The Phoenix's Griffin

“Home,” Haldir breathed as Lórien came into sight and smiled brightly at Phaila, who reflected the same look.

It had been slow going even after the month spent at the Morrigan sanctuary. Every day he was stronger, but his side would ache with too much exertion, it did not deter him from pouncing on Phaila every opportunity, nor turn her away when she would wake him in the middle of the night to make love again.

“You will hurt yourself,” she laughed when he tumbled her in the blanket and rolled on top of her their first night on the road for Lórien .
“A delicious pain,” he murmured against her throat as her pulled her shirt open removing the cloth between them.

Word had spread back to his brothers when they crossed the border into the Golden Wood. And they were met at the talan by the two who stood smiling, waiting.

Haldir smiled and climbed down from his saddle and was engulfed in the simultaneous embrace of his brothers.

Rúmil turned to Phaila, who had sent a messages to them, letting them know of Haldir’s injury and kept them informed on the progress of his recovery to set their minds at ease, and unknown a message to the Lord and the Lady of the Wood conveying her apologies for keeping Haldir so long from his duties, but due to severe injury….

“How are you Haldir?” Orophin asked drawing back from his older brother.
“Well enough,” he smiled taking his brother behind the neck in an affectionate grip and gave him a playfully powerful shake.
“We were very worried about you,” Rúmil frowned, “the letters helped,” he addressed Phaila.

“Thank you,” He embraced her.
“What for?” she laughed over his shoulder.
“Move,” Orophin tugged him away and wrapped his own arms around her, “Yes, thank you, Phaila.”
“Again, what for? Almost getting him killed?”
“For getting him home,” Orophin kissed her.
“Oh, my,” she feigned breathlessness, “I do not deserve such thanks, I did nothing.”
“I doubt that to be true,” Orophin hugged her tightly to him.
“That’s enough,” Haldir laughed pulling Orophin off of her.

“There’s a dance tonight,” Orophin said, “Perfect timing, everyone would like to see you, Haldir.”
“And Phaila,” Rúmil included.
“You were right the first time,” She smiled and turned to Zara.
“Perhaps, we’ve been in the saddle for days,” Haldir made a threatening face at Orophin who gestured a helpless apology.

“Erestor is here,” Rúmil said.
“Erestor?” Phaila asked sounding very interested as she pulled the saddle from Zara’s back, “why is he here?”
“I couldn’t tell you.”

Phaila smiled, nodding, of course not and put her saddle on the rack, slid the bridle from the mare’s head and turned her loose.

“You should go, Haldir. See your friends, you have not spent time with them since…for some time,” she smiled wryly, picked up her bags, her armor strung together with a leather braided rope, and stood holding her gear. “I have been selfish keeping you all to myself. Go.”

There are occasional postures; gestures a lover will make that will bring the world to a breathless stand still. This, for Haldir was one. A familiar pose to him, profound in its different and combined elements, and dear to him in its fatality.

Phaila standing her kit strap over one shoulder, her gloved hand holding its’ end back from her hip, her left arm up, folded back and fingers curled at the shoulder, holding the bound armor as it rested against her back; wrist exposed above the gloved hand, showing the dark blue veins beneath the skin and the cords of tendon flexed.

The handles of three weapons and the curve of the bow jutting from her shoulders juxtaposed against the soft of the single braid falling forward, and the pink lips was heartbreaking with deadly reality. She stood lightly, the autumn sunshine dappled her through the leaves, fell on her face. Her eyes pale in the sun and her chin tipped up just so. With pride as touchy as a Prince. Yes, she could be mistaken for a prince at a distance, until one grew closer and saw that this prince had breasts, and the hips were a little rounder despite their leanness.

“Not you?”
“No, this is your time,” she dipped her head, and turned for the stairs, started up.

“We brought some food,” Rúmil handed Haldir the basket he had set down at their approach.
“Thank you.”
“We will see you later then?” Rúmil called to Phaila who rounded the far side of the stairs.
“Yes,” she called down, “Later. But not tonight.”
“Gods, Orophin,” Rúmil hit him in the arm with the back of his hand.
“I did not mean for it to sound that way.”
“And that is exactly how it sounded,” Haldir nodded his jaw set angrily and unsaddled Padric.
“I am sorry, Haldir truly,” Orophin protested.ome ome tonight Haldir, come,” Rúmil urged.

In the bedroom, Phaila dropped her kit on the floor, set the armor down and looked at the gowns that had arrived from the seamstress during her absence. They were lain carefully on the bed. Such simple objects to have sent her into the woods for seventeen days to contemplate the word forbid and her place here.

“For the want of a nail…” she whispered touching one particular gown in blue-gray silk.
“What did you say?” Haldir asked putting his bags down.
“Nothing,” she said righting herself.

He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist and stood looking over her shoulder at the gowns on the bed, “Oh, that one is very pretty, why do you not come tonight? Wear one of your new gowns.”
“Take this time to see your friends without your Morrigan shadowing you.” She smiled, “Wear this,” she bent in his arms and pulled the tunic from the pile. It was the same colour of the cloth she had held against him when they had had their ‘misunderstanding’. She had had it made after all, sending word to have it done in the end.
She turned holding it to him and he took it guiltily.
“I will,” he wrapped her in his arms again, “Thank you.”
“You are most welcome,” she turned her head to kiss his temple, “Now, what of the bath? It is too cool, I think, to bathe in the stream, we should get the buckets…”
“The buckets,” he agreed and tossed the tunic on the bed, his hands coming up to work the braces.
Smiling Phaila leaned against him as he peered over her shoulder, and began to laugh as he fumbled.
“Oh now, when you do that I cannot see the buckle,” he commented smiling and rubbed his cheek against hers, “Yes, no, yes, yes, no,” he said as her breasts rose and fell with her laughter. She lay her head back on his shoulder and took his hips in her hands.
“Are you hungry?” he asked finally getting the buckle unclasped and pulled the weapons from her back.
“Mmmm, not for food,” she pressed her hips back against his, moved sinuously from side to side.
“Ah, you are a wanton,” he nuzzled her neck and moved her against the bed.
“Wait,” She laughed and pulled from his hands, “I do not mind bearing the marks of your affection, my heart, but spare the clothes.”

In the tub that took two hours to heat luke-warm water for the bath, Phaila on her knees behind him, scrubbed his scalp happily, humming a tune while he used a sea sponge to work the soap into his skin.

“It is good to be home,” Phaila declared and Haldir paused.
“Yes, it is,” he tipped his head back to look at her and she kissed him. She was buoyant today. Had been since they had risen this morning from their blankets after…he smiled.
“How is your side today?” she asked leaning over him to look at the deep scar, she touched it gently.
“It is good, no pull.”
“Excellent, my heart, that is excellent, and you will do better here, at home rather than among a bunch of strangers.”
“They were most kind,”
“Oh, yes, I saw the eyes that were being made at you, and the word kind does not come immediately to mind,” she scoffed and took the sponge from his hand ducking it in the water.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Mmm hmmm,” she squeezed the sponge over his head.

Haldir laughed and sputtered water, “You are drowning me!” he protested.
“I should be drowning you, to flirt so and before me!” she laughed and sat down behind him.

Haldir sat in the chair brushing his dress boots and watched her, wrapped in her scarlet and sable robe, curl in the chair before the fire.

She opened a book, and settled comfortably against the arm, leaning toward the candles.

“Are you sure you will not come?”

She lifted her head, gave him a soft smile, “Yes, I am sure.” She held up the book, “We have much catching up to do.”


“She will not come,” Haldir said as he walked down the talan steps with Rúmil and Orophin in tow, “It is not what you said Orophin, so do not think that.”

She bows out for you. Her presence disturbs too many, and she becomes an object to stare at. She bows out for you, so you may enjoy the evening without provocation.

The main road of Calas Galadhrim was torch lit and moved with elves in pairs, groups and singly walking to the palace gardens and the nights festivities. Flutes and lyres played in the middle distance, the air cool and scented with night blooming flowers.

Haldir, Rúmil and Orophin stepped to the side to observe for a moment.

Couples danced smiling and laughing. Beyond a series of long tables had been arranged with refreshments served by the palace servants. Smaller tables were distributed along the flagstone floor, and further out in the garden to allow for more intimate conversations.

Erestor stood listening to Celeborn speaking animatedly on some subject while Galadrial sat smiling at her husband, very amused with his enthusiasm.

“Come,” Rúmil smiled taking Haldir by the arm, and they walked to a group of off duty guardians standing, cups in hand, talking and laughing. They turned at Haldir’s approach, made the ritual greeting and stood smiling at him.

His evening progressed happily among those he guarded the border with, and a few friends from outside of those who served with him. He recounted his time at Annúminas. The river maneuver, the battle on the plain and the Uruk and its arrow. He was even cajoled into pulling up his tunic to show his scar, drawing admiring gasps.

“War stories?” Erestor asked smiling, having walked up on them quietly.
“My Lord,” Haldir inclined his head, “something to that effect.”
“Where is the Duchess Ar-Feiniel? Did she stay in tonight? I was hoping that I would see her tonight, it has been too long since we have spoken.”
“Who?” Rumil asked.
Erestor laughed with the joke and then realised with surprise, Rumil was serious.
“I am sorry, I was mistaken … I thought there was a visitor here, excuse me.” Erestor smiled, and backed away.

“Phaila?” Orophin asked Haldir who quickly followed Erestor.
“My lord, my lord, wait!” Haldir called after him and Erestor turned warily.
“Who are you looking for?”
“I made a mistake Haldir, there is…”
“Phaila?”

Erestor blinked.
“Yes.”
“Phaila?” he asked again for clarification.
“I thought you knew.”

The cup in Haldir’s hand shook spilling wine.

“She told me her father was a general,” he whispered.
“Yes, Haldir he was, General of Forlindon for Gil-Galad, then Círdan …” Erestor looked away completely floundering.
“Amaras…”
“So you do know of him…” Erestor breathed relieved. He had stepped onto crumbling ground and struggled to find better footing, only was so far unsuccessful.
“Dead,” Haldir queried, not sure of himself at this point.
“Yes.”
“Duchess?” Haldir asked still confused.
“Double Duchess, she assumed the Duchy of Forlindon when her father died, and Amaras was….”
“A Duke,” Haldir nodded in understanding. A deluge of memories broke like a wave on him, things that had always left him wondering at their meaning; gestures, postures, tones of voice, looks…all explained in one word. Haldir covered his mouth with his hand, nodding in his memories that were now quite different and not what he had thought they were. He felt lied to. Anger rippled through him.

“Did you attend? It must have been something to see, this wedding.” Haldir said derisively staring hard at Erestor. His effort wasted for Erestor held such an expression of disbelief that Haldir’s stern countenance was eclipsed.

Erestor stared, “Wedding? Their families were mortal enemies!” he exclaimed in astonishment. “Gods, Haldir you know nothing.”

Erestor saw the colour drain from the warden’s face, and resisted the urge to take him by the arm but needed to sit him down before he toppled over.

“Come, sit down,” Erestor motioned to a bench under the trees, and away from eyes.

“They met at a banquet of reconciliation that Círdan had called to end the rivalries between the houses of Tur-anion and Ar-Feiniel that had been going on for centuries and touched all, a feud no one can remember the cause of, and danced together while their parents stood with smiles on their lips, and blood in their mouths,” Erestor looked inwardly, “You can imagine the stir this caused. Oh the political possibilities! And a love match on top? So much could be changed. For it was obvious, Haldir,” Erestor looked at Haldir who sat staring at the ground, “that they were made for one another.” He looked kindly on Haldir who waved him on, “He is not much unlike yourself Haldir, but then you won’t find comfort in that comparison, so forgive me.”

“He was from the house of Tur-anion, that was enough in and of its’ self to say no, but her family could not now use it as excuse to turn down his suit. But for one detail,” Erestor held up a slender forefinger, “Amaras was born a bastard. Tho his father did acknowledge him, and he carried the Tur-anion name, it could not be completely ignored, winked at yes, as most of us did, for he was decent and honourable and could not be held accountable for his birth, but couple that with no rank and hand that to a family who seeks a reason to say no?” Erestor shook his head doubtfully, “This was more than enough for her family to openly refuse him, while simultaneously insult his family all over again and give the feud fresh momentum. Using words like ‘bastard’ and then ‘rankless bastard’. We were helpless, a marriage would have joined the houses, ended the bloodshed, and yes there was much of it, kinslaying being this,” he snapped his fingers, “to Rohmë half elf But these too proud houses stood opposed and could not be commanded. Oh they were slippery with their replies and compliances for there are ways of saying and doing things that appear as this, but are actually thus. They forgot that they bred this into their children as well. That and a cunning patience that had to be seen to be believed. It took twenty years for the plan of Amaras and Phaila to hatch. For twenty years they waited, and if they saw one another I do not know, certainly they communicated, he stayed in the havens for those years, but twenty years past before Phaila made her bid for freedom. She reached her majority, and was then invested with title countess, took the oath from the house barons.” Here Erestor smiled, that had been a cagey thing to do. “She rode from her father’s house under escort toward the Havens to attend the wedding of a cousin whose name I forget in light of what happened. On the second night from Lindon she slipped away and met up with Amaras and together they rode with all of the demons imagined or in existence embodied in her kin on their heels into Imladris and straight from the saddle, before Lord Elrond and myself, and bound already, wedded themselves.”

Haldir tipped his head to the left, “I do not understand.”

“Witnesses, there could be no dispute. These are royals, not….” He waved to himself, motioned toward Haldir not putting a word to his meaning but making it clear, “That is one aspect of the ceremony defined for them that cannot be ignored. They needed irreproachable witnesses. Brilliant. Sticky for us, but brilliant.” Erestor smiled remembering the audacity of the pair, standing hands clasped, and dirt on their cheeks, promising. Amaras standing over Phaila, his broad chest rising and falling quickly with emotion and triumphant having achieved his soul’s desire, looking slightly down into the face of Phaila who looked back, that meager smile of hers turning up the corners of her mouth, with such love for him shining through her eyes. Both of them. They had devastated them all with such love.

He could not tell Haldir who was clearly pulling apart at the seams at the moment with too much astonishing and unexpected knowledge, half-knowledge, recollections and was having to resort what he thought he knew up until a few moments ago.

“Finish your story,” Haldir said his voice a whisper.

“We thought ‘that’s it! It is finished! The families will relent now for surely they won’t raise their hands against their children.’ Her family would take it the hardest, we understood, for his she was a boon,” Erestor shook his head sadly, “How can there be so much hate in a heart that one can turn on their own child?”

“They did not even stay one night, but left immediately … we pleaded with them to stay under our protection, but they knew…” he smiled nodding again, “they knew that what they were calling down on them would blanket us as well and could not have withstood it,”

“Their families would have dared war?”
“There are ways to wage war that do not require armies, Haldir, and it can be more devastating for it strikes singly, and at the heart in the dark,” Erestor looked into the gardens dressed in moonlight, “Amaras and Phaila did dare it but elsewhere. So they made another run and went to the one place where no one could touch them.”

“Círdan,” Haldir nodded and leaned his elbows on his knees, grasping his head with his hands.

“He blessed the marriage, publicly, and promised a reckoning of devastating proportions to both houses should either Amaras or Phaila so much as sneeze. So peace was restored….after a fashion, for there was one more dramatic stroke to be played out when Curunor, Phaila’s father came to court to tell her of her mother’s death. They never reconciled, for her mother took her father’s part in this, as she should have, but to cast off your own flesh, Haldir? It must have wounded Phaila very deeply, I say must because no one knows how she took it truly for she stood quietly, betrayed no emotion when she heard.”

Amaras knew.

Erestor leaned back against the tree sighed sadly.

“He called her to him three times before the entire court, commanding her to return home forsake this marriage, pleading her with a father’s love and her mother’s sacrifice, then bribing her with the duchy. Then it was her turn. Phaila begged Curunor to love her, leave her to her choice and if not his blessing then only his kiss and she would stay forever from his sight. But he would not hear it and commanded her one more time to return to Lindon, restore her name, begged her not to taint their bloodline with a child from him. Phaila turned and knelt before Amaras and said clearly that she would die before she left his house. She said, ‘I am Phaila, Lady Ar-Feiniel, no more, but Phaila Tur-anion, and am most content.’ Rank and title,” he waved his hand, “made little difference to her, she did not make distinctions. Remember she was a Morrigan even then, tho young. And in that moment made a patented point to everyone, to Amaras most of all, of what and whom was most important to her.”

“It was something to behold in one so terribly young,” Erestor’s eyes were large in wonder.
“How old is she?”

Erestor stood reckoning, “I think three hundred and forty, give or take.”
Dear gods, she was young!

“Curunor was wounded in a skirmish oh, maybe three years later and was taken home to Lindon and Phaila went to him. I don’t know what transpired there except to say that she buried him and stood Duchess at the tomb,” Erestor looked to Haldir who sat still with head in hands, “Amaras’ legitimate brothers died in in battle, in feud and finally his father, who having no heir but him, left him his title. This caused an uproar in his house among his many cousins, which he quickly settled by…” Erestor waved his hand, “weeding out the bad blood backed by the new house of Ar-Feiniel and also Círdan who saw a chance to finally lay this to rest. What irony. Imagine all of the lives spared if only their parents had relented. There is a love Haldir, that cannot be denied and it will not be turned, no matter the cost.”

“It took them thirty some odd years to finally pull the houses together and it was a bitter war, but they did what we could not. Then there was the child, and the promise of others to come, all gone in Mordor when he went down, and he effectively took her with him. I do not know how she held the houses together after he…died, but she did, and all at under the age of one hundred … could you? Could I?” he mused, “Oh Haldir.” He said softly, sadly for Phaila. She had tried to find some home against the wreckage of her life, and he had pulled it down. How could he have known that she would keep this all from her lover? Ah, well, she had. She had tried at least.

They sat together quietly for a time.

Haldir sat up looking before him. He had seen this; she was indeed faithful to her heart. He put his head in his hands again.


“What I heard was diluted, and much of this fine detail left out,” Haldir laughed bitterly.

“It would be hard telling if it happened to you, Haldir,” Erestor said softly, “and there are other reasons as well. She cannot have married you, for she holds duc duchies together through Alanor, until Amaras…”

“At least she did not lie outright,” he stood angrily, “Why could she not tell me? I do not understand her. How can she truly love me with all of these things hidden and with the much beloved Amaras looming in the distance.”

“I think that is a question best directed at yourself,” he snorted in disgust, “For it is apparent that it is you who has the difficulty of loving her with as you say Amaras looming in the distance. As to why she had not told you, what I have unwisely done, perhaps it is because you never asked.”

He sighed regretfully, “I have betrayed her.”