The Phoenix's Griffin

They mounted their tall dark gray horses, and rode out in the storm. They headed round the Misty Mountains south, then north, taking the North-South road, crossing the South Downs, skirting Bree, crossing the plain and River Baranduin. All in eight days.

In the mountains, near Annúminas, they peered down at the unbelievable sight of a mixed army. Men, half-orc, and something like an orc, only larger, taller and heavier. Uglier.

“What are those?” Haldir whispered in horror, wrinkled his nose against the smell of them.
“Uruk ,” she whispered back and they scooted away from the ledge, “You must ride on to Annúminas, see Valandil tell them of this, I want to see more, and then I will come.”
Haldir stood staring at her in disbelief. “No.”
“This is what I do, my heart, now you must ride ahead and tell them,” she held Padric for Haldir to mount she was right and would brook no argument not now.
He stood moments longer, a million things crossing his mind to say and hearing her answers without her having to open her mouth. He did not want to leave her, could not believe he would.
Taking a deep breath he mounted Padric and looked down at her, “You’ll be careful.”
“Of course, I don’t want those things to catch me,” she smiled squeezing his booted calf.
“No,” he set his jaw, “You will be careful.”
“I will be careful,” she echoed solemnly.

Haldir rode as if demon a possessed him; his intentions being deliver his message, and then go back for Phaila.

The village had deserted for the safety of the walls of Annúminas, and the gatemen couldn’t credit their eyes when they found themselves looking down on an elf a top a great dark gray stallion demanding entrance. The three walls of Annúminas came alive to peer down at the golden elf.

He was taken directly to Valandil who stood at a great table spread with a map surrounded by men, and four Morrigan. One Haldir knew, it was Lessien; she smiled and looked for Phaila. Not seeing her she paled and he quickly shook his head.

Valandil, his black hair graying at the temples stood forward and looked at the tall golden elf, “What brings you to us in such trouble?”
Haldir greeted him, “I am Haldir riding with the Morrigan Phaila, six hours ago in the pass below we came upon the army marching this way, it is made up of men, Southrons I think, half-orc, and something else.”
“Something else?”
“Phaila called them Uruk,” The room rustled.
“How many?”
“Eighteen hundred, more,” the room murmured.
“Where is Phaila?” Lessien asked.
“She stayed back, scouting.”
“I thank you Haldir of Lórien ,” Valandil said coming around the table to shake the brave elf’s hand, a horn blew bringing complete silence to the room.

From the great hall they went to the wall, the army was stepping onto the plain. They stood staring from the walls, cries of wonder and despair flew, filled the air.

Gods, they had come between her and the safety of the fors…hes…he stepped away, and slammed into Lessien.

“Haldir no!” she caught his arm, turning him on the stairs, “She’ll come, and if she finds you gone…”
He looked over the wall in desolation.
“She’ll come,” Lessien said reassuringly the smiled, “Now, let me introduce you to some who will very interested in meeting you.”

Haldir was pulled from the wall by Lessien who led him to the three Morrigan, their heads bent together.

“Helywanwën,” Lessien said to the tall Morrigan.

Helywanwën, Phaila’s mentor, adopted mother, turned from the wall she stood looking over. She was old, Haldir could see. Older than Celeborn, older than Galadrial. Her once golden hair was streaked with silver, and age touched the corners of her pale blue eyes, and thinned the skin of her hands. She stood dressed in the black and silver armor of the Morrigan, a scarlet cloak at her shoulders.

“Let me present to you, Haldir of Lórien ,” Lessien smiled and stepped aside slightly, “Phaila’s … friend,” she made a motion in the negative to the Morrigan facing Haldir.

Helywanwën smiled, and stepped closer to him, took his shoulders in her long fingered thin hands and kissed him on each cheek

Lessien continued her introductions, “Merenwën,” black haired, blue eyed “and this is Linwë,” golden with amber eyes. They looked to one another, smiling deeply.

“I have heard much of you,” Helywanwën spoke a soft measured tone, as if they were meeting at a banquet instead of the verge of a battle. “You live with my Phaila do you? What could you have been thinking? Not that it matters, yes? You are full elf?” she led him away as Lessien smiled. Helywanwën would keep him preoccupied, “As you may have noticed the Morrigan are half-elf, there were a very few from the race of man but they long since were killed, and elves, and forgive me for saying this, but elves find us much too hot blooded, unpredictable, but then we have to be if we are to accomplish what we do. But then you know this already.” She laughed, holding tightly to his arm.

Phaila crept forward, leading Zara to the edge of the plain before Annúminas, keeping close to the low hills instead of along the river Baranduin where the army would be drawing water. Oh, they had been streaming in for hours, eighteen hundred strong, and bulging with Uruk. She looked at the fortress, it was three rings of walls, good, easy to defend, and it was on high ground. There were small mountains to the south and southeast, the city backed on Lake Nenuial, and the River Baranduin ran from the lake east for half a league or so before curling east and then south. The plain was peppered with fires, they would not fight tonight, for they had moved a great distance, had sent many a village fleeing before them and needed rest.

This would be the time, make a run for the gate. Zara was rested and ready.

Phaila led the mare down to the edge of the plain, walking silently among the boulders and small trees. She mounted Zara, took a deep breath, gathered the reins in her gloves, and dug her heels into the mare’s sides.

The plain filled with watch fires, and Haldir watched for Phaila. Lessien leaned against the wall beside him.
“Helywanwën,” Lessien smiled “is something else isn’t she?”
“I like her very much.”
“She takes some getting use to I daresay, much like Phaila.”
Haldir smiled, bobbed his head in agreement.
“Surprising that you agree, since the pair of you are very much alike,” Lessien said, and Haldir smiled, “Oh yes. Aside from having this,” she waved in front of her the army, “which is quite a bit when it comes to understanding, but what you think and will not say, she will and does, but with a wink and a nod. Have you seen her mad yet?”
“Yes,” he answered.
Lessien whistled, “Ah well, then you know,” She stood leaning on the wall, a wistful smile coming across her face, “It was Phaila who trained me, you didn’t know that did you?”
“She doesn’t speak on those things.”
“No, I don’t suppose she would,” Lessien kept her face impassive, Amaras knew everything, but then he was not as gentle a soul as Haldir despite his attempts at being the contrary. “I remember there was a night she had caught a goblin, and brought it to camp for me to kill,”
Haldir turned his eyes from the field, incredulous.
“Oh yes, and it wouldn’t take up a sword to fight me, and she told it, ‘you will take up that sword, for make no mistake, you will die tonight.’”

Haldir stood considering this.

“I see,” she noted his face, “You think it cruel. What do you think a goblin would do to you if you were at its mercy? Give you a cup of wine, ask you to take a seat?” and she laugh“I s“I should not have told you.”
“No, I’m glad you did,” he answered, the truth of it? It did not matter if she had pulled a red red goblins in and tossed them on the fire to burn alive; not to him. But this must leave some mark….in the wake of its cold forethought.

“I know of Amaras,” He said to put her at ease. He had seen the darting eyes before him, knew that she had signed them from making mention, to be on guard.
“Ah,” Lessien nodded and then laughed, “Well, we certainly wasted our time.”

There was a noise coming far away, shouts. They turned in unison to look over the wall into the plain before them.
“Look!” A man shouted and everyone turned to the field and ran to the walls. A flash of silver in the fire light, moving, disappearing, glinting again.
There was movement, the army below slow to realize, then more shouts from the distance, “Morrigan!” A guttural sound.
“Run!” Someone called to her and he was hushed. She still had a long way to ride and was using the element of surprise and confusion to get her safely to the gates.

Haldir watched her, small in the saddle, leaning over the great mare’s shoulder, her mane in Phaila’s face and then a strange buzzing began in his ears, and his skin tingled, cheeks flushed, he was incredibly hot, then cold and his knees grew weak.

She turned the gray left abruptly, and then again to the right in the direction of the gate. She had drawn her bow and was shooting behind her, switching the bow from left to right hand and back again, to give her time, silencing the ones who were crying out “Morrigan!” A spear was thrown, striking her in the left shoulder, knocking her to the right, she scrabbled for the pommel with her left hand, and holding rein and bow in right hand, restored her seat in the saddle; the spear had not stuck. Haldir leaned his hands on the wall, his jaw clenched, eyes narrowed, and lips thin, impotent, distraught.

Helywanwën stood beside Haldir and she turned to him, “Be calm, she has done this before,” she said serenely.

The entire army was on its feet when Phaila reached the gate and Haldir had taken down ten half-orc and five Uruks, standing on the wall, leading the men of Annúminas in a hail of arrows blanketing her. The gate opened and unbelievingly Phaila jumped down from Zara and turned to face the army that was hot on her heels. She seemed to assess them, casually tucking her bow in the loop beside her empty quiver and she turned and walked through the gate as one hundred more were felled by arrows loosed from the walls.

Haldir could’ve snapped his bow in his hands and thrown it to the ground. Gods!!! He had never been so angry in his life! He turned from the wall and ran to the steps that led down to the gate that was closing behind her.

She saw him coming and smiled. She was being roundly cheered and Haldir drew up. Oh, look what she had done! What power! What inspiration! What a fool!

He nodded calmly as Valandil met her but his heart hammered high in the back of his throat. Phaila caught his eye again, smiled, and shrugged as Valandil took her arm and he led her to the hall to talk with his captains and he followed.

He crept through the door, all eyes turning to him when it creaked open.

Phaila’s eyes flicked to him, before turning back to the other Morrigan and men in the room, “No more than eighteen hundred,” she continued, “there are Southrons among them, easy enough, but the others, they will be hard to bring down.”
“What is this madness?” Lessien asked, and Helywanwën looked at her, silencing her, telling her that they would talk later, now it was pointless.
“I have an idea,” Phaila spoke softly in Valandil’s ear, pulling him away, holding the map in her hand. They moved to a window that looked out oNenuNenuial behind them and she spread the map on the sill.
She traced her fingers along lines, borders, rivers, mountains and a certain walled city, and her eyes were bright, searching the King’s. “If we had a diversion long enough, do you think you could get men down the river far enough? To here?”
“In boats? They would be seen,” He whispered back.
“Wood they?” Phaila smiled at her pun, but it was lost on him. She cleared her throat of mirth, “I was thinking if you choose out your best, even your average swimmers, give them planking to put their weapons on, something they can float down the river, level with the water, they would be harder to see…”
“It could work,” Valandil nodded seeing the plan.
“It could fail, too, Valandil.”
He stood silent for a few moments while Phaila leaned out the window, smelling the fresh air blowing off the lake, a relief from the plain she had ridden through.
“There are men from Bree who may or may not come, if they do and if it’s night …then would be a good time, and they would provide a decent distraction.”
“That’s almost too many ifs and mays, but if may and ifs should happen it would be good time, and I would hope that whomever it is bringing them here will see the sense of a night attempt to reach us however; we should have an alternative plan,” she looked at the map again, “this is all I have at the moment.” And she laughed.

They looked at one another, the middle aged King, and the older Morrigan who looked back at him with great wolf eyes. “We would need to fix a signal but I don’t think there’s a man here who could signal the gate with an arrow from that distance.”
“Man? No,” she answered. “But you have one of the best archers that have walked Middle Earth in ages.” And she pointed a gloved fingered at Haldir.
“Haldir.”
“Haldir,” she nodded.

Phaila walked smiling, no swaggered, to him and he scowled at her.
“Not here, my love, not in front of these fine gentlemen,” she smiled dissembling and fell into step beside him, “Come, I want you to look at my shoulder, gods, I would swear it is bn, wn, we can find a quiet place where you can shout at me. Did you see the spear hit me?” She spoke as if someone had struck her with a stone.

And his anger was deflated.

They did find a quiet hallway and Phaila handed all of her weapons over to him, tried to unbuckle her pauldron, Haldir brushed her hands away and did it, then her tunic, then her mithril shirt, then her undershirt. She had bound her breasts in linen, she must’ve done this after he had left, flattening her out. Haldir pulled her to the torch, hooked his finger under the linen, and ran his left hand up the bones of her neck under her hair. There was a bad bruise, it would be worse tomorrow, over her left shoulder blade. She flexed her arm and moaned at the pain. There was still a of the trace of a scar over her right. He touched it briefly.

“It’s bruised,” Haldir laid his hand on her skin, yes, the bruise would be black, his band glinting in the torch light. “I could kill you,” he hissed, and resisted the urge to dig his fingers into her shoulder.
She pulled her shirt back over her head, smiling and kissed him, “I was very worried about you,” she made a face of concern and pulled on the tunic.
“About me? Wha?” he sputtered and she threw her arms around him, laughed and kissed him.
The horn of Annúminas sounded.
“I thought they were settling down for the night,” Phaila smiled at her mistake, and Haldir realised; he had thought she had made a risky maneuver while she had thought she was making a relatively safe one. He helped her on with her armor and weapons. She would not wear the mithril shirt.
“I must be as vulnerable as those I lead,” she said answering his look and tho he understood he did not like it. It was necessary.
“You’re out of arrows,” he said and took some from his own quiver, putting them in hers.
“Listen to me,” Phaila said turning to him, clasping him in her hands gloved in leather and mithril, “Keep at least two hundred men between us and yourself, otherwise…”
“What?” Haldir asked kissing her forehead, wanting contact with her, his frightened anger replaced with just fright for her.
“You’ll be in the wield. The most men I can move is two hundred, Helywanwën can move five hundred, so you stay well away from her,” she iucteucted.
“How can I stay away from you?” Haldir protested holding tightly to her waist.
“How can I stay away from you, my love? But I must, I do not want to wield you,” Phaila took his lovely, gentle face in her hands, the mithril warm in the palm of her gloves, “So stay away from me,” she said softly, her tone like thunder in the distance, a voice he had not heard before.
“There’s something else,” and she told him of the plan, and how she had offered him up to lead the men down the river, be the one to send the signal.
He nodded. It was interesting, it was risky, and it could work, and he felt awed that she thought so highly of him and his skills.
“I am sorry that I could not consult you before offering you up in service.”
“No, it is alright,” he answered honestly moved at her confidence in him, and dazzled by her spontaneously designed scheme.

He followed her to the stairs, trotted up, and he reached for her again, and swerved… arrows bounced off the stonewalls, making them both duck, and when Phaila looked at him she laughed, her cheeks full of colour. Yes, she was very perverse.

She ran on, down the steps that linked the walls together; she sprinted on to the outer wall where she stood, swayed slightly in the wind. There was a roar of the defenders of Annúminas as the Morrigan took the walls.

Morrigan they may be, and through their magic were powerful, but they stirred the men too with their femininity; the curve of hips, their lovely faces, the pout of lips.

The Morrigan stood dodging arrows as the drums of Annúminas pounded behind them. Phaila dressed in black, gray and silver paced the length of the wall defying them and their master, slowly pulling an arrow from her quiver, notching it, setting it free after picking her target. She smile triumphant; her darkness over theirs. She stood serenely looking down among the crossing arrows passing her close. Is it always thus? Oh love, be careful! Gods! But he had demanded to witness this. By mBy mid-day, they had fallen back and Phaila and the other Morrigan had retreated from the walls to rest and take water. Haldir had sailed arrow after arrow into the mass below and fretted all the morning over her, trying to stathinthin the bounds she had established for him, but had stepped into their will, and when he had wandered out of it, found himself weak and wobbling. It was an awesome power, extracting almost of his strength once he had fallen out of its bounds.

On the low wall he sat beside her and she passed the flask to him, the water cold.

She pulled her right glove off, and laid hand and on his cheek, the nails caressing. She looked into his eyes and kissed him softly. She twisted his heart with these moments. She leaned away, brought her hand from his cheek and put her glove back on.

He had been in battle, but never had fought from walls. He had stood shrouded in arrows, had fought hand to hand with orc, but in the forest and on the plains north of Lothlórien , not hemmed in by walls and forced to wait. He felt trapped and would have preferred to be out on the plain before them where there was an opportunity to escape, to withdraw.

“I dislike it as well,” Phaila said softly beside him.
“What?”
“The wait,” she smiled and leaned her hip against the wall and drank again.

The half-orc, Uruk and Southerlings did not come again until evening.

The Morrigan resumed their positions on the walls. This was his second watching of her and he felt no better for it. They did not carry shields, and Phaila had again forgone the mithril shirt. The plates set among the hard leather pauldron, polished again in the interim, glinted in the setting sun. And then the clouds rolled in. Surely sent by some evil minded force to make it miserable in the cold night air. It began to rain.

A line was faltering and Phaila moved to the gravel slide that ran vertically linking the walls one to another and did just that. Slid, using her left hand to balance her as she moved down to them. Haldir followed at a distance, his arrows flying around her. She jumped behind the wall to stand with the men and loosed her own arrows. They threw back the ladders with hooked poles their attackers were using to try and breach the walls and would begin to cheer watching the half-orc, men and Uruk fall.

Many hooks with ropes were thrown up, catching on the stones, and they rushed to cut through the thick hemp. One man standing next to Phaila was caught, the hooks sinking into him and he was jerked against the stone. He screamed in agony as he crashed pinned to the wall through the chest by the weight of those pulling on the rope, and Phaila hacked through the hemp and he fell at her feet.

She bent over the man, he still moved, and then suddenly he had no head. It took a heartbeat to understand what had just occurred and she gave a soft, “Oh,” in realisation. Blood sprayed into her face and she looked up at the Uruk who roared at her and slung his evilly shaped weapon at her.

She caught the weapon in her mithril palmed hands and was lifted from her feet and slammed into the wall, the wind knocked from her, her head hitting the stone, but she clung tightly, the Uruk trying to shake free her tenacious grip. Haldir began to run, screaming her name; and finally only screaming. He jumped onto the gravel slide and saw her still holding the weapon it bore, and shouting at it as it snarled with frustration at her, and he sunk two arrows into its face. The weapon with Phaila clinging to it were dropped to the ground, Phaila landing hard on her back, holding the iron weapon in her own hands now, she rolled away as it fell.

Haldir stood over her as she rose to her feet, watched as she reached back to touch her head where it had hit the wall, drew her gloved hand away and looked at the blood. Huge bolted arrows sailed by him, but his eyes were on hers, his heart galloping in his chest. She shook her head slightly, as if to clear it and smiled at him as if she had taken a surprised tumble from a trotting horse and suffered nothing more than a bruised ego.

With a kiss of thanks, she left him again, running north along the wall, the honey coloured braid bouncing between her shoulder blades, leaving him with lips parted. Haldir could feel what these men around him were feeling; he had not a trace of fear or fatigue. It was incredible. And when he touched her hand, the force was what he imagined a tree must encounter when struck by lightening something god-like, devastating.

Back and forth she ran, stopping to help throw off a ladder, cut through the rope, loose arrows, he needed to bring her more; and then south she would go. She was working the entire lower wall alone, the other Morrigan, on the walls above her. Oh look at her! She stood in archer’s stance, turned sideways against the foe, left arm outstretched, bending the bow, drawing the string to her cheek. Hiart art ached with his love, and the beauty, and the courage of her. And he despaired.

At dawn the army had retreated. Haldir found Phaila sitting against the wall, sharing a pipe with one of the men. Her cheeks were streaked with dirt and blood, her hair needing to be re-braided, but she sat leaning against the wall, ankles crossed and at peace with the world, puffing the pipe as the men chattered with her. They grew quite at his approach. Elves were things they rarely encountered, and this particular elf was a spectacular and impressive member of his race, and obviously very attached to the half-elf Morrigan who had come to help them for he shadowed her.

She looked up at him and handed the pipe back to the man “thank you,” she patted his leg and rose to her feet. And Haldir led her up into the great hall. Women had been cooking, and serving the men who had wandered in to eat. Haldir sat her at a long-table and went to get her food. She sat upright, back straight and talked with the men who stopped to speak to her, she smiled, was animated despite her own exhaustion.

He sat and put the bowl of stew before her, a piece of bread and a cup of wine. “Eat,” he commanded, she hadn’t eaten for two days now.

Phaila dipped the spoon into the stew and when she raised it her hand shook so badly the stew spilled from the bowl of the spoon…and so she put it down and tore off a piece of the bread and dipped it into the broth, and bit into it. Her eyes had narrowed, it shamed her to be observed. Haldir looked away, laying his arms in front of him on the table, he clasped his hands. How hard it was to watch her throwing herself on the wall, swaying among the arrows, shouting commands to hold or loose, but somehow, this was infinitely worse.

After she had finished her meal, she did not eat enough! they walked back to the wall and found a place to sit among the men. She leaned against him in silence but he could feel her mind racing, he could feel her exhaustion.

“Come, you need sleep,” he pulled her down to lie her head in his lap.

Haldir sat petting her for two hours before the horn blew. Two hours of having her to himself, two hours of safety. Men walked by, dropping their voices, smiling softly at Haldir who cradled her, giving him an approving nod as he held the sleeping Morrigan in his lap, stroking her hair.. It is all I can do. Hold her when she has time. Do not look at me as if I am … important, for she would fare as well without me. We are nothing alike. When I stand the fences it is seldom a battle but more a look out for trouble, and when you are called trouble is what you stand hip deep in. I have profoundly and gravely underestimated you.

The horn sounded and she jerked up so fast she almost caught his jaw with her head. She blinked, rubbed her face and stood. She took up a water skin and squirted it into her face and she gasped at the cold of it, wiped her face with her hand and looked at him.

“I think you have looked better my heart. No matter, I love you despite your haggard appearance.” She kissed him and stood before him, smoothing his hair. And he laughed.

Another lull, and Phaila stood on the wall watching as the dead and wounded were removed behind her; their foe left theirs on the field to suffer and rot. She had her right arm folded across her ribs, left elbow propped on the forearm, the gloved knuckles of her left hand against her lips, completely lost in thought, and an excellent target for anyone within bowshot.

“How is it, Lessian, that she did not fade and join Amaras?” he asked finally, “I know she was pregnant when he died so no sense in pretending.”

Lessian smiled, “There was the child, lost of course, soon after lying Amaras in the tomb…” she leaned on her bow, “In the end it comes to a promise. And for as much as she may wish to die, someone will have to take her life; she will not give it away.”

“That looks like giving it away,” he nodded to her standing on the wall.
“Yes, but who will take that shot? She knows she is safe, she plays…” she drifted off.
“Plays and forgets or gives no thought to anyone who loves her and wants her alive.” He ground his teeth.
“There is only one whose thougtrultruly matter to her Haldir, and he does not stand here,” Lessian said softly, sliding her eyes to him.
“That was cruel,” Haldir turned and looked at her.
“Love her less, Haldir, that is all I say.”
“I do not know how to ration love,” he spoke softly and walked away.