Used to Weather and Wind by Gwenniel

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Chapter 1

While it was stated somewhere that Amrod and Amras called each other by their mother-name, which was for the both of them "Ambarussa", I have taken the liberty to disregard that rule here as it would in the end be quite confusing. Quenyan names that will be used to refer to the twins by their close family will hence be:

- Pityafinwë, "Pityo" – Amrod
- Telufinwë, "Telvo" – Amras

For reference, here are the used names of the characters. Generally they use Quenyan within family and Sindarin as titles.

Fëanáro – Fëanor
Nolofinwë – Fingolfin
Arafinwë – Finarfin

Maitimo – Maedhros
Macalaurë – Maglor
Tyelkormo – Celegorm
Carnistir, "Moryo" (short for Morifinwë, his father-name) – Caranthir
Curufinwë – Curufinwë

Findekáno – Fingon
Findaráto – Finrod Felagund
Artaresto – Orodreth
Angaráto – Angrod
Aikanáro – Aegnor

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"Amrod and Amras," Findaráto Felagund had said to us. "Your lands are big but your people are few, is that not so?" He had smiled a gentle smile, his eyes bright. "The king of the Sindar will not welcome the Secondborn into his lands. He fears... well, I do not know what he fears, because there is no reason to fear, but he has shut his borders from Men, who are but seeking for a safe place to settle in."

I still remember when Finrod Findaráto Felagund had asked whether our lands were fruitful enough to yield enough of food for a tribe of Men that would settle in. Our lands had plenty of room for newcomers, he had said, especially considering how our own people was so small. Our people was indeed small, and we had long ago realized for ourselves that without a bigger following, we could never do much to help our brothers in the Siege in the North.

Pityafinwë had had a thoughtful expression on his face. "Are you thinking what I am thinking?" he had asked.

"That if these Men become our followers there will be more people to guard our lands?" I had asked.

He had nodded. "But it is not only our lands that need guards. If indeed the Men will join us, our new followers and allies will have warriors to spare, and we may finally be of some help to our brothers in the North, to the Siege. Our people will be strong." And I had known what he meant. What had our people been? Mere hunters in the woods, dwellers of the woods to such an extent that only the Tree-light in our eyes and the Noldorin weapons in our hands made us much different from the Nandor, the Green-elves. Our people were the followers of the youngest children of a dispossessed family - in other words, completely dismissable. And so Pityafinwë and I had dreamt of gaining followers, like Findaráto, winning fame and admiration among the Mortals who looked up to him as their teacher.

A bright yet chilly day and Pityafinwë and I were on our way back home, returning from a hunting trip we had made to take a break from the life in our own halls. The hoofs of our horses stepped softly on the dew-damp grass on the flat fields of Estolad.

We passed by the founding stones of a group of abandoned houses and vegetable paths, buildings that once were homes to the Men who inhabited this land not so long ago and yet now were all gone. I recalled the hamlet that had once stood here and could not help but to sigh at the irony: the brave people that had dwelled in these houses were indeed now serving to protect the Siege; only they had sworn their allegiances directly to our brothers and cousins, in Dorthonion and Hithlum, leaving us with empty ranks and empty lands. No man lived here now; they had preferred to become vassals of lords greater than us.

"Look Telvo," my brother said, and I glanced into the direction he nodded his head. "Seems like somebody still lives here."

Behind a bramble-covered stone cut into a square, the gleaming eyes of a marten peeked up. Its ears twitched, and it looked as if we had interrupted its journey to the apple tree in the ruined garden, where the unpicked apples were blackened by late autumn.

"Go on," I said. "We won't hunt you." The marten looked at us suspiciously, but did not come forth. "Fine. Be that way." We rode on.

"These are good lands," Pityafinwë sighed, pulling the hood off his dark copper hair. "Forest, shelter, a nice climate. Yet all our brothers and cousins live in places where it is either cold or mountainous - or both - and come here only to hunt every once in a while."

"Perhaps Uncle Nolofinwë did not think we are cut out to such terrains, so they had be given to the others," I shrugged. "Though I wonder why. We are hunters, used to weather and wind." Pityafinwë laughed.

As with many of our so-called hunting trips, we did not hunt as actively as we simply enjoyed the nature. After all, had we dragged home every marten, boar and deer we saw, our stocks would have been overflowing. "We could start selling it to Carnistir," Pityafinwë had once said only half-jokingly. "He could sell them to his Dwarf friends." But we were no merchants, and since the Siege of Angband had enabled everyone to hunt for themselves, most of our sales went to our own friends and allies. Not that we were after gold, of course.

Occasionally our kinsfolk decided to come hunting on our lands - whenever they did not feel like going all the way to the woods of Thargelion, that is. Still, the lands were abundant, partly due to the sparse population. That was something my brother and I were thankful of at least.

When not hunting, we had our duties to take care of. What sort of duties would be left to us young ones, who had uncles and cousins to take care of everything for us? For one thing, we still ran a household and were responsible for everthing concerning the lands of Estolad. Our lodging was a beautiful hall, crafted with the hunting halls of Oromë, our old teacher, in mind. It had never been as lofty as the hunting halls of Tyelkormo, which were thicker in their walls and higher in their pillars as if the place was a small palace, but our home was beautiful enough and suited our needs.

Upon our return, Pityafinwë asked to see any letters of other documents that had piled up during our absence of several days, and we were prepared for doing paperwork until morning. Yet, as usual, it was a sorry bunch of papers, consisting of a casual letter from Carnistir and one not-so-urgent looking paper from Maitimo that needed our signatures, along with a brotherly greeting. One look at Pityafinwë's face confirmed me of that he harboured the same kind of sentiment as I did - disappointment. I placed the letters back on the desk, turning to look outside the window.

"Well..." I began. "perhaps if we hold a small court meeting, something of interest will appear."

"Sure," my brother replied behind me. "Any troubles in the South? Any quarrels with the Laiquendi? Any horses with a broken leg that needs tending? I'd take a horse with a broken leg any day. Well, I wouldn't, because poor animal, but..." his voice faded into a mutter, his mutter faded away. I turned around to reply, but then noticed that he stood by the desk, rereading the letter of Maitimo.

"What is it, Pityo?"

He looked up. "We should have a fortress," he said, almost as if merely thinking out loud, and I let him elaborate his idea. "A fortress is the symbol of power. Only the king is entitled the right to wear a crown, but anyone may build themselves a fortress if they wish."

"True," I admitted. "You think having our own fortress to protect would give our status as princes of Noldor more credibility?"

"Well..." He shrugged. "Yes, essentially. It would at least make our name known. It would give us something to do, something of importance."

"What made you think of this plan?" I asked. "Was there something in Maitimo's letter?"

Browsing through the papers in his hands, he walked up to me. "I know our brothers all love us," he began carefully, "but sometimes they come off more patronizing than they should and than they probably mean to. Telling us not to worry about the Siege or about our own lack of military forces, not asking for much tidings from the South." He quickly read through Maitimo's squiggly handwriting again before he found the extract he was looking for. "Well, this is not an example of that, but it is what got me thinking. This part right here," he said, pointing.

I bent down to read it for myself. It was a paragraph in which Maitimo briefly commentated on life on Himring, as he usually did in his letters to us. Himring has grown since you last were here. The road up to the keep is now broader, and this summer the wall that looks towards Macalaurë's lands in the east was made a tad wider. Certainly the Hill of Himring has a long way to go before it can match the forts of Hithlum! But they have the advantage of a greater population. Findekáno's castle in Dor-Lómin has during the past century of the Long Peace grown especially great; he described it to me as a loop - first more people moved in, so the land became greater, and then the greater land attracted even more people, the most recent vassals being the Marachians... The people of Marach were one of the groups of Men that had once lived in Estolad, I thought. But I could see what Pityafinwë was aiming at. That loop.

"Where would we build our fortress?" I asked finally. "Here on this place? On a hilltop somewhere else?" I supposed the latter was more likely, knowing Pityafinwë. "In the south? Amon Ereb?"

"Amon Ereb indeed would be a good place," he said thoughtfully. "It is a good spot, I presume, good for look-out, good for defence, and there would be plenty of material to build, right in the hills nearby." He was smiling, but then his face fell. "Do you think this is just a silly dream? Be honest with me, Telvo."

"No, not silly at all," I said. "There is a lack of year-round tended forts in those parts of Beleriand. No harm done if we have a look-out to look across Andram from. Only stray beasts and Sindarin patrols live in those parts."

Pityafinwë looked content. I could see how his mind was already planning the construction and visualising the first fortress we could call our very own.

"It should stand on the top of the hill with guardtowers on all sides," he mumbled. "And a great yard inside the walls. It needs to have room for expansion."

"We have to think progressively," I agreed. "It needs to have enough room for more people to settle there later."

He pulled out a quill and made notes on the backside of Maitimo's letter, writing down what we had said and the suggestions I kept throwing at him, so that maybe we could present the proposition at our next court meeting. We built ourselves a mental image of a fortress that would stand bright and sharp on the hilltop, as high as Himring, beautiful against the blue sky and greenish fields of Estolad, as grand as Ered Nimrais, and prosper against every attack. We did not need our brothers' armies to protect us, for we would defend our fortress ourselves.

And both of us happily ignored the fact that during peacetime there would be no need to defend anything, especially not in the South, where not even Morgoth ever bothered to turn his gaze.

For such a small household as ours, what we called a court meeting was not nearly of the same scale as that of Kings Fingolfin and Finrod or even of Maitimo and Findekáno, at that time princes less high in power. What we called a court meeting was a mere shadow of it, but it served as a gathering of the lesser lords of Estolad to our hall to discuss current matters, no matter how insignificant they may have been. Usually and especially of late, those matters concerned the hunting season, and anyone was permitted to attend those discussions, making them less and less informal, the audience consisting of any butler or squire who had time to spare. Yet neither my brother nor I had any objections to the casual atmosphere of those meetings, which, if truth be told, made us feel more comfortable when addressing people we regarded as our equals and comrades.

Without any hesitation, we presented our plans for the fortress we had come up with the day before. Pityafinwë listed advantages of a new safehold and I read out the list of our current ideas.

"This list is open for more suggestions, which will all be considered during our next meetings," I finished, glancing over the faces of everyone in the room, a mixed crowd seated around the great table or on benches at the edges of the room. I was faced by expressions of surprise, curiousity, doubt, and even amusement.

"I beg your pardon, Princes," someone said after a considerable amount of silence had passed, "but are we all to move to Amon Ereb?"

"A steward would be appointed to guard these halls," Pityafinwë began, but there was still some mumbling and he stopped, looking at the assembly with a questioning look. "You seem to disagree with us," he said.

"Not so much to disagree..." came the careful answer from one lord. "But would we truly move so far south from our current stead? Already the road from here to our closest allies, the Halls of Princes Celegorm and Curufin, is a hundred miles, and moving to Amon Ereb would double the distance. Estolad is empty as it is. Is it wise to isolate ourselves in such a way?"

Pityafinwe glanced at me: apparently it sounded like disagreeing in his ears, too. "It would indeed position us far from other settlements," he mumbled for only me to hear. "But should we see that as a risk worth taking?"

I bit my lip. "Yes," I said eventually. "It is a risk we take for the sake of landing a strategic location to help our brothers." I addressed the people again. "We cannot keep relying on Princes Celegorm and Curufin and everyone else, because surely it is time for us to take action ourselves. By settling Amon Ereb, we open the Noldor a protected route South, beyond Andram."

"Harken to the words of Prince Amras!" Pityafinwë cried, standing up from his chair. I could sense his excitement. "It would be a great service to the Noldor, to all folk of East Beleriand. What are we guarding if we stay here? An old and broken Dwarf-road that has not been travelled since the Edain left us for Dorthonion and Dor-Lómin." For a moment he hesitated, but then went on, his voice now graver. "I will speak to you frankly. Do you know why Estolad is empty? Because the people that one lived here have deserted it. You live here still, appreciating its fair fields and woodlands, but outsiders barely give these lands a glance. Is it not time for us to reap ourselves a better reputation?"

My brother could be good with words when he wanted to - I felt our father would have been proud of him, had he seen what we had become. The people around us muttered to each other, but more and more it sounded like approval, faces lighting up, lips tugging into smiles. Not all were entirely persuaded, to be sure, but the words had had an effect.

"In this time of peace it is not a bad idea to prepare for the future by strengthening the borders," said one voice. "But the Siege is north. What do we do with Amon Ereb?"

"Our brothers take care of the north," Pityafinwë replied. "Once again, in a letter, Prince Maedhros has assured us of that we need not worry ourselves with it. Indeed, is it not our duty to take care of matters in the South, since these are the lands we have been given?"

"How long will the Siege hold? Rumours say some fear it will break in due time."

"Who has started such tales?" I asked, frowning.

"It came from Dorthonion, I believe," a herald seated at the lond end of the table muttered. "From the front of the Siege."

"It came from Ossiriand," said someone else, "from the Nandor."

"There have always been people who doubt the Siege, believing the Enemy as merely feigning submission," I pointed out. "Is that not all the more reason for us to start acting? As the Princes of Estolad, it is the duty and the priority of Amrod and I to first take care of matters concerning our own lands, which is why we have presented you this proposition." And the more I spoke, the better I fully realized it, or the better I was persuading my own heart. It was not for fame and admiration we were doing this, not for gaining back the Men who formerly had lived in the abandoned houses. We were doing it to show our brothers our true worth, regardless of what the rumous said..

"I will not expect you to give your opinion on this matter just today", Pityafinwë said beside me. "Rather I beg you to merely keep considering it in your own thoughts: we shall decide on this on a later meeting."

He sat back down. "Do you think they will agree?" I asked him quietly.

He looked down at his hands clutching the paper with the suggestions. "Maybe. They are Noldor and most of them are fearless hunters. They have their pride to mind."

The notion struck me. Were we seeking for new realms and glory only because we were Noldor? After some consideration, I decided such a claim could not be so very far from hitting the truth. What was a member of the House of Fëanor without dreams bigger than life or without the determination to fulfil them no matter how long it will take?

I remember when we were children and still lived in Tirion. My brothers and I used to play at being Valar - of course not impersonating the actual Ainur, but taking on our own titles and powers. Macalaurë had often opted for being the Vala of Music, because he felt it was important, especially since Arda itself had been created through music, and Carnistir had once earned a swat on his head for saying that the fact that literally every single Vala could sing was the reason there was no real reason for a Vala of Music.

I remember Tyelkormo had at one time always been the Vala of Hunting, which had caused some problems when Pityo and I had wanted to be the Vala of Hunting once in a while. Tyelko had said we could be his Maiar instead. Yet eventually we, too, became the Valar of Hunting. That, however, was at a later time when Tyelkormo had already grown too old to see the ordeal as being of any interest.

I was not sure such reminiscing entered my thoughts the next morning when I woke up in my room to the autumn sun shining brightly through the high windows, but I supposed it had something to do with whatever I had dreamt of that night. Then I remembered that it was not so, because what I had actually been thinking of had been more related to what our mother had said after Pityo and I had ended up playing Valar in her room, asking her whether she would mind being the Valie of Sculpting, since two Valar were all too few. For once she had put down the chisel in the middle of her work, wiped her hands on her apron, and sat down on a block of marble, taking us by the hand.

"Ambarussa, I will be your Valie if you want me to, but does it matter how many you are?" she had said. "If you call yourselves as great as the Valar, you have the power to be great on your own." To which I had replied that even the Valar were worthless if they stood by themselves. She had asked whether it was father who had told me that, then shaken her head and said: "You go out there, my sons, and show them your might!"

Such were the silly memories engulfing me as I lay there, and I thought to myself how we would perhaps finally show them our might. And at the same time I regretted that Nerdanel was not there to see us, that indeed she perhaps knew nothing of how we were doing here on the other side of the world, where no Vala or Valie sent their blessings. Sometimes I wondered whether I should not just have taken a ship before they were burnt and sailed back to Valinor.

My meditation was interrupted when my brother knocked the door only to immediately enter the room himself and promptly take a seat at the end of my bed. He poked at me through the blanket. I gave him a kick in reply.

"Were you still sleeping?" he asked with a grin. "You're a heavy sleeper."

I rose into a sitting position. "Am I right in that you yourself haven't slept at all tonight?"

"Yes, you are," he said, sat quiet for a moment, then went on. "I have been calculating on how we could get materials for the fortress," he said. "I am not Carnistir, but I think I figured out some things."

As I got up and started to dress, Pityafinwë remained seated on my bed, explaining how Amon Ereb had a natural wall to one side; how stones could be hewn from the nearby cliffs; how ready stones could be gathered from nearby abandoned settlements; and how Carnistir could, if needed, persuade the Dwarves to help us, although it would be better, Pityo said, if we could manage without their aid. By the time I was ready, he had finished, and as I turned around, he looked at me and asked quietly: "Do you think we can make it?"

"I do," I answered.

"So you think the others will agree to us building a fortress on Amon Ereb?"

"I... I do," I said again. "We will make it." Then I told him what I had been thinking of that morning and the memories from past. My brother smiled at me.

"This is why I love you. To be sure, we will show them our might," he said. "To be sure."

There was no meeting that day, because as things were, there was no need for a meeting every day. Thus we had that day free and spent it mostly in the stables. In the evening we wrote a reply letter to Carnistir, but made no mention of our plans. Neither of us thought it necessary to inform any of our brothers of it while it was but a proposition that still had to pass the general acceptance the following day.

It seemed to me that the next meeting was more crowded than usually. Perhaps curious people had attended it in hopes of hearing more about the fortress. We took it as a good sign. And a good sign it was. By the end of the meeting, before the sun had passed its summit, it had been decided: a fort would be built upon Amon Ereb to guard the eastern banks of Gelion and of Ossiriand. Signed by Princes Amrod and Amras and their most faithful lords and knights, approved by the majority.

Pityafinwë smiled brightly for the rest of that day. "If we are to play at being Valar," he said, ruffing my hair playfully, "Amon Ereb shall be our Taniquetil."