Chapter title: Bears & Honey (Mature)
Medli - Singular noun bear, (lit.) honey-eater
It was another sleepless night. The thoughts of running a kingdom sat heavy on Éomer's mind. It had been a long couple years of rebuilding. New housing had been built. Crops had been resown or acquired by trade with Gondor and her provinces. Petitions and trade agreements had to be finalized. He and his men had worked hard to safe keep their lands from bands of hungry orcs that wandered aimlessly since the Sauron's demise. And even more, protection had been needed from bands of roving lawless men, who stole and pillaged. Despite the hardships and lack of resources, his people had survived through cold winters and rainy springs. There was still much to do before peace would return completely, but these past few years of hard work was finally paying off.
Éomer knew that he had been pushing too hard lately. His muscles screamed by the day's end, joints cracking in stiffness, and a grimace upon his face instead of a smile. A hard day's work usually allowed him a deep sleep, but tonight he was restless. He had come to bed with hopes of sleeping, but had yet to find safe paths into his dreams.
He turned on his side, trying once again to find a comfortable position in the large bed. He looked over at his wife, admiring the peaceful look on her face as she slept. She was truly beautiful. Her long black hair fanned across the pillow, her delicate lips slightly open as she slumbered. He had already partaken of her feminine distractions earlier that night. Maybe he should rouse her again for another round. Would that be enough to help him sleep tonight?
He turned on his back, sighing heavily. Vigorous bed activities were not likely to drive him to sleep. He conceded that his body was already tired, but his mind would not settle. He had heard of this restlessness from others, when the cares and concerns of the world would drive them to sleepless nights and becoming shades during the day. He had never experienced it during his time as Third Marshall, but it was now a common occurrence after he became a king.
Obtaining a wife had helped for awhile. Lengthy months of long distance courtship had kept him busy, writing letters, daydreaming of her kisses. There had been hundreds of decisions to be made at the time with letters flying back and forth between Edoras and Dol Amroth. He truly missed the busyness of being engaged. There had been meetings to plan other meetings. They had needed to make decisions about the betrothal, the wedding, the coronation. Food needed to be arranged for the feasts, mead need to be made for the celebrations. They cleaned and made repairs to the golden hall. For the wedding, they had hosted guests from near and far, friends and heroes from the war, even a delegation of elves.
The newness of sharing his life with another person had helped ease his sleepless nights for awhile as well. He had enjoyed the constant companionship with his wife. Learning who she was, her tastes, her skills, her desires. Oh, their physical activities were nothing short of amazing. She fit so well in his life, in his house, and in his arms. He loved it all.
He couldn't believe it when he started to experience the sleeplessness once more. He had hidden it from his wife and advisors. Only the night guards and his loyal steed, Firefoot, had known of his returned restlessness. He often stole down to the stables, rising ahead of the sun to beat the stable hands to grooming his steed.
He turned onto his side once more, taking a deep and noisy breath of air. Could it be so hard to quiet his mind?
"Éomer, are you well?" His wife asked sleepily, blinking her eyes open in the dim firelight.
He sighed, apologizing quietly. He knew his luck of hiding this from her had just run out. "My mind is restless, but my body yearns for sleep. I cannot seem to find rest yet this night, min gastlufu - my soul's love".
Lothíriel reached out to touch his arm, gently raising it so she could slip against him and cuddle into his warmth. "Can I help, hervenn - husband? I can listen or fetch some warm drink?" She wrapped an arm across his stomach. "I would like to help in any way I can, thalionen - my champion."
He was unsure as to what could help. Counting horses leaping across logs had not helped, a remedy taught to him by his cousin Theodred many years ago, but neither had reciting lineages, something he had often heard his uncle do when settling into sleep during war campaigns. Maybe hearing his sweet wife's voice would work.
"Would you tell me a story, gled-gemod - flame of my heart? Something cheerful that drives away my worries?"
She moved against him, pressing closer before answering. "Of course, meleth nin - my love."
What kind of story would she pick, Éomer wondered. One from her days here in the Riddermark? A tale from the elves? Maybe something from her youth?
"I have been thinking lately about my time preparing for the queenship before our marriage. It was so very different from the time spent in my lessons in my youth. Did you have tutors growing up here with your Uncle? Only I did all the time, both in Dol Amroth and in Minas Tirith. They followed me everywhere for years! There were tutors for everything. I had laws to learn, court rules and dancing to perfect, singing and archery to master, all the while running my father's house.
"As you know, I excelled at most everything and my brothers were quick to tease me at the speed that I learned. Although, I quickly learned that they all excelled in one particular subject and it drove me wild that I could not best them."
"Weaponry?" He teased.
She slapped his arm lightly. "A jest at the skill of the Princess of Dol Amroth! You have seen me beat Amrothos at throwing and archery. No, father made sure we all knew some weapon and I mastered mine quickly.
"You will be surprised to hear this, because they are so unskilled in your own language, but my brothers were very skilled in speaking Sindarin. And I hated learning it when I was younger! It was all lengthy vocabulary lists, filled with useless words, and horrendous rules that never made sense! Ego! (Be gone!) To Mordor with those lessons!"
He quirked his eyebrow. She was right, that did not sound like her at all. She seemed to grasp rohirric well enough over the past few months. His advisors had been thrilled to have a queen who spoke the language of the people.
"That does not sound like you, Loth. You have an excellent grasp of our language, while being here only a short time. And I seem to remember a comment or two praising your sindarin from Legolas."
Lothíriel nodded her head. "Yes, but that only came after years of hard work and much embarrassment. You see, we only spoke Sindarin at court in Minas Tirith and with my uncle and cousins. And in Dol Amroth, we only used it for the festivals and high ceremonies. But of course, we also used it for making jokes and concealing secrets. The problem was that my brothers had several years on me and for a long time their vocabulary was twice as vast as mine. Especially when using less courteous words and twisting the meanings of words for jokes and banter.
"My brothers and you as well," she poked him in the side, "had excuses enough to learn and use bad words. I did not. My tutors were always so proper and I learned words only becoming a princess, the highest royal of the land. I was sheltered to only know certain topics for polite company. I could prattle endlessly about the weather. I knew twenty different ways to say 'Yes, my lord', but never the verbs to caress or to make love."
Éomer smirked. "I know those words in many tongues. Shall I prove it, min cwen - my queen? Would you enjoy being under my tutelage?" He gave a tug at the sheets that hid her body, a salacious grin on his face as he admired her newly uncovered form in the moonlight. He could make out one or two blemishes on her skin after they love making earlier in the night. Maybe a second round in bed would quiet his mind after all.
She laughed, a teasing smile on her face in return. "You have been a most excellent tutor in the language of love. I think it was the easiest language to learn and the most pleasurable to speak." Pushing him back on the bed, she straddled his waist. Her legs falling on either side of his hips. She leaned down to kiss him.
"My body now knows those words, hir nin - my lord. Maybe you would like a demonstration while I continue my story?"
Éomer started caressing her body with his hands, enjoying her smooth skin against his rough fingers. "You can keep me entertained in both aspects at once, min cymu - my lovely? I must thank your tutors for the skill."
Lothíriel rolled her hips against him a few times, starting to feel him harden under her. "Practice makes perfect and I always think one should keep skills perfect." She caressed his upper body, running her fingers up and down his chest, brushing against old scars, dancing along his skin.
She continued, speaking softly. "I remember once that I had lost patience with a certain lesson on court manners. The lesson was really for Amrothos, who regularly sat with me, being young enough still. He had thrown a fork during dinner the previous night and thus subjected us to the torturous lesson. He was frustrated with the reprimand, so he decided to pick another fight. He started by calling me a gwilwilethig, a little butterfly..."
She trailed off for a second, glancing at him curiously, "Did you know that one?" He shook his head, his sindarin was a little rusty, mostly used for the most formal encounters with Gondor.
"Amos continued saying further that while I was pretty now and would be beautiful later in life, like unto the transition of a gwilwilethig, but I would serve no other purpose than to be admired and then gobbled by the lhingrilath and caborath, his names for the other women of the court, spiders who lurked in shadows and frogs that croaked gossip.
"I returned the insult by calling him a lirulin, meaning a lark, only worse at singing and more simple minded, childlike in his pleasures, eating slimy worms and bugs. He then called me castor, a beaver, with humongous front teeth and filled with timid thoughts, knowing no other pleasures than eating wood and hiding in water. I said something back, I cannot recall what, but after that he implied I was fat!"
Éomer started laughing uncontrollably. He could see it as she spoke. Her brother, Amos, gesturing wildly, and Lothíriel's mouth tight in anger, a hundred words on her tongue, trying to find the one that would hit deep, both yelling back and forth. He knew that the siblings often bantered words when together, regardless of location or audience. It had happened during their courtship, at dinners in the great hall of Minas Tirith, and while traveling on the road and sea.
"What a thing to say to a young lady." Éomer teased gently. "Not to worry, Loth, he was very wrong. Yes, you are beautiful, slender yet curved at the right places and very becoming," he paused to touch her, stroking her from shoulder to hip, running along those curves.
He continued, "And also, you have more uses and responsibility than your brother will ever know! It is a hard thing for a brother to realize that his younger sister will surpass him in wisdom, beauty, and lordship." He paused thinking about his words. His sister had done the same, surpassed him in wisdom and courage. He wondered how Éowyn was doing in that moment. She had just given birth several weeks ago to a healthy boy. Did she know that he loved her? When was the last time he hugged her? When would be the next time they could exchange words and carefree banter?
He looked up at his wife. Her gaze was full of love and understanding. She knew the direction of his sudden thoughts and she kissed him gently, "We will see her soon enough. All the plans are made to travel, we just need to wait for the snow to clear a little more. Patience, hervenn - husband."
Éomer nodded slowly and breathed deep to let go of his concerns. Focusing back on his wife, he ran his hands up her legs, "Shall I call out your brother when we meet again? I cannot imagine he was sufficiently punished for his ill words."
Giggling at the image of Éomer beating Amos in swordplay or better yet on horseback, she shook her head. "If you wish, belegron - mighty one. It is always diverting to watch you best one of my brothers. But let me confirm that in this case, yes, he was punished. We both were.
"You see, our voices were raised and heated from the start. The tutor started yelling at us as well. She could not stand our youthful bickering. Unfortunately, the room we occupied in the citadel was next to another court chamber, in which Erchirion and my cousin Boromir were leading a meeting about skirmishes with the corsairs. Both had come running in concern, not hearing the words but only the raised voices. When they burst into the room, Amos had been in the middle of throwing his writing utensils." She shook her head and laughed at the memory. He had eventually learned to stop throwing items around.
She continued, "Two of his quills hit Erchirion, one in the chest and the other in the face, black ink spreading down his fancy tunic and also running across his cheek. He sputtered as ink got in his mouth. It was an amusing sight!" Éomer snickered knowing how much Erchirion would have hated being splashed with ink.
"Amos then quipped at him, calling him a morolingwe, a squid, with ink running all over, but made a twist to his next words, implying he was amazed that Erchirion had ink at all left to give after a night at the tavern."
Lothíriel stopped, a quick blush appearing. Éomer reached up to cup a cheek in his hand. His eyes trailing the blush down her body. She was still so innocent and pure. Oh, he had enjoyed awakening her body during these past months, teaching her how to reach that wondrous peak of pleasure, showing her how he reached his. He knew that this blush was for him and he knew that she now understood the meaning, for she had drained him dry of ink a few times.
"Erchi caught on quickly, his temper fast and quick, he hated interruptions and even more when his actions were spread for gossip. He named Amos a pieg, a mosquito, buzzing around in annoyance, a gossip that could only achieve pleasure when a female was in control." She blushed again after saying that out loud, but continued the story.
"The tutor was shocked and fainted into my arms. I started to buckle immediately under the strain and suddenly found Boromir's arms around me, trying to keep us from tumbling to the floor. Erchi grabbed at the tutor, taking her from me, and setting her on the ground.
"Once more, Amos put his foot in his mouth. Seeing me enveloped in arms and not realizing it was Boromir, he called this person a medli, a bear, cuddling me to his chest and taking advantage of my innocent ways. He gestured to the man's hands, which were too free in their placement on my body, and he continued saying that he should fight his man before he could taste my lís - honey."
Éomer went still, his eyes narrowed. "And where exactly did your cousin have his hands, wife?"
She blushed hot red and it spread all the way from her face to her exposed stomach. She hesitated for just a second, then picked up one of his hands and placed it right under one of her breasts. He could feel the softness of it brushing against his thumb and he watched as her nipple tightened at the closeness of his hand.
She brought his other hand down to rest right above that most perfect of places. He felt her muscles quake briefly under his hand. He was close enough to slide his finger just a little lower to touch that little button of pleasure, an action he knew that would make her moan and rock against him.
He suddenly looked up at her realizing the implications. His hands shook slightly in anger. "He touched you here?!"
His wife took in a deep breath, putting her hands over his to soothe him, and spoke quickly. "No, well yes, but no. Not deliberately. Boromir removed his hands as soon as he realized."
She had stopped as he took a deep breath. She wondered briefly if she should continue with the rest after seeing the concern on his face. She continued slowly. "He was holding me up, and when he let go so suddenly, I spun around to see who it was, unfortunately I was unbalanced from the quick action and fell against him. He was still recovering from suddenly pulling away and had not expected my weight against him so soon. He fell backwards and I fell with him."
Éomer released a quick breath, the air noisy rushing out from his lungs. Was there more to this encounter? He raised an eyebrow. "Dare I ask what happened next, lufestre - lover?"
She started fidgeting. For all of her composure as a princess turned queen, she could not hide her unease and nerves from him.
"Would you like to me show you how I landed on him, seron - lover?" She shot back with some steel in her voice. It had not been her fault, just a comedy of errors.
He found that he desperately wanted to know. He had known she was untouched and unpracticed on their marriage night. But he suddenly felt possessive, wanting to know if any other man had felt her curves. He nodded swiftly and removed his hands from her body, letting her move how she needed.
She glanced at him with an unreadable look in her eyes and swung her leg back over to her side of the bed, kneeling for a moment, and then quickly turning to face the end of the bed. She glanced at him over her shoulder as she swung her other leg back over his hips.
His hands came up automatically to hold her waist, steadying her in the position. His body flooded with arousal, strong and heady. They had not tried it this way as of yet. Until this moment, he had always wanted to watch her reactions to him, kissing and caressing her to make sure she had pleasure.
He reached up to gather her hair in one hand, pulling gently, teaching her to arch her back. He heard her take a quick breath. She was ready for this. The story could wait. He needed her now.
He returned one hand to her hips, nudging her into the best position, showing her how to move against him. It was divine to feel her like this. He knew he wanted more, but waited a few more moments until she was ready for his taking.
She moaned, rocking her hips to get more contact, sliding blissfully against his hardness. He growled. She had always been a quick study.
Having her like this, seeing her head falling back slightly, her hair flowing down her back, brushing against his stomach. It was suddenly too much for him. He sat up quickly and pulled her against his chest, his arms around her body, and he pulled them back against the head of the bed.
"Will you allow me to be your medli? There is hunig - honey that I would like to taste." He whispered in her ear as he ran his hand over her stomach and straight down. He teased her opening with his fingers, spreading the wetness around, hearing her lovely breathless moans.
He pulled her legs further apart, bringing his knees up to support her. She fit perfectly in his arms like this, her head dropping back on his shoulder, legs open wide. He started kissing her neck, growling in her ear as he played with her.
"That's right, lytling - little one. Come apart for me."
He could hear her mumbling words, switching languages randomly as the fire built in her belly. He could feel her muscles quaking around his fingers. She was deliciously wet for him. He added another finger, stretching her wider, sliding a little deeper. He started a furious pace, in and out.
"As much lís as you can make, nîwig - little bee. Then I will take you in this position as well. Tolo! - Come!"
She broke apart, gasping his name and shaking in his lap. She was beautiful as she broke against him. His blood singing to take her, but instead he softened his touch, carefully bringing her down from the pleasure. Gathering as much wetness on his fingers as he could, he brought them up to his lips and moaned. It was as sweet as honey. He dipped down again, this time bringing it to her lips. "Taste," he commanded.
Her pink tongue flicked out, licking, and then bringing them slowly into her mouth, teasing him. It was too much. "Ready for your medli to take you?"
He felt her nod. He shifted her hips and reached out to guide himself into her little honey pot. He pushed up into her, spearing her in one swift motion. She felt so good around him, tight and wet. He groaned into her neck, biting at the flesh. He started a fast pace, chasing his own pleasure.
"So good, min feorhhord - my life treasure. Be with me, min cwen - my queen, min besorg - my beloved." He came fast, calling her name, and spilling inside her. He promised himself that there would be a next time to draw out their pleasure, exploring the possibilities of this new position. But this was enough for now.
He held her against him, slowly coming down from the rush of pleasure. He kissed her cheek, her neck, her shoulder, and then he gently pushed her off him, helping her lay down on the bed. He threw his arm around her middle and cuddled in right behind her, making sure to cover them both with the blankets.
"Le hannon, hervess nin - thank you, my wife. I believe I can sleep now safely in your care. You are my light during the dark and my mind is now at rest after being with you, celairlachen - my brilliant flame." He said sleepily, his eyes closing, his mind finally silent.
She sighed peacefully, resting a hand on top of his. "And you mine, maethoraren - my warrior king."
They both fell asleep, and while he slept, he dreamt of tall grass swaying in the breeze and bright yellow flowers following the sun's journey.
In the morning, Lothíriel finished the story. More people had arrived in the room after she had fallen on top of her cousin. Embarrassed they both moved too quickly and ended up falling on each other yet again, but this time with him on top. His body had pressed against hers and his mouth inches away from her mouth. He had jumped up and away as if burned. Her brothers had teased them both for several days after the event.
As she mentioned earlier, Amos and her both had received a measure of punishment. Amos learned how to wash ink from clothes, a useful skill he told her later as apparently orc blood was similar and stained just as much. Lothíriel was forbidden from parties and feasts for a full week, to which she admitted was a very good thing. Her face had been bright red for the entire week from recalling the way she had fallen against Boromir and he against her, and from the explanation and significance of the honey comment that she had weaseled from one of the servants.
She also admitted that she avoided her cousin for years after the incident, only writing a few letters here and there, and only willing to see him from afar, not even saying hello or sharing family events for several years. Time lessened the embarrassment, of course, and she said that she eventually found herself in his presence once more. He had seemed to put the whole incident from his memory, for not once had he mentioned or alluded to it, taking her blushes for something else entirely.
Éomer had laughed heartily at the end of the tale, enjoying his wife's youthfulness and her brother's antics. He was grateful for the new words he had learned as well during the story. He admitted to her that he wanted to practice the language more, just for the moments when he found himself in Gondor, and more truthfully, among his new extended family. He could not wait to call Amos a pieg.
The language lessons helped in a different way as well. For in the quiet moments when sleep did not come so easily, Éomer found a new way to calm his mind by creating terms of endearment for his wife and thinking of creative ways to make her blush.
Éomer was not aware until decades later, but Lothíriel had kept some of the tale from him. She eventually shared those parts and more stories from before the ring war. Her awareness of her cousin as a man had never left her after that early incident. She could still feel the searing heat of his hands on her body, the unique scent of him surrounding her, feeling his body hard and firm under hers, and then having his heavy body on top of hers, his knee rocking against her core for the briefest of moments. She remembered his piercing eyes, pupils wide with desire, and his breath mingling with hers, sharing soft moans at twilight, his strong arms encircling her as they watched the sunrise. She counted him as her first for he had awakened her desires as a woman. But that is a story for another time.
Disclaimers:
I do not own Lord of the Rings or any of its characters. This is a fictional story of my own creation and design, being a lesser story among greater epics, and me, a lesser writer among greater wordsmiths, J.R.R. Tolkien being a masters above all others.
I am a novice in linguistics and owe much to those with substantial knowledge and many more years of experience in the field. If a term is misused or constructed in poor manner, it is my mistake and my error.
If you are offended by the use, meaning, or double entendres with the words, or by the existence of this story itself, flame away. They always need kindling in Fornost.
The translation of the words are listed in line during the story with intent for the reader to understand the word in that moment. Unless indicated, the character would have only said the first italicized word(s) and not the subsequent English translation.
The full list of the terms used in this story:
min gastlufu - (Old English) my soul's love
hervenn - (Sindarin) husband
thalionen - (Sindarin) my champion
gled-gemod - (Old English) flame of my heart
meleth nin - (Sindarin) my love
Ego! - (Sindarin) Be gone!
min cwen - (Old English) my queen
hir nin - (Sindarin) my lord
min cymu - (Old English) my lovely
gwilwilethig - (Sindarin) little butterfly
lhingrilath - (Sindarin) pl. spiders
caborath - (Sindarin) pl. frogs
lirulin - (Quenya) lark
castor - (Quenya) beaver
belegron - (Sindarin) mighty one
morolingwe - (Quenya) squid
pieg - (Sindarin) mosquito
lís - (Sindarin) honey
medli - (Sindarin) bear
lufestre - (Old English) lover
seron - (Sindarin) lover
hunig - (Old English) honey
lytling - (Old English) little one
nîwig - (Sindarin) little bee
Tolo! - (Sindarin) Come!
min feorhhord - (Old English) my life treasure
min besorg - (Old English) my beloved
Le hannon, hervess nin - (Sindarin) thank you, my wife
celairlachen - (Sindarin) my brilliant flame
maethoraren - (Sindarin) my warrior king