pleases himself naught. I have offered my body time and again for his pleasure, and every time he stutters, flushes scarlet, and ignores me the rest of the night. I know it is not that I am not desirable. I’ve changed my mind…he *must* be a virgin. That’s the only explanation. Once as a justification he told me that I was but a child, and ‘twould be a crime for him to take me in passion. If it is such a crime, then I know of dozens of previous customers of mine that should be jailed. But of course, my Lord is such a sweet thing. He probably has high ideals of virginal wedding nights filled with fumbling inexperience. Why he would treat me, a common whore, like a gift of the Valar themselves is still a grand mystery.
Another mystery: why, if he has no plans on my body, do I still sleep in his bed? I have never moved from his rooms since the first day I arrived at the House. I keep my things here, and I even have my own wardrobe set next to his. Every night, I slip into the outrageously expensive sleep-clothes he purchases for me, and I lay on the bed. He comes to me and lays beside me, pulling me gently into his arms until he is spooned behind me. He holds me so sweetly and protectively. I never feel more beautiful, more…loved than in that first moment when my back hits his chest, and he whispers a soft good night into my ear. Sometimes, he puts a chaste kiss on my temple before he pulls me closer for the night. I know more mornings than naught he awakens with an erection; I can feel it pressing into the cleft of my ass as I pretend to sleep. He never takes advantage; he never even allows himself the luxury of pressing his hips into mine. He simply holds me quietly every morning until I pretend to awaken. He presses another little kiss to my temple and whispers his good morning before he is off to the bathing chamber. I lay in that enormous bed, waiting for my turn in the bathroom, contemplating the relationship between my Lord and me. I never find a satisfactory answer before he exits after his morning ablutions.
When I paint my face with the thick white powder and apply the bright red lip rouge, I wonder how he sees me. Nearly everyone looks upon me in a lustful manner with my painted face, perfectly coifed raven hair, and my body hidden from their view behind layers of cloth that hide everything underneath-even gender. I look like nothing more than some mysterious doll come to life when I wear my ‘Courtesan get up’ as I have come to call it. Does he see me as others do? Does he see the glimpse of naked wrist when I pour his tea? Does he see the stripes of naked skin at the back of neck where the painted white lines reveal tantalizing glimpses of dusky flesh?
I think he sees me as I would be had I grown up in his world, this strange world of manners and politics. He sees one of the young ellian in the gardens of the King, with courteous suitors begging short, chaste audiences and virginal white flowers bound in their hair. I am none of this, yet he treats me as such. It is both refreshing and frustrating at the same time. Refreshing for I can pretend for a short time that I am one of those coddled beauties adorning the landscaping like so many pretty flowers. Frustrating, as I, at times, feel suffocated by his constant hovering. I have never had a keeper. I have never had someone who truly worried about my well-being before. I don’t know how to deal with it.
I accompany my Lord to the courts now. I sit at his side and fill his cup when it is empty. Sometimes, I light his pipe if the situation calls for it. I take notes when he asks it of me. When he is having trouble with a particularly obstinate opponent, I distract them when my Lord isn’t paying attention. They quickly loose their train of thought when glimpsing my naked thigh when I let my layers of clothing ride high on my leg. I have learned to crop my under robes short to make this easier. One glimpse of thigh and a wink from my charcoal lined eye, and his opponents are lost. Their point is forgotten for a moment, a moment that Glorfindel can use to his own advantage. I know the King and his Courtesans (my teachers) notice. I get raised eyebrows to which I simply smile and shrug slightly. The King’s Courtesans have now started cropping their under robes short. When I commented, they made a remark about the young teaching the old. Glorfindel is happily oblivious.
It is time to draw this entry to a close, as it is nearly time for Glorfindel to come to this big bed and hold me once again as we sleep. I will thank the Valar many times this night, as I do all nights, before I finally find reverie in the arms of my savior.
Author: Lynsey
Fandom: Lord of the Rings
Chapter: 4/?
Rating: R
Website: Find updates and more at my livejournal first: http://lynsey-schadegg.livejournal.com/ and also read my stories in the Dream Elf Archive: http://swoon.dreamelf.com/viewuser.php?uid=42
Beta: Patricia Pleasant aka slayer9649
Warnings: Underage content (nothing graphic, or even really implied), hermaphrodite
Summary: Durel finds his place in the House of the Flower
A/N: This chapter is an ‘excerpt’ from Durel’s journal. Remember, the Courtesan in my world is vaguely related to the geisha of our world.
I don’t know which Vala smiled upon me in my hour of need, but I owe them so much more than I could ever accumulate in my immortal lifetime. In the two years that I have lived in the House of the Golden Flower, I have never really stopped believing that I was dreaming. However, even in my dreams I am not dumb enough to disregard such a gift.
“What is this gift?” one might ask. The gift of my savior, my Lord, my everything. My Glorfindel. He swooped in like some avenging angel, pulling me from the depths of despair and depravity. He gave me an opportunity, a second chance. He gave me the life of a Courtesan.
Every day, I spend from before dawn until well after dusk with my mentors. I have learned so much in two short years that my mind nearly bursts with knowledge. Simply writing this journal is a tribute to the wonders that my teachers have wrought upon me. I could read a little, and write even less when I first started learning the ways of the Courtesan. Now, I read tomes, larger than my hand with my fingers outstretched, in less than a week. I have learned a little of every subject one can imagine. The only subject they have skipped, thus far, is the one of sex. They say that I am too young, and that I shall have that part of my training later. I asked them how hard it was to spread my legs and lay on a bed that I would need training for it. They laughed and told me that sex could be so much more than that. Sex could be power. I am intrigued, but I will have to wait a few more years until that part of my training begins. Until then, I busy myself learning everything I can in a very short amount of time.
I have learned two languages beside the one I was born using. I am nearly fluent in both. I have learned math. Not just simple, basic math either. Geometry and algebra I am still learning, but my mentors say I have a head for numbers. Which would be why Glorfindel has put me in charge of keeping his accounts. I have learned architecture, history, painting, music, dancing, science, politics, and so much more. Sometimes I fear that information will simply start falling out of my ears should I pack any more inside my mind, yet with each book I devour I yearn for another.
My subjects have not been limited to that of the mind. I mentioned dancing above, and oh, how I have danced! I have learned to dance with fans and scarves. I have learned to dance with partners, or without. Just today, I have started learning how to dance for the pleasure of my benefactor…my Glorfindel. He does not know it yet, as I have no intentions of telling him. He would surely find fault with it, as he has found fault with any of my teachings that deal with anything sexual.
He is so cute when he becomes protective of me. He furrows his brows and speaks in a low, dangerous voice to my antagonists. He is also so innocent in a way. My Lord Glorfindel blushes like virgin when a word with any sexual connotation is uttered. Then, of course, I’m sure he is a virgin or at least extremely chaste. Just by saying the word ‘penis’ he turns a scarlet shade better suited on a rooster and tells me to clean up my mouth. Absolutely adorable. He huddles over me when we are out in public, and I can imagine I hear him growl when someone looks at me in a lustful way.
He nearly caused a riot when some lord or another groped my ass in the city market the other day. Not that I wasn’t asking for it the way I flirted with the old bastard, but Glorfindel would have none of it. He acts as if I were a fragile flower to be shielded from even the smallest gust of wind lest I fall to pieces. Does he not remember where I came from? Does he not remember what I have endured in my rather short life? I often wonder why he bothers. Then he takes me home at night and treats me like royalty, and I tell myself it matters not. I will let him do as he pleases, as I have no room to complain about my new station in life.
Speaking of as he pleases, he pleases himself naught. I have offered my body time and again for his pleasure, and every time he stutters, flushes scarlet, and ignores me the rest of the night. I know it is not that I am not desirable. I’ve changed my mind…he *must* be a virgin. That’s the only explanation. Once as a justification he told me that I was but a child, and ‘twould be a crime for him to take me in passion. If it is such a crime, then I know of dozens of previous customers of mine that should be jailed. But of course, my Lord is such a sweet thing. He probably has high ideals of virginal wedding nights filled with fumbling inexperience. Why he would treat me, a common whore, like a gift of the Valar themselves is still a grand mystery.
Another mystery: why, if he has no plans on my body, do I still sleep in his bed? I have never moved from his rooms since the first day I arrived at the House. I keep my things here, and I even have my own wardrobe set next to his. Every night, I slip into the outrageously expensive sleep-clothes he purchases for me, and I lay on the bed. He comes to me and lays beside me, pulling me gently into his arms until he is spooned behind me. He holds me so sweetly and protectively. I never feel more beautiful, more…loved than in that first moment when my back hits his chest, and he whispers a soft good night into my ear. Sometimes, he puts a chaste kiss on my temple before he pulls me closer for the night. I know more mornings than naught he awakens with an erection; I can feel it pressing into the cleft of my ass as I pretend to sleep. He never takes advantage; he never even allows himself the luxury of pressing his hips into mine. He simply holds me quietly every morning until I pretend to awaken. He presses another little kiss to my temple and whispers his good morning before he is off to the bathing chamber. I lay in that enormous bed, waiting for my turn in the bathroom, contemplating the relationship between my Lord and me. I never find a satisfactory answer before he exits after his morning ablutions.
When I paint my face with the thick white powder and apply the bright red lip rouge, I wonder how he sees me. Nearly everyone looks upon me in a lustful manner with my painted face, perfectly coifed raven hair, and my body hidden from their view behind layers of cloth that hide everything underneath-even gender. I look like nothing more than some mysterious doll come to life when I wear my ‘Courtesan get up’ as I have come to call it. Does he see me as others do? Does he see the glimpse of naked wrist when I pour his tea? Does he see the stripes of naked skin at the back of neck where the painted white lines reveal tantalizing glimpses of dusky flesh?
I think he sees me as I would be had I grown up in his world, this strange world of manners and politics. He sees one of the young ellian in the gardens of the King, with courteous suitors begging short, chaste audiences and virginal white flowers bound in their hair. I am none of this, yet he treats me as such. It is both refreshing and frustrating at the same time. Refreshing for I can pretend for a short time that I am one of those coddled beauties adorning the landscaping like so many pretty flowers. Frustrating, as I, at times, feel suffocated by his constant hovering. I have never had a keeper. I have never had someone who truly worried about my well-being before. I don’t know how to deal with it.
I accompany my Lord to the courts now. I sit at his side and fill his cup when it is empty. Sometimes, I light his pipe if the situation calls for it. I take notes when he asks it of me. When he is having trouble with a particularly obstinate opponent, I distract them when my Lord isn’t paying attention. They quickly loose their train of thought when glimpsing my naked thigh when I let my layers of clothing ride high on my leg. I have learned to crop my under robes short to make this easier. One glimpse of thigh and a wink from my charcoal lined eye, and his opponents are lost. Their point is forgotten for a moment, a moment that Glorfindel can use to his own advantage. I know the King and his Courtesans (my teachers) notice. I get raised eyebrows to which I simply smile and shrug slightly. The King’s Courtesans have now started cropping their under robes short. When I commented, they made a remark about the young teaching the old. Glorfindel is happily oblivious.
It is time to draw this entry to a close, as it is nearly time for Glorfindel to come to this big bed and hold me once again as we sleep. I will thank the Valar many times this night, as I do all nights, before I finally find reverie in the arms of my savior.