The Phoenix and the Griffin

He stood on the walls and watched as the Ar-Feiniel passed through the arch. Phaila rode toward the back of the train turned looking for him. Her face a mask of quiet desperation as her eyes flicked from face to face, from head of sable hair to another.

He raised his hand, lips parted, HERE! Valar, Phaila! Here!!! He called wordlessly. Her eyes found his; relief flooded her face. Amaras attempted to swallow around the lump in his throat, see through the film of tears that stung his nose, gave her a smile while his fingers dug into the stone and morter. She dipped her chin, a nod, turned and rode stiffly away. She made a half-turn, stopping his heart, caught herself and did not look back again.

Amaras packed his room with a shaking, determined hand. Goddamn it, Phaila, goddamn it. His last shirt crammed in his leather kit he looked nd, nd, opening drawers, assuring himself he hadn’t forgotten anything, looked through the desk again; eyed the candles he had bought; they had burned down to a nub. He backed toward the door and looked at what had been his marital bed. Small, it was the dearest piece of furniture he had ever laid eyes on. He stepped forward and stripped off the sheets, stuffed them in his kit. All he had of her save memories saturated these sheets, the scent of her clean skin and hair, the scent of her sweat mingled with his, her dew mixed with his seed.

He walked to the barracks he was assigned and found a bed below a window, and not too near a door. Alone, he quickly stripped the bed and remade it with the sheets he had taken, throwing the clean sheets into the grass basket marked ‘linen’. He busied himself with unpacking his clothing and hanging them in the wardrobe provided, and kneeling on his bed leaned his arms on the windowsill.

Oh, kedevelt. I want to see you already. He smiled wistfully. I am distilled to a raw ellon when parted from you, and with you….I do not know what I am. Perhaps at last I am discovering myself. I am finding my voice, and a strength I did not know I possessed. When those eyes turn on me, I am the torch to light her way, I am the path she treads.


“Hello?” A voice called.
“Yes?” Amaras answered.
“Is this the barracks of Captain Fenduil?”
“It is.”

The adan entered dragging his own kit.
“Which are taken?”
“Only this one,” Amaras smiled and stood, “I am Amaras, T…..Amaras.”
“I am Uniril,” The silver elf smiled back, “You do not snore do you?”
“I don’t think so, no…”
“Good, then I will take this one,” he dropped his bag on the bed opposite Amaras’, it too had a window, “I am hoping this,” he pointed to the window, “will not have been a bad decision.”
“You will be able to see the moon and the stars at night.”
“It is the birds in the morning I am concerned with.”
“I expect we will be up before the birds have an opportunity to wake you.”

Uniril considered, “That’s a terrible thought, Amaras, when I had hoped to sleep in.” Smiled.

Another adan entered, “Is this the barracks of captain Fenduil?”

Uniril put his things away, Amaras watching idly, noticed the wedding band and his heart constricted. Anonymous husband. Anonymous lover.

The long, wide room was slowly filled as stragglers entered asking the same question, “Is this the …”

Captain Fenduil arrived at dusk, and after a brief explanation of what to expect the next weeks, led them to the mess hall for dinner.

He drew Amaras aside.
“I know who you are.”

Amaras waited, wanting to laugh at such a ludicrous statement, however; did not.

“You will not receive special consideration here, do you understand?”
Amaras smiled disarmingly, “Yes, sir.”
Captain Fenduil bobbed his head.
“Captain?” Amaras stopped him.
“Yes?”
“I would prefer my…situation be kept between us, sir.”

Fenduil blinked. This is new. Most sons of lords who passed through his training made no pretense to be anything but what they were.

“Very well.”

As a new conscript, they would endure months on probation, something all new to the guard experienced, before being permitted to take his first leave.

Amaras lay on the bed and listened to the grumbles of husbands and lovers sharing this fast with him and smiled.

“Six months?” A hervenn grumbled incredulously, “My wife will not understand this.”
“How long have you been married?”
“Only a year.”
“No, I daresay she will not.”
“Is only six months,” Amaras smiled, “it could be worse.”
“Easy enough for you to say, you are not married.”

The bachelors fell asleep quickly; the husbands lay long awake, tossing, turning seeking the warmth, and comfort of their wives beside them.

Feleség. He lay with his hand over his chest, looked at the beamed ceiling and listened to the quiet breathing around him. A laugh welled. How she would laugh to see him so, laugh and cry.

Their collective sexual frustration built with the passing of the days and nights. Ah, the nights; the smells of erotic dreams that wafted in the air, the sounds of an adan dreaming of making love, the sound of his bed as he moved lost in his nocturnal activity, waking with a strangled cry and the stifled laughter of those who lay unable to do anything but listen.

“Shut up.” The throaty growl and the pounding of a pillow followed. More laughter, louder and longer until even the ‘offender’ joined.
“That sounded…” someone spoke in the dark, gave a low whistle.
“Careful you speak on my wife.” Laughter erupted again.

Amaras sat up, shaking his head, smiling, then laughing softly…oh, Valar…we need more exercise to exhaust us, save us from these tortures of flesh denied. His own dreams woke him well before he spilled his seed on the sheets, but left him panting no doubt audibly by Delilad who slept at the farthest end of the room.

Tempers flared easily among the married aphadrim. Amaras separated a few whose minor squabble began to take on the look of exchanging blows. He stood between the two, a hand on their chests, his brilliant smile flashing from one to the other, a joke, a reminder of some amusing incident that had passed between the two combatants and he would walk the most angry away with his arm around his shoulder.

As for himself, he vented his frustration in the sword ring with intense and frightening ferocity, ending with him standing over his opponent, and subsequently offering his hand, a self-depreciating smile. On the archery range, he loosed his arrows with such force they split the wooden targets. He stood bow in hand, drumming his fingers against his leg, glaring at the mark disappointed it did not endure his onslaught. What remained of this energy he would use on Phaila.

It did not take long for his life at court to filter down into the common barracks. Eyes slid his way, and voices hushed at his approach. At least none here would dare utter that one word that would end in injury.

What a sock in the eye it must be to live so high and be forced to endure this! He had overheard. If they only knew.

Uniril and Delilad made no notice of the rumours rampant asked a few careful questions and let it slide from their fingertips.

“Where do you go, Amaras?” Uniril asked as he strode by with his kit in his hand and a smile on his lips. Their first furlough had arrived at long last.

Amaras only turned, smiled and waved.

“Where is he going?” Delilad asked.
“To see someone, I think, who means too much to him to speak of.” Uniril smiled.
~~~~~~~~
It was 65 leagues from the havens to the fortress in Forlindon, almost a ten-day ride. He took his horse along the long Ghost Oak forest river shielded by the mists that rose.

The forest was a wonder in a land that lay covered in snow for four months running, whose summer nights were so cool one must wear a cloak when outdoors. A great hot spring fed into the river through cracks in the bedrock, making it bubble with its intense heat, but further down it cooled in the snow water, here one could step into a warmth that was much like a bath and need only move up or down stream to find a temperature of better liking. For five miles, the river and the hot spring mingled leaving a perpetual mist hanging in the branches of the great oaks. The warmth of the springs held the snow at bay, grasses stayed green, and flowers bloomed in a natural hothouse.

Amaras rode with lips parted in amazement of the strange, delicate flowers that grew hanging from the trees, beads of moisture on their faces like tears or sweat. Birds sang in the leaves overhead, and in the distance, echoing off some cliff unseen the howl of a wolf. The Ghost Oak wolves…he trembled as did his horse.

Amaras made his camp in the mists and waited for his wife to find him. He stood impatient before the steaming water thinking on pleasures to come, and talks that would be necessary. Siet, siet, Phaila!

“Amaras,” she called softly, not wanting to surprise him as she walked toward him, but he jumped regardless. His head snapped to the left, and he beamed a smile and held his arms open as she flew into them. He caught her and spun her in a circle before carrying her, legs wrapped around his waist to his bed beside the fire.

They pulled off their boots and their breeches and joined. Far too impatient to remove the top half of their clothing til he had entered her, then lust clumsy fingers worked buttons, tugged tunics and shirts from between them.

“Yes.” He moaned as his chest touched her breasts; their union was complete.

~~~~~~~~
Amaras lay with his head on her breast, eyes closed listening to the beat of her heart. He tightened his arm around her, overcome with the scent of her, the feel of her. He had been dreaming cruelly….A wolf howled and he lifted his head.
“They will not bother us.”
“Nem?”
“No,” she adjusted the folded blanket under her head, “we have always left them in peace, and for this they do not trouble us.”

Amaras maintained his tense posture.
“Truly Amaras,” she ran her hand over his hair spilling over his shoulder, “they are very beautiful. Gray as the mist with amber eyes.”
“Are there bears as well?”
“No,” she smiled, “but there are squirrels.”

Amaras turned his eyes to hers a peeved expression on his face.

“Red ones with little tufts on the ends of their ears.” She continued with a grave face, eyes wide, “and big front teeth…” She gave a mock shudder.
“Tufts? Is that so?” Amaras grabbed her ribs tickling her. “How big are their teeth again?” He asked sitting up, still tickling her, “Well?” Phaila writhed in the blankets grabbing his wrists, laughing.

Peace restored they lay on their sides, curled together, Phaila looked at his weapon harness. The handle of the sword inlaid with black enamel pearled with moisture. She pushed herself up and reached out, stopped and turned to Amaras who lay watching her.
“May I?” She asked.
“Of course.”

She touched the hilt with the tips of her fingers. It hummed gently, low. Encouraged she wrapped her fingers around the cold grip, it warmed in response and she slipped it from its’ sheath. It was heavy. A weapon she would never be able to wield. This was Amaras’ blade.

The double-edged blade was keen and above the engraved hilt, it was etched. The etching was a griffin, and below it her name entwined with his own. She turned it over, and found a phoenix and again their names.
“It’s beautiful, Amaras,” she murmured running her finger over the phoenix understanding its implications, “I have never seen a weapon so beautifully wrought.”
“When we are together, szeretett, I will forge one for you.”
“You made this?” She asked surprised and overcome.
“Yes.”
“Why have you not told me this talent?” She drew her fingers down the ribs of the blade.
“Because feleség, when we are together we do other things, and when we talk it is barely anything passed our troubles.” He smiled.
“Yes, and how boring to talk on nothing but worries,” she mused, her eyes slitting.
“That is not what I meant.”
“But it is what I meant,” she sat idly stroking the blade.
“We do need to devise an idea, drágán, we must be careful of the decisions we make when you come of age,” he propped his head in his hand, “We cannot go to my father.”
“No,” she murmured.
“Círdan has offered us sanctuary, when you reach your majority.”

Phaila raised her head her eyes narrowed.
Amaras lifted his right hand defensively, “I was going to tell you.” He smiled, “We have been busy reacquainting ourselves and have talked of squirrels and swords.”

They had skimmed the idea not living these long years apart of going to Elrond, or another lord and dwell under their protection, but this was not possible for she was not of an age to consent, the Valar had been specific on this, were unbending to save the innocent from being ensnared without recourse for a family. Her parents would simply beset any king and have law on their side.

“What else are you waiting to tell me?”
“I would rather show you…”
“You must catch me then,” she bound to her feet and ran for the river. At its’ edge she executed a graceful dive coming up to look for Amaras who was nowhere to be seen. She was jerked underwater.

Before sunset she pulled herself from the warmth of Amaras’ bedroll beside the fire to dress and ride home, leaving him to lay through the night alone.

~~~~~~~~
Her second approach of Amaras’ camp she found it empty. Her heart paused in its excited rhythm, and she looked desperately around; walked toward the river.

She stopped, cocked her head. The forest was too quiet, not a bird sang. She drew a dagger, twirled it to point blade down, and assumed a cautious posture as she continued slowly through the thigh high ferns.

Amaras lay in the water, his hair drifting over his chest, down to his waist, eyes closed, he held the grassy bank in his hands spread-eagle. The muscles in his arms, flexed as he held himself in the gentle current, the etched stomach briefly broke the silvery surface of the water, and he lifted his hips slightly before submerging.

The water was perfect in temperature here, a hot bath on a cold night. He felt the weight of eyes on him, opened his and found Phaila standing on the opposite bank, long-knife in hand. He jerked upright.
“What is it?” He asked, “Has something happened?”
Phaila smiled, dropped the knife to stick in the ground, she raised her gloved hands to her weapons harness, “Nothing has happened. I was only wondering why the forest was so silent. Now I understand. It holds its breath gazing at you.”
“Eljön, kedevelt,” he swam to the bank she stood on, looked up at her as she hastily undressed and dove over his head into the water.
.
Amaras chuckled to himself, peeled hair from his neck…it was hot.
Phaila raised her head, “Hmm?”
“I was only thinking how loud we are…”
“There is no one to hear us…I hope.” She propped her chin on his chest.

“At night…” he murmured smiling, “at night, some have dreams…interesting dreams…dreams that well, disturb us all…”
Phaila tilted her head, knit her brow.
He smiled, “dreams of making love…”
“How do you know this?” She scoffed, sat up.

Amaras considered a moment on how to relate this. He began to breathe harshly, made noises he had only minutes earlier made himself.
“Noooo” she hissed with disbelief and laughed, “Oh, Amaras, that is …” she threw her head back and laughed again, “that is not funny!”
“Yes, Phaila, in the middle of the night among twenty hot adan it is very funny indeed.”
“Do you have these dreams férj?”
“Oh yes, but have been fortunate to wake before…”
“Fortunate? I would think very UNfortunate!”

Amaras laughed, “Yes, it is if you think on it. Valar the frustration of not being able to hold you, to have you….” He pulled her down, nuzzled her neck, and began to grow hard again.
“Then we must …mmmm, yes, do this until you are exhausted, and leave you with quiet dreams…”
“Do you dream of us, griffmadár?” He asked rolling between her thighs, slipped into her wet with his previously spent seed, stroking the hair away from her face to find her mouth.
“Igen, igen…” she answered against his lips, “I do, and most times…mmmm…am fortunate,” she smiled against his lips, “it wakes me.”
“Good, oh, yes… I am glad,” he covered her mouth.

Amaras returned to the havens as did everyone else from his barracks, much eased and in a much better mood.

siet - hurry
Eljön - come
kedevelt - beloved
ferj - husband
feleseg - wife
griffmadár - griffin
igen - yes