The Phoenix's Griffin

Haldir made his way quickly through the early morning to Phaila’s tent to steal a few moments before she was swept away again until the evening when he would only see her for dinner. It had been a week since he had last lain with her and he was half mad with need sharpened by proximity and no time and wanted to dispel the sadness that enveloped her; enveloped him.

She was continually beyond his grasp. She was closeted with her cousins, with Berindon for days, smiling at Haldir at table but never sending for him. She spent much time walking and talking with Berindon in the snow, or overseeing the restoration of her fortress’ walls, and buildings. Always called away, always others surrounded her.

He was allowed to enter, her guards knew him as one who was given free access to her rooms. Maltafuinien was nowhere in sight as he made his way to her bedchamber. He smiled thinking of her surprise to be wakened by his kisses; he drew the arras aside and found her sitting at her desk, and he was the one surprised.

She raised her head and smiled. She wore her soft gold robe, and her hair was loose, drawn over one shoulder.

“Sheriff,” she tapped the quill on the desk, “what are you doing up so early? Is all well?”
“I was wanting to see you,” he stepped through and stood looking at her across the expanse of the chamber, “How are you, Phaila, we’ve not had a chance to speak…?” he folded his arms across his chest.
“Busy,” she rose from her chair and walked around the desk and opening her arms wrapped them around his neck. His own spread to enfold her waist, run up her back and she moaned softly, “I have been missing you,” she whispered laying her head on the top of his shoulder, and he found himself burying his face in her hair. Yes, of course. Duty called.

He drew her head back to smooth the hair from her face and look at her. What exquisite and eccentric beauty lay here? His hands traveled down over her neck.

“What is this?” he touched her robe, blood stained the fabric.
“I think I pulled a stitch.”
“Let me look.”
“How is your arm?”
“Fine. Sit.”

She sat in one of the two chairs before her desk and he sat opposite, scooting it closer, settling his knee between hers.

He touched the skin that peeked through the robe and brushed the cloth away, drawing his fingers along her skin as he did so.

He clicked his tongue at the blood that seeped from the wound and he pressed his fingers against the flesh.
“Does this hurt?”
“No,” she answered breathlessly and he flicked his eyes to hers that were bright in the lamplight. He smil “Li “Liar, how did you do this?”
“I think that has been established and certified,” she teased, but his blush sobered her, “Book.”
“Book?”
“Yes, it slipped from the desk and I grabbed for it,” she smiled back.
He clicked his tongue again.
“Should have let it fall, you’ve ripped three out.”
“Ild hld have if I had been thinking, reflex only I promise you or I would have used my right hand.”
“Well, where’s the sewing kit?” His mood lightened considerably as if nothing had disturbed his sleep this week.

Phaila looked around her bedchamber, “ah, beside the bed.”
Haldir rose and walked to the table and picked up the carved wooden box, lifted the lid. Yes, five needles stuck through a square of leather, and a spool of thick black thread, silver scissors.
He stopped at the wash basin set up on a polished oak tripod and taking up the wash cloth dipped it into the ewer and came back to sit down again.
He put the box on the desk, draped the wet cloth over his leg, lifted the lid and turned to her.

Drawing his fingers along her collarbone he pushed the robe away from her completely, draping it off her shoulder.

He scrubbed at the dried blood before pressing the cloth to the wound.

“What have you been doing with yourself?” she asked finally, realising she had been staring at his face.
“Pitching in where I can, a lot of supervision of moving this pile over to that pile.”
“I have caused you much work,” she referred to her complete sweep of every stick of furniture and paraphernalia belonging to Alanor and his court. She wanted none of it.
“What is this?” he held up the small cotton bag, tied closed and laying in the box.
“It numbs wounds,” she took the bag.
“Let me cut these out,” he took up the scissors and cut the black thread in her skin and pulled the threads with his fingers.

He held the cloth to the wound that bled afresh, and looked at her as she opened the bag and when he drew the cloth back sprinkled the herbs over the hole, and she winced away.

Haldir laughed, “I thought you said it numbs?”
“It hurts first and then numbs.”

Haldir pulled a needle from the leather and measured out a length of thread and snipped it with the scissors.

He threaded the needle.
“You’ve done this before?” She asked with playful skepticism in her voice.
“Once or twice,” he answered and made a knot on the end and then pinched the skin together, “Do you feel that?”
“Not in the least,” she looked down and he pressed the needle against her, “you cannot watch, I will hit your chin.” He tipped it up with the back of his hand and she laughed.

He leaned forward, shifting in the seat, his leg going further up between hers.

“How did you get the scar on your cheeke ase asked drawing the needle through and up.
“My brother, during an argument.”
“That must have been some argument, it looks like a sword cut.”
“It is.”

His eyes widened.
“Was an accident,” she smiled.
“Why do you keep it?”
“A reminder,” she answered but did not say of what specifically.

He shook his head almost unperceivable, changed the subject.

“I do not even know what your favourite colour is,” he drew the needle again and she looked down - again.
“Red, but I like blue as well.”
He tilted her head up. Smiled.
“You wear a lot of blue,” she said looking to his face, “it compliments your eyes, but you know this already.”
“I like blue.” He corrected, he did not want her to think he was vain.
She looked down again, “If you do not keep your head up I will sew your chin to your shoulder,” he pushed her chin up again.

She looked at his gold hair splayed over his shoulder and arm, the braid behind his ear swung forward and she took it in her fingers stroking the smooth and soft hair plaited so neatly.

Haldir’s hand shook and he took a deep breath to still it. He drew the needle through her skin five more times, keeping the stitches small, tied it off and with the scissors cut the needle free.

“There,” he dropped the scissors in the box, jabbed the needle back into the leather, closed the lid and turned to look at her, and her mouth was suddenly on his making him gasp. His arms came tightly around her, as he opened his mouth toeiveeive her kiss. Having had to sleep alone for so long, he had been dreaming, waking up panting, the sheets wet with his seed. Erotic dreams were one thing, stroking himself to climax another, but oh gods, to sink into the body of a loved one…

He kissed her hungrily, his breath fast and he plunged his tongue past her lips. He drug her from the chair and his mouth still busy with hers, peeled the robe from her shoulders.

How he came out of his clothes he was not aware, but he found himself sinking, moaning helplessly into her, his arms wrapped under her shoulders, cradling the back of her head in the palm of his hand. He bowed his back over her, then arched away from her, whipping his head back to snap it forward and crash his mouth down on hers as he moved violently between her lean thighs.

Phaila murmured words that urged him to move deeply, with long slow thrusts. He held her tightly against his chest, their hips undulating and watched her roll her face from his on the pillow, arching her neck, lips parted in sigh and soft exclamation. Her nails dug into his hips as he thrust in her, powerless, lost in the sensations of heat, the soft firmness, the pressure building. She struggled beneath him, clawing and nipping his shoulder, his neck and his ear.

“Haldir,” her voice pleading and he increased his tempo, and deepened his movement, shortened his thrusts until she writhed beneath him. Her head arching away, and she cried out softly, her voice a growl, “oh, Haldir. Yes.”

He was propelled over the edge, dug his fingers into her hip, he buried his face against her neck and began to tense with impending orgasm, his breath shuddering and then the pleasurable bursting as he flooded her, crying out against her cheek his hips plunging forward.

Chest heaving he lay over her and she combed her fingers through his hair while he smiled into her face.

They lay curled together, his head high on her chest, his fingers wiping at the blood that lay drying on her golden skin and she sang softly in her language, a love song; a song of loss and longing or so it sounded.

Her voice was deep, and low. He had never heard her sing, the inference crashed down. Her fingers caressed his cheek and she brushed her lips across his forehead as she sang the song to its conclusion. He lay with arm around her waist, gray-blue eyesringring at the candles.

“You must go home, Haldir,” she said softly.

He nodded and tightened his arm around her waist, closed his eyes listening to the heart beneath that began to gallop. The day had come. She was not his and never had been. She was only someone who crashed into his life and turned it upside down, then drifted away. He had tried to prepare himself for this, had hoped for more time – uselessly. She would always go in the end; this little conflict had brought it about without the need for Amaras at all.

She rubbed her cheek against his forehead. “ Do you know that the heart is chambered? Yes, and I think aside from practical application, I think it is because there are times when we love more than one.”

He stiffened and she tightened her arm around him.

She whispered, “You are my only transgression.”
Haldir drew away, sitting up slowly, brushing the hair from his face.
“That does not make me feel…”
“It is only truth, Haldir. Bloody, unmerciful truth. You think that there are neat, organised solutions, answers for every messy and chaotic problem encountered and question asked. That is why you came, to seek the answers, have the truth finally out, but now you have it, you do not like it, and seek another answer that suits you better. Perhaps where you live this is possible, but for me and where I dwell it would only drive one mad.” she sat up and lay her hands over his shoulders, “Accept, Haldir. Let it be what it was.”
“And what was that?”

She drew from him and sat silent sog heg he turned to look at her over his shoulder, and found such an expression of hurt on her down turned face that he moved in the bed toward her, sorry he had said that.
“I have only had two lovers, Haldir.” She spoke softly, “I am not versed in this.”
“Two?!” She was well versed in sex.

He saw her lips tighten, purse as she measured how or if to answer his shocked response.

She bent her eyes to his, choosing to ignore his outburst, “And I do not know how to say good-bye to you…should I have steered this into a fight? Let you ride your anger home?”

He shook his head slowly, “No,” he drew her to him, “No, there is no reason to part on feelings more raw.” Save I do not want to part.

They dressed quietly, looking to one another in this palatial room as their bedroom in Lórien superimposed its’ self around them for a moment. It could have been any morning spent making love and rising to dress, but it was not.

She rode with him for half of the day toward the northeast.

Drawing her horse up slowly she stared toward her left.

“There. That is where I met Amaras for our flight to Rivendel,” she pointed to the far edge of the Ghost Oak forest that wrapped around the trailing end of the Blue Mountains, the great oaks bowed and spread there branches in curving, embracing postures, the mountains rising from their growth. “It marked the beginning of my life.” She sat looking inwardly. “And does so again.” voicvoice grew small. She lifted her chin and smiled.

She lay her head back to look at the bluest of skies, “Have you ever seen a more beautiful day?” She breathed deeply and closed her eyes. “You would think that with such a parting there would be a storm, but that is arrogance.”

But he did not look to ascertain if her comment on the day were true or not; his eyes were locked on her sitting on her dark gray mare. It was true what she said; it should be pouringn win with their sorrow. Her hair caught the sun, glinted the soft, phantom colour of red that ran through, it lifted in the breeze and blew across her face and she reached up and with a gloved finger tucked it behind her perfect ear. The Morrigan mark peeked and was hidden again.

His heart hammered, and he felt dizzyingly sick. She had shifted away, drew from her well of strength, slipped behind her iron curtain and was resolved to see this done without tears. Who’s to say which end was best? There was sorrow enough, she had concluded. Much more and it would end in disaster between them. Or perhaps she simply could not bear it.

She had offered no alternative ending for them to pine on for years and years to come, had not sighed and said, ‘if there had been no Amaras, Haldir…it would have been thus’. She would never renounce Amaras.

She lowered her head from her examination of the sky and looked at him; her eyes moved over his face slowly, “I know I appear different to you these last days, farther away and removed, but a szív sosem semleges, Haldir.” She reached her left hand across the space between them and brushed a strand of hair from his lashes, caressed his cheek.

His fingers tightened on the reins to keep from taking her hand.

She gave a slight, tremulous smile, turned the mare. “I would be a gentle ghost, Sheriff, not a tyrant…?”

Haldir nodded his head and she rode swiftly away.