5. Naptime Stories
"It would appear that Ivy does like the book, yes," Éowyn replied, her laughter fading as Merry grew calmer. He was looking at her now, his gaze almost tangible, tracing the tangled strands of her hair, and her hot, damp cheeks. Almost like a caress.
She dropped her gaze, only to find herself staring at the book Merry was still holding in his hands. The book. The awareness of its contents, inspiring hilarity just moments ago, suddenly made her heart beat heavily. Although she had found the book for the Ivy's friends those many years ago, she had never bought one for herself. She had occasionally leafed through these kinds of books when she was wandering through the shops of the lower circles of Minas Tirith, so she had a fairly good idea of just what was contained in a book like that, but she had never had the opportunity to enjoy it at leisure. Somehow her relationship with Faramir had not been the kind that would have thrived on a book like that. She grinned wryly. Her daughter used this book and to good purpose, obviously... the scarf was wrinkled beyond the usual extent of wrinkles one would expect in a worn silk scarf... and she – a woman her age! – had no idea of the details of pleasure that might be gleaned from this tome.
She sighed and looked up again, only to meet Merry's gaze. She frowned. Merry's expression had changed from rage, perplexity, barely regained composure to something altogether else. If asked to put a name to it, she would have called his expression "considering".
"Sooo... you know what's in here?" Merry asked, lifting up the offending work of literature.
Éowyn raised her eyebrows at her husband. "Well," she admitted. "Just generally. I have seen such books, and I helped Ivy's friends pick it out. But..." She felt heat creep back into her cheeks. "But I never really... errr... read it. Or any other book like that. It..." She swallowed hard. It was still difficult to talk about Faramir with Merry, especially about intimate details of her first marriage. "It was not like that with Faramir," she said finally. She looked down at her hands, folded as if in prayer. She hated how that sounded. As if there had been something missing in their relationship. Which had not been the case. But she could hardily expand on the topic, defending the quality of her carnal relations with her first husband to her second. She inhaled deeply and looked up. Even though Merry had calmed down, it was very possible – and probably quite understandable – if he was angry and upset at her part in providing a young Ivy with this kind of "sordid" literature.
But when she met Merry's gaze again, his expression had changed from what she had called "considering" in her mind to an expression that she could only call "calculating".
He stepped closer to the bed, until her kneecaps touched his legs, just above his own knees. As always, even this slight touch made her aware of him, his masculinity, in a way that made all thoughts of propriety, differences in race or height flee from her mind, leaving nothing behind but a racing heart and a fluttering stomach. She inhaled deeply in an attempt to steady her nerves. You are in the bedroom of your daughter and your son-in-law. You cannot. You cannot for one second entertain the thought of using her book and her scarf in her bed. She swallowed hard. And how she hated the act of doing this as well as the relevant expression! Especially since it did not alleviate the sudden overwhelming desire for Merry to be within her one bit.
Merry smiled at her, a wicked glint in his eyes.
Yes, Éowyn thought. It's easy for you to grin like that. Maybe that wicked gleam in Willow's eyes had actually come to her from her grandfather?
"You know, my love," Merry said, almost casually. "I seem to remember very clearly that before they left, Pippin explicitly offered me the use of his library. If I recall correctly, his words were 'any and all book you are interested in, simply take it'. Do you remember that, too?"
Éowyn stared at Merry. Finally she found her voice again. "Yes," she replied, her voice sounding out of breath, as if she had been running very quickly. "Yes, I think I do remember him saying something like that."
Merry's smile broadened to a grin. "The kids are out of the Smials for the afternoon, aren't they?"
How could he be so calm and cheerful now? After throwing such a tantrum? How could he be so... wicked? Éowyn licked her lips, trying to gather her thoughts. This was a more difficult feat than expected, with the book within reach and Merry just in front of her eyes... "Ahem... yes. The boys are... somewhere outside... doing whatever boys do on a day like this. The girls wanted to go to the Gamgees and I sent Willow to Auntie Marigold."
"Then they are all accounted for," Merry commented, his tone almost smug. He pressed a little against her knees, sending a flare of desire through her body, making her want to part her knees for him.
"Uhhhh, yes, they are."
"Then..." Merry reached for her right hand and put the book into it. "How about we retire to our room and you... read to me for a bit? I think I need... a soothing nap after all this excitement."
She could only nod wordlessly.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.