The Phoenix's Griffin

He had moved to another house, overlooking the sea. Drawn always to the sea; he had settled his few possessions and grew comfortable alone for he was not truly alone. He could feel her more clearly now without the presence, distractions of Malopea, and her demands on his attentions and affections. She would arrive, moving the air with her sudden appearance.

In bed, he had sprawled and called for her – namelessly – to come to him, to make love and she arrived on the wind of the ocean.

Azure eyes closed; lips parted he opened his shirt with lust numb fingers and traced them over his chest, ran them over his erect nipples, drawing a sigh from him. Lower his hands went. Fingertips moved over the rippling muscles of his stomach, trailed his ribs. He ran his left hand up his chest to touch the hollow of his throat feeling the strong pulse of his thundering heart and he caressed his neck. His lips ached to be kissed; his tongue flicked over them and rolled his head on the pillow. His right hand traced over his hipbone and he touched the hard length of himself beneath the fabric of his leggings. He worked at the lacings, peeling back the fabric and drew his hand over the hard flesh lying heavy on his abdomen. He ran his fingers over the soft velvet skin, veined and thick, twitching for more serious attention.

He grasped himself, drew back the skin to expose the head and rolled his thumb over the satin of it wet and sticky. He stroked himself slowly, relishing the images in his mind, fleeting and vague; he could feel himself sinking into her. He ran his left hand over his chest again, traced his stomach with the flat of his hand. She breathed against the right side of his neck and he rolled his head unconsciously seeking her mouth, arched his head back not finding her, then her lips brushed his; he inhaled a hissing breath. He tightened his grip as he moved deeper in her could feel the tug of her flesh retreating and engulfing him, he could feel her above him but he wanted her below. He rolled on to his side, half on his stomach. Yes, that was better. He stretched his larm arm up to grasp the headboard, linking his fingers with hers, his face on the sheet; he drew his right leg up on the mattress to ease his access to himself, as in his mind, he moved in her. He rubbed his face against the sheet, imagining her shoulder, breathing in deeply; he could almost smell her and sighing in his exhalation. He moaned softly, pressing his forehead against the bed as he increased the tempo. “Tetszik,” he whispered shuddering and he panted and held his breath in anticipation feeling her move under him, her flesh drawing along his. “Valar!” he gasped stroking harder, faster and pulled on the headboard and it creaked threateningbreabreak, “Oh, gods!” he roared hunching over himself, his hips thrashed forward and back, and he cried out burying his face in the sheet as his seed fountained over his fingers, into her, onto the bed.

Now he needed her kisses and caresses, to hear her voice murmuring in his ear. He needed to smile with her, brushing their hair from their faces and curl with her to fall asleep in her embrace, but she drifted away and left him cold and shivering.

He rolled onto his back breathing heavily and threw his arm over his eyes for a moment before rising from the bed.

She had come for his pleasure, now he must come for her anguish.

Amaras sat on the balcony turning the cup of wine round and round in his hands. His heart hammered, he felt sick to his stomach as she called and called.

For three days she reached for him, distraught and then a great calm descended; compelled by a great fear. Heartbreak and frustration brought him from a tossed bed, to pull on his robe, and wipe the tears from his face with angry hands. She wailed and wailed for him her ache lending weight to his own. He could taste her sweet tears mixed with his.

He took the bottle of wine and a cup and came to the balcony to sit in his anger. Amaras! Oh Amaras! She cried and he dropped his cup, caught his head in his hands. Gods, where are you, my love, my love!? He answered in his heart. If he could say her name, if he could only say her name! Maybe then she would hear him. Maybe he could comfort her, still the lunacy that crept over them both.

He leaned his elbows on his knees and took deep breaths of the fresh, cold sea air and began to sob with his frustration.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I have not seen one so grief stricken,” Námo spoke to his wife Vairë as she sat examining her finished tapestry, “even in his sleep he finds no peace.” He laid his hand on her shoulder, “She has forced him to mfromfrom Malopea.” Malopea was a failed attempt to soothe the coming troubles, but not even they had guessed at the depth of their bond, and the strength of the promise made of soul mates. She would not come to him; he must go to her.

“I am not surprised,” Vairë turned her head to smile up at her husband. She had not been enamored of this 'gift' to Amaras, being wife and having her own thoughts on fidelity. She had bowed to her lord's suggestion and sat secretly pleased that it had failed, “there is only one for him. It would have been much worse if he had been given over to his kin,” she answered and took her husband’s hand, “to be reminded, to be told all that is hidden from him.” She shuddered at the thought. “It would destroy his soul to hold him, now that he is hearing her.”

Námo kissed her lips softly, his eyes meeting hers.

Námo stood looking to Amaras. He had finally succumbed to the half-elf’s grief and had come to set him on his way. Amaras, gentle, sapphire eyed Amaras, who sat leaning his elbows on his knees holding his head, his dark hair running through his fingers; long glossy fringe. He was dressed in dark gray, and sky blue, the shirt did not hide his muscular arms, the fabric pulled across the shoulders. He had graced them with his gentle power, and striking form. He had been crafted for the one who called from Arda, the one who would not let him go.

“Amaras,” he called softly, and watched sadly as the already trembling elf jumped from his chair, head whipping to the right, eyes wide.
“Oh. I am sorry My Lord,” Amaras inclined his head deeply; relieved to find a body accompanying this voice.
“I am sorry to have startled you.” Námo held his hand out and walked toward Amaras, “You are greatly troubled, Amaras, it is sad to see you so.”

Amaras bent and picked up the cup he had dropped earlier and set it on the railing.

“Please,” Námo gestured to the chair and Amaras sat down to look at the Lord of the Halls. Námo looked over the rail. Amaras’ new dwelling had a commanding view of the sea; memory no doubt compelled him to live here. Rohmë elves, they caused much strife aligning themselves with Fëanor, but he was not accountable and had been born after the exile was lifted. “Amaras, we are sending you home.”
“Home? My Lord? Home to whe Am Amaras asked.
“Arda,” Námo smiled, “So prepare yourself for your journey, we leave within the hour.” Námo turned and Amaras rose to his feet.

“Home,” Amaras whispered breathlessly, elated. Home….

They rode in silence. Amaras’ blue eyes devoured all around him, committing it to memory and he might have been tormented at the prospect of leaving if he had been going anywhere else but home, and not been tormented already.

Amaras’ future was open before him, but he rode eagerly to meet his past, looking forward to being re-introduced to what awaited. Námo found Amaras lightening as they drew closer, lightening and growing inwardly brighter; his soul began to unfurl its’ wings, and only the mere thought of reuniting with his love had unpinned him. Waves of anticipation rolled from him, bringing a smile to Námo’s lips and causing him shake his head in awe of the grand heart that beat in this elf. There was no trepidation, only yearning.

Námo stood before Amaras on the pier beside the tall ship that would bear him and a handful of other elves back to Arda this day. The wind began to blow in preparation of filling the sails. Amaras’ hair snapped around his face at he looked at the gentle Vala Námo in his robes of blue.

“You have gained all from us that you are able. Not even we can grant you the peace you will find on the opposite shore, Amaras. Your life calls to you and waits, impatiently, for your return. When you see the bay of the Havens your memory will return to. I. I am sorry that I cannot have revealed more to you before you sail, but you will understand. I do not expect to see you, Amaras, in my hall again. That is not to say I would not gladly welcome a visit should you come of your own accord, and accompanied by the one who has set you on this ship.”

Amaras beamed a smile as bright as the sun and Námo took his shoulders in his hands.

“Go, Amaras with our blessing on you and all you love.”
“Thank you, My Lord,” Amaras inclined his head as Námo kissed his forehead.