Most Bright by Lyra

Loving Úner

Princess Ancalimë is given the sex talk and seduces her maidservants, not necessarily in that order.

Written for the July challenge, Teen Spirit, using (somewhat loosely) the following prompts,
Conflict: the sex talk
Themes: convention vs. rebellion
Stock characters: queen bees
LGBTQA+: explaining things to adults

Contains mild allusions to sexual experimentation, masturbation and BDSM.

Read Loving Úner

'But if I were to do so, I should be free to wed whom I will; and that would be Úner (which is "Noman"), whom I prefer above all others.'~ Unfinished Tales, "Aldarion and Erendis", The Further Course of the Narrative

Almarian was stirring honey and lemon into her granddaughter's tea. Her spoon made a tinkling noise in the fragile porcelain cup that, to Ancalimë's astonishment, did not break. She was somewhat suspicious of both the drink and the vessel -- back in Emerië, they had drunk from sturdy earthenware as if her mother was not married to the King at all, and they certainly did not consume anything exotic that her father or any other Venturers had imported from their journeys -- but the smell was enticing. Her grandmother gave her an encouraging smile and raised her own cup. "Do give it a try, my dear. It really is quite lovely."
Gingerly, Ancalimë picked up the cup - like drinking from an eggshell, she thought - and took a cautious sip of the hot liquid within.
It did taste quite lovely.
Almarian was watching her, a fond smile on her lips. How young her grandmother looked, Ancalimë thought - not, of course, like a young girl, but unlike her own mother, her grandmother was still smooth-skinned, and the silver streaks in her hair made her look dignified rather than worn-out. The lines on her face had been carved by laughter, not by bitterness. If you had seen them side by side, you might have thought Erendis was the grandmother and Almarian the mother of the radiant young princess. Of course it wasn't Erendis' fault that she looked like that, Ancalimë reflected. After the constant struggles and disappointments she'd had to go through with her royal husband, she had aged even more rapidly than the absence of Eldarin blood in her line warranted. Still, Ancalimë hoped very much that she would take after father's side of the family - in terms of looks and longevity, at least.

"I hope you have settled in well, Ancalimë," Almarian said after they had sipped their tea in silence for a while. "I understand that it must be quite disconcerting to come here after the peace and quiet of Emerië..."
"It is," Ancalimë earnestly replied. "It's very different. More people, fewer sheep. So many things going on. So many things to keep in mind. It is a little overwhelming at times. But the company here is a lot more pleasant..."
Almarian smiled in a gratified manner. In truth, Ancalimë hadn't even thought about her grandmother just now - although her company certainly wasn't unpleasant. In general, life in the palace wasn't nearly as odious as Erendis had warned Ancalimë it would be. She had been given a whole set of rooms to herself, and four handmaidens of roughly her own age - one prettier than the other, and all very soft-spoken, sweet-mannered, charming and eager to please. Ancalimë's throat went dry at the mere thought of Zâbeth, who was easily her favourite of the lot. Zâbeth was gentle and demure and did not say a word more than necessary, but Ancalimë had already found that the girl was hiding a very clever and versatile tongue behind her plum-soft lips. She noticed that the frail little cup in her hand was beginning to tremble a little, and set it down with a small clang.
Her grandmother tilted her head, still radiating kindness and understanding. "Concerning company, maybe there are some dangers that I should warn you about. I know that you are a circumspect young lady, but there are certain things that your mother's teachings may have omitted... concerning men."
Men! Ancalimë made a face. She had heard enough about men from Erendis to last a whole lifetime. "I do not care for men," she said curtly.
Almarian's fond smile grew, if that was at all possible, even more fond. "Not yet, my dear, but as you mature, you will find that you will not remain as indifferent towards men as you are in the innocence of your youth."
The innocence of her youth! Ancalimë had to hide a smile. Again, her thoughts drifted to Zâbeth - her firm breasts, her scented skin, the plumpness of her hips, the gentle light in her eyes when Ancalimë pulled her close and kissed her. The delightfully warm and moist cleft between her legs, so eager to be explored by Ancalimë's fingers. Or pretty Inzil, who had discovered the toys Ancalimë had brought from Emerië! Since Erendis had banned all men from her house, she had encouraged her ladies to seek pleasure in other ways, and in spite of her youth, Ancalimë had picked up the one or other thing. The playful Inzil had likewise easily figured out the purpose of the smooth ivory olisbos* in Ancalimë's drawer, though she really should have asked for permission before trying it out. Instead, she had confessed her transgression only afterwards, and the princess had felt obliged to whip her. Curiously, Inzil had been as eager for the punishment as she had previously been to experiment with Ancalimë's olisbos, and Ancalimë had ended up striking her longer and harder than she would ordinarily have. And afterwards...
She felt her body respond to the memory. Her cheeks flushed, and she confessed, "Oh, I am not that innocent. My handmaidens and I --"
The laughter lines around Almarian's eyes deepened further. "They have told you a few things already, have they? That is good. Very good. These are things that a young woman should know." She sobered. "But there are some important differences between the feelings and experiences of these serving-girls, and those that are proper for you, the king's heir. So indulge me and listen. If you know everything that I am telling you, there's no harm done. But if you misstep because you did not know about something, the consequences could be dire."
Ancalimë nodded obediently, taking another sip of her tea.

"You see," Almarian went on, "at some point you will find some men very... attractive. Maybe you will admire them for their beauty or their strength, or maybe you will love the sound of their voice or the way that they laugh. You will want to be around such a man as much as you can. You will probably want to touch him, and be touched. You will want to kiss him, and be kissed. And if the attraction is particularly strong, you may long..." Almarian cast a furtive glance around, as if worried that the servants in the hall might have snuck closer to listen, but they stood firmly in their places by the door. "You may long to feel such a man fill the sheath between your legs with the sword that grows between his." Her hand travelled down into her lap, pressing briefly against the silk of her gown.
Ancalimë nodded to show that she understood her grandmother's meaning, desiring no further elaboration. The scenario Almarian described was not entirely surprising, but rather distasteful to her.
"That is perfectly natural and nothing to be ashamed of, in itself," Almarian went on, "but it is of the utmost importance that you do not act on such impulses, nor allow the man you admire to act on them. Not only could this act result in the begetting of a child; your honour and the honour of your line depend on your restraint in that respect. Do not mistake this for love; it is only lust, and lust is a bad councillor. Only when you are married may you celebrate love in this manner. Until then, I urgently advise you not to seek the company of young men, certainly not alone. Not because all young men are rogues, or because I do not trust you! Please do not think I do not trust you. Simply believe me that these urges can be quite powerful, and it is easier to avoid temptation than to fight it. Do you understand, my darling?"
"Do not worry, grandmother," Ancalimë said blithely. "I am quite certain that I'm not interested in... a man's sword." She once more tried to picture the scene her grandmother had described and felt no lust at all, only a certain detached curiosity. She replaced the handsome, muscular man in her mental image - modelled on the sculptures in the palace gardens - with Zâbeth, and felt a surge of heat in her lower belly. She thought of Inzil, the girl's bruised buttocks quivering as Ancalimë had fingered her to completion, and was tempted to moan with delight. No; imagining the same thing with a man was no comparison at all. She shook her head, decisively. "Indeed, I am confident that I have no desire to seek the company of young men."
"Ah, my dear, they are not all bad," Almarian said. "Your mother has done you a severe disservice if she has taught you so."
"No, that's not what I mean," Ancalimë protested. "I'm sure there are some fine men. They're just... not for me."

Almarian nodded understandingly. "That is how you feel now, because you are only on the cusp of womanhood. One day you feel differently. But what I told you today still holds true then. Do not give yourself up to a man until you are married."
"You misunderstand," Ancalimë said. "The man I love and wish to marry is Úner."
"Very droll!" her grandmother laughed. "Stick to that resolve, my sweet, and you will not get into trouble."
Shaking her head again, Ancalimë explained, "No, grandmother, what I mean is that I infinitely prefer my handmaidens to any man."
Patting her hand gently, Almarian replied, "Yes, of course, my dear. Go and play with your friends." Another fond smile. "You will grow up soon enough."
That, Ancalimë thought, was not at all what she had meant; but there seemed to be no point in trying to clarify the matter. At any rate, her grandmother's attitude suited her perfectly well. No doubt there would be trouble later, but she could always say that she had been perfectly honest. For now, life in the palace suited her perfectly well.

---

Chapter End Notes

* An olisbos is basically an ancient Greek dildo. The ancient word seemed more fitting for the Númenórean setting.

Loving Uinen

Princess Ancalimë falls in and out of love with the sea.

Written for the Discovery challenge, inspired by the song "How Far I'll Go" from Disney's Moana - though it takes a very different turn.

Read Loving Uinen

The sound of the sea was audible even over the bustle and din of the harbour. Bold little waves sloshed against the hulls of the anchored ships, while their more gentle brethren lapped the quay wall in a steady rhythm. Occasionally, there was a more powerful splash when a wave hit the cutwater at the entrance of the harbour. The rushing sound filled Ancalimë's ears. It drowned out the meaningless remarks made by the steward who guided her party through the port and swept up the melodious chatter of her ladies-in-waiting. Accentuated by the shrieks of gulls and the hammerfalls ringing over from the wharfs, it was almost like music. She breathed deeply, tasting the salt and the peculiar spice of seaweed, and her heart beat faster.

It was the Princess' first visit to Rómenna, and she had come prepared to hate it. For was she not the daughter of Erendis? Her mother had warned her about the place, had told her about the relentless shrieking of the gulls and the disconcerting to and fro of people and goods, had warned her about the stench of the harbour water and about the monstrous looming shapes of the tall ships, heaving on the surge like bulky drunkards lurching home after a heavy night's carousal. And had not the harbour and the sea stolen her father's heart, reducing her mother to the joyless and pining life of a mariner's wife? Had not all the bitterness in her family been borne on these waters?

And yet, when Ancalimë heard the sea's unique melody, her heart was transformed. She could feel it call out to her, felt its kinship in her blood, felt her lungs swell in the salty wind. Her feet longed to dip into the gentle waves, and her hands itched to heave ho and set sail and roam the wide seas. No, she would not suffer and perish away from land as her mother would have. She would stand proud upon the planks, laugh in the face of the spray and high winds, take up the dance with the Lady Uinen herself. The realisation came as a surprise, but there was no denying it: She was her father's daughter also.

Her father! There he stood, waiting by the gangplank that lead onto Númerrámar. There was an anxious quality to the fixed smile on his face, clearly worried about Ancalimë's reaction to the alien environment and the invitation aboard ship that had been so loathsome to Erendis. The princess felt that she ought to remain cold and indifferent as ever, showing her father the same disregard he had shown her during her childhood - did she not owe her poor mother as much? But she could not suppress the excitement that was now surging through her veins, and it must have registered in her face or maybe in her step, for suddenly there was a flash of recognition in her father's eyes, and the politely friendly mask gave way to a broad, happy grin.

"Welcome aboard," he greeted her. "I am overjoyed that you have accepted my invitation, and sincerely hope that you will enjoy the journey."
She was tempted to ask whether the journey - just a brief sail to Eldalondë - could be prolongued, whether they could weigh anchor and abandon their courtly duties and sail all the way to Middle-earth and maybe beyond, but she stopped herself in time. "Thank you, sire," she said instead. "I trust that I will."

They weighed anchor soon after. Ancalimë and her ladies sat under a richly tasselled canopy while the sailors went about their work. The king, having discarded his cloak and embroidered tunic, was moving among the mariners as if he were one of them, tightening hawsers and adjusting sails. Ancalimë could have taken it as an affront that her father had invited her but now did not entertain her, but she did not find it in her to kindle her anger. In truth, she felt an urge to join him, to learn how the ship was working, how the sails could be made to catch the wind in the right way. And why shouldn't she? Should not the princess stand with the king, even if he chose to behave like a common sailor? She rolled up her sleeves and gathered up her dress. "No need to shift yourselves, my dears," she told her ladies, "but for my part, I desire to learn sailing." And with that, she walked lightly over to her father, who was now at the prow.

Here, the lurching of the ship as it cut through the waves could be felt keenly, and Ancalimë expected that she would find it hard to keep her balance. Instead, she found that her feet adjusted to the swaying movement as if they had never done anything else. She walked to the king's side as easily as if she were walking on dry land. She did not even need to hold on to the guard rail; it was as though her body anticipated the shift and adjusted to it without a thought.
The king turned to look at her. "Is all well, Ancalimë? I hope you are not feeling sick."
"Not at all. I was merely getting bored." A gush of spray came flying over the rail, icy cold water hitting her cheek and shoulder, and she laughed in delighted surprise.
Tar-Aldarion looked at her as if he had never seen her before. "I see," he said in astonishment. "You were born with sea-legs, it seems!"

She shrugged, lightly brushing off the spray that cooled her face. "It would appear so," she said. "But then, I hear that my father was a passionate mariner."
"Indeed," the king said with a deep sigh. "Indeed, sometimes he wishes that he still were a mariner." He reached out to the bowsprit, not to steady himself but in a fond gesture, as if patting the flanks of a beloved horse. He sighed again, then turned back to Ancalimë with a wistful smile. "If you were born a lad, I could teach you the craft while you are young."
Ancalimë raised her chin. "You can still teach me."
At that, Tar-Aldarion's eyes widened. Then he laughed. "Ah, my dear, you don't know what you're asking for!" He showed her his broad hands, turning the palms upwards so she could see the angry red skin. "In my sailing days, my hands were hard and calloused by the wear and tear on them, but now even my short efforts have blistered them. It is no work for a tender lady's hands."

"I am sure that my hands could grow hard and strong just as yours did," Ancalimë pointed out tartly.
"That would hardly be proper!" her father protested, sounding apalled by the mere idea, but then he brightened. "But I shall be happy to give you a ship and crew, that you can sail the seas around our island as often as you please!"
"I see," Ancalimë said, her chin still held high. "And what if I please to go further than the waters around our island? What if I please to go to Middle-earth and speak to your Elven friends myself? What if I please to sail further, even unto the unknown isles of the burning south, and the Gates of Morning in the east?"

Once again, the king laughed - not maliciously, merely surprised, perhaps even delighted by her adventurous ambitions, but Ancalimë felt her joy deflating at the sound, the taste of salt turning sour in her mouth.
"Well, I suppose you might do that," her father said, "if you find yourself a husband who also delights in sailing - then you can accompany him on his travels, to the ice of the north and the heats of the south and even to the Encircling Sea and the Gates of Morning, and certainly to the kingdom of Gil-galad in Middle-earth!"

"I see," Ancalimë said again, with a thin-lipped smile; and she turned, and walked back to her ladies, sitting down stiffly and speaking no more until they went ashore in Eldalondë.
"Let the king know that I will be travelling home on horseback," she told her steward then. "I have no mind to board a ship ever again."
If the ship wasn't hers to steer, she thought resentfully, then the joy of sailing was not worth the price. Never again would she be lured into the embrace of the sea, nor make the mistake of delighting in the spray and the salt and the false glinting light on the water. If she could not make a vessel dance upon the waves on her own, then the Lady Uinen would have to dance alone; and ice and heat, fair isles and Inner Sea and the rising sun itself could go to blazes, and the kingdom of Gil-galad as well.

Exit, Pursued

Annoyed by her suitors, Ancalimë needs Zamîn's help.

Written for several B2MeM 2019 prompts:
G48 - "Ancalimë, aided by the old woman Zamîn, went into hiding" (Tolkien Quotes), "Agitation - Lavender" (Apothecary Garden), "Generosity" (Emotions);
B 9 - "I won't let YOU define me." (Person vs. Self), "Haleth had been a renowned amazon with a picked bodyguard of women" (Tolkien Quotes)

Also a contribution for the "Hidden Figures" SWG challenge (Zamîn did not even have a tag before I posted this, that's how rare she is!)

Read Exit, Pursued

Raised voices and the clatter of crockery breaking against a wall alerted Zamîn to her mistress' agitation. She rushed through the house and found Ancalimë pacing angrily in the vestibule, her hands clenched into fists. A formerly decorative vase had been tossed hard into a corner. From outside, Zamîn could hear the sound of hoofbeats on the stamped road, moving further away at a hasty pace. "Ah," she said dryly. "Another suitor?"

Princess Ancalimë raised her arms in exasperation. "The third this week! Won't these insufferable fools leave me alone? Why do they think I am out here, other than to finally have some peace and quiet? What makes them think I'm eager to transform any of them into the father of the next royal heir?" Her eyes roamed around the room, perhaps searching for something else that she could smash in her anger. Zamîn grimaced sympathetically while positioning herself in front of the water-bowl.
"I assume that they fancy themselves in love, and thus assume that you must likewise love them," Zamîn pointed out. "That, or they are desperate for advancement. Maybe both." She glanced at the ruined vase. "That was a pretty piece, though. Someone went a long way to acquire that."
"I wish he'd stayed there!" Ancalimë retorted. "I wish they'd all stay away, rather than seeing me as a ladder to their advancement! Is that all I am to them? A treasure to be won and put into their chest? A puppet they can control, a vessel for their seed? Well, I won't stand for it!"
Zamîn nodded sagely. "I know, my lady. Unfortunately, they do not. But I will inform the doorkeeper that no further suitors are to be admitted."
"She already knows," Ancalimë said. "I told her last week. But apparently, they won't listen to her - they simply push past her! Maybe we should give her a sword..."

The thought of Kâdaril, the elderly doorkeeper, swinging a sword at a pesky intruder, was as terrifying as it was funny. "I doubt they would respect Kâdaril better if she had a sword, unless she were to actually stick it into one of them, which I cannot imagine her doing even if it were within the law," Zamîn pointed out.
Ancalimë glowered, but she clearly knew that her motherly companion was right.
"Well, if any more of these idiots bother me, I'm going to smash their heads, not their gifts," she announced.
Even though Zamîn assumed that Ancalimë was indulging in hyperbole, she wasn't entirely certain that the Princess wouldn't act on her threat after all. "The King's heir cannot smash people's heads at will, no matter how much they may annoy you," she said sternly. "That will not do. No; we need a more threatening doorkeeper. Maybe we should accept your father's offer..."
Tar-Aldarion had generously offered Ancalimë the service of his elite guard when she had announced that she needed to recover from the strains of court life in the countryside, but Ancalimë, heeding her mother's advice concerning the untrustworthiness of men, had refused.

As she did now. "Out of the question! I will suffer no men in this house. My lord Father would probably have the nerve to sneak some suitors in here alongside the guards. I bet he encourages them. There will be no men in my mother's house!" Her fists had balled tightly again, and her face had taken on an unhealthy red hue.

Since she suspected that Ancalimë was correct, Zamîn could not well argue with that, and instead decided to soothe her lady's ruffled temper. "Well, then we shall think of something else," she decided pragmatically. "Now, why don't I draw you a nice calming bath, and then we can talk about what to do?"

Luxuriating in the house's large stone basin, Ancalimë indeed began to calm down. Probably, Zamîn reflected, she wouldn't even have needed to sacrifice a whole bundle of her precious dried lavender to infuse it in the bath; the hot water alone might have done the trick. Still, better to be safe than sorry.
"I should like to have a bodyguard," Ancalimë mused, "but no men! I cannot trust any of them. They will always see me as a means to an end. There are strong girls enough in these villages. We should train them to fight."
Even loyal Zamîn couldn't help raising her eyebrows, her brow creasing in doubt. "A bodyguard made up of girls, my lady?"
"Why not! Did not Haleth the Brave have a bodyguard of women? And are there not Haladin among our ancestors? If they could hold their own in the hostile lands of Beleriand, then certainly I can trust women to protect me in this realm of peace and idleness."
"You would have to train them first, though," Zâmin pointed out. "And what shall we do until then?"
Ancalimë heaved a sigh, then let herself sink into the water until she was wholly submerged. Zamîn waited. The Princess would need to breathe eventually.
And she did soon enough, blinking back water and pushing her braids out of her face.
"I wish I could simply hide away," she announced. "I thought this place would be safe enough, but there are too many who know Mother's house -- as we have seen!"
Zamîn chuckled at that. "That is the price of being princess. Nobody knows where my mother's little cottage is!" She had spoken lightly, but realised that Ancalimë was fixing her with an intense stare, and tilted her head in confusion. "What did I say, my lady?"
Ancalimë was smiling now, reaching out for Zâmin's hands with soapy fingers.
"Your mother's little cottage," she said. "Let us go there."