The Phoenix and the Griffin

They ran down the stairs and burst into the Great Hall laughing.

Saeros looked, frowned.

“Forgive us, Your Grace,” Isóng smiled and inclined his head, “we were celebrating among ourselves and lost track of time.” He took a goblet from a passing servant, “To Amaras, cousin! Welcome home!!!” He held it high lowered it to his lips and watched Amaras over the rim.

Amaras stood and lifted his own goblet to his cousin smiling, warmth, hope filling his chest.

Phaila raised her eyes to look into the face of her husband and smiled, and prayed.

“Forgiven, Isóng,” Saeros smiled and stood to put his hand on Amaras’ shoulder, “Come sit, you and your brothers!”

Isóng inclined his head, lifted his eyes and looked at Phaila. Ah, a deep, golden yellow, muted yes, but oh it suited much, MUCH better than the pearl gray and her hair was loose. Did she hear him in his private reverie in the bath when he had her?

He dragged his eyes away and walked quickly to the table.

Amaras and Phaila were much engaged in conversation, nuzzling, stealing food from each other’s plates playfully, and sharing a cup of wine.

Isóng found himself leaning back in his seat and turning his head to the right to watch them. How he hated Amaras. Younger he had never thought of him as a threat, and had never considered him at all. This turn was ugly. He swallowed with a closing throat. How happy he is. So much to be happy on. He had the title now, well, soon enough, and a wife…a wife, a lover. A lover in that slender creature titled herself but eschewed for his pride. What more did she give to his bastard cousin? Much from that contented bloom and ease that graced Amaras’ face. He had stolen much in also taking his La.

“Cheerfully,” Rorfiwn nudged him.
Isóng smiled, and put his hand on his brother’s shoulder, leaned close, “You must dance with her.”
“What?” Rorfiwn sputtered on his wine.
“Yes, you must so you may tell me what she feels like.”
“Valar,” Rorfiwn wiped his chin.
“Do it, Rorfiwn.”
“Yes, yes.”

“What think you, Phaila?” Saeros asked, playfully pushing Amaras back in his chair to see her, “Valar, Amaras but you lean over her so!!”

Amaras laughed and covered his hand with his own.
“I think, Your Grace,” she leaned across Amaras, putting her hand on his thigh, “they are a merry court.”
“I am glad, you seem much happier yourself tonight.”

Amaras burbled a laugh and Phaila dug her nails into his leg, making him yelp and grab her hand.

Saeros looked away, laughing, understanding.
“I do like your cousins,” she whispered to Amaras, “they seem to be much fun. Are these the cousins we must fight?”

Indeed, they were merry. They laughed and teased among each other sitting off Saeros’ left hand, calling out to the court barons, beckoning them to the table to chat and joke.

“I hope not. I am glad they have presented themselves amiably, kedevelt.”
“How do we proceed with them?”
“Let me speak with them, they must have some disappointment, tho they seem to be handling it well enough, I do not want to push them to hard, too soon to be friends.”
She nodded, took his braid in her hand and kissed him.

Saeros watched the eyes of his court. The ladies were much amoured of his son and his wife. Sighing together, they watched the couple that was demonstrative in their affection for one another. Their husbands looked knowing they would get an earful later, some tho looked on his daughter-in-law with something else he did not like. What could he do? One cannot command eyes, none would dare to attempt to tread where there was no path. There were none here who were soul bound; they had all simply fallen in love, or been matched by parents. They found themselves paired in a cooler bed or in a bed where little love lay and now sat faced with two much armored. Enough to stir lust and envy. He could not have wanted more for any of his sons than this kind of love, tho part of him feared Amaras be bound so.

This species of rare love could be as destructive as it was wonderful to behold. They dwelt in their own world these two; had fallen back into their exclusive conversation.

“Amaras! What must one do to speak to your wife? Tie you to a chair? Gag you?”
“Oh?” Phaila looked delighted at the prospect of Amaras bound and helpless.
“No, Your Grace!” He held his hands up, and leaned back in his chair.
“Will you have the first dance with me?”
“Igen, köszönöm, foméhosagú herceg, I will.”
“Ah, now Your Grace…” Amaras moaned disapprovingly.
“I must open the ball and cannot alone.”
“I am sorry, of course.”

Saeros led her from the high table onto the floor as the minstrels in the gallery above plucked and blew into their instruments readying.

The song began a swaying tune written to show off the grace of the dancers and he gathered her respectfully in his arms.

Isóng watched, leaning his elbows on the table, propping his chin on his fingers. I am not satisfied, he mused, I must touch her.

After their fourth sweep other couples joined.

Isóng, pushed back from the table, Rorfiwn caught his sleeve, cocked his head. Isóng smiled, and walked to lean his arm on the back of Phaila’s empty seat.

Amaras stood, Isóng waved him down filled his goblet and motioned to Phaila’s seat.
“May I?”
“Of course, my lord,” Amaras inclined his head.
“Please cousin, call me by my name, you will be Count of Lund Daer in a few days.” Isóng smiled. “And I must bow to you. Will you seek to punish me then?”
“You were never cruel to me, Isóng.”
“No, but then I was not your friend either. There was much I could have done to smooth your way, and I did not. Amaras, I will not lie I had wanted this for myself when your brother… but…” He held his hand up with a gesture that said, ah, well. “It was not meant to come to us, it was foolish to think that it would, we hoped if only briefly….” He looked contrite, “I am sorry about Beren, I know you loved him, and here I sit talking as if he were a chess piece on a board.”
“Sometimes, I think that that is all we are…”

Amaras studied his cousin thoughtfully. It could not be this easy.

“And other times what do you think?”
Amaras looked at Phaila in the arms of his father, listening to him talk, smiling into his face.
“That we are the hands that moves the pieces,” Let Isóng chew on this for a while, “on our own little chessboards.”

Isóng followed Amaras’ line of sight. She is an interesting piece Amaras moved, and he was sure she moved him as adroitly.

It was on his tongue to continue this allegorical conversation, but it could turn … dangerous since the next logical step would be to assign the ranking of the board, divide them; black and white.


igen - yes
Igen, köszönöm, foméhosagú herceg - yes, thank you, my lord duke