Used to Weather and Wind by Gwenniel

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Chapter 2

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So the time passed, the abandoned fields of Estolad never fully withering away even as they remained empty through weather and wind, and a few years after we had decided to take matters into our own hands our fortress - consisting of a strong ground level and half a tower - had gained a wall facing north. The construction was still in an early stage, the work having been put on hold during the winters, but during the past summer there had been some great progress, and as autumn was coming to its end, we were debating on whether the fort was ready to be inhabited during the cold winter.

In the end Dwarves had been paid in furs and meat to mine material that the Elves could build with, and we took pride in how much was the work of our own hands. The lands around Amon Ereb were even more empty of settlement than northern Estolad, but this was a empty of natural beauty, not of bereavement of something that had been. In the eyes of a hunter, the land was bountiful, and Pityafinwë often said it seemed like each year the hunting season had graced us more and more. The Dwarves had been glad.

When we had announced to our brothers that we were planning to build a fortress on Amon Ereb, I do not think any of them thought that a more or less permanent settlement on that lonely, shallow-sided hill was a bad idea, but that all were a bit surprised by that we were the ones who initiated it. The country was not all that far from the southern lands of Carnistir, so it would have made sense had he expanded his territory across Gelion, but as his abode was by Lake Helevorn in the north - by the Siege - he had no real interest or military strength to spare to guard the southern woods that was mainly treaded by wandering Green-elves only.

A letter from Himlad had arrived that morning. Tyelkormo wrote of the increased number of wolves in the north and of guesses of this being a sign of a colder winter to come; Curufinwë wrote of their latest journey to Dorthonion to meet our cousins there, something he described as a most disagreeable errand; Tyelperinquar merely sent us his regards, saying Dorthonion itself was, in fact, not so bad but rather beautiful, and that even the Men there were fairly decent.

Curufinwë's handwriting... Since you leave Estolad, we will organize a small guard for its northern parts as well, as we already have a patrol for borders of Nan Elmoth although the Dark-Elf no longer lives there. Of course, as was assigned, Estolad is still under your duty, do not forget! but as you move away, you will notice that keeping in touch with all corners of your country is not easy. And remember, I am always ready to give you advice in constructing your castle! It is to me of great architectural interest!

Then Tyelkormo's handwriting... How is your castle? he wrote, and I could not be sure whether the question was joking or sincere. I do not trust you have perfected fixing the draft indoors yet, so we shall wait until spring before we visit you. But then we will certainly meet and go hunting together! It is a shame you have moved so far away from us! One cannot travel from Himlad to Ereb in a day or even two. But no matter, little-brothers. I hope your new lands will be prosperous.

I handed the letter back to Pityafinwë. "That quip about the heating," he chuckled as he folded the letter back into its envelope. "If my memory serves right, Himlad is not much warmer. But I am glad they will visit us once the snows are gone."

We were sitting in the room that doubled as meeting room and dining hall, which incidentally was not as cold as our brother seemed to think, as we had taken care of building a good fireplace. It was currently spreading a soft glow and a warmth to ease everyone's minds after a hard day's work. When I looked out the window, I thought I could see small snowflakes falling down, and although they turned to water as soon as they hit the ground, it was a sign of winter coming. Covers were pulled up across windows and arches that did not yet have a door to keep the weather out. Gates were pulled close and the courtyard was emptied of workers as the rain set in. Inside the fire and the wine kept the cold outside.

When we had began building, after the first levels of stones could be seen against the hilltop from a distance, we had received visitors from the Green-elves. They seldom travelled far from their lands in the woods beyond River Gelion, so meeting them this far in the west had been an unexpected encounter, but they had come to question our purpose on the Ereb.

"Denethor of our people died on this hill," they had said. "We will not let you defile its peace with your business of Noldorin warmongering." They had been quite suspicious of us for a while, but had eventually understood that we wished for no enemity. Occasionally a group of Green-elves would still visit. That year they arrived the day after the first snow, their cloaks more light grey than green to match the landscape.

We were certainly not friends and probably not allies, but we shared some understanding. "How are the lands treating you?" they asked.

"We shall manage them," Pityafinwë replied. "Have you forgotten that my brother and I are hunters, used to weather and wind?" We were standing outside as our guests were unaccustomed to indoors, and a chill was nipping at our noses, a wind tousling our unhooded hairs, but none of us minded.

"You work in the woods, but you do not live in it," the leader of the Green-elves laughed. "You insist on living in great stone houses, but the construction is so slow that a tree sprout will reach your belt before you have any use of it."

"We shall be fine," I replied, unconcerned. "This year our stone house is of enough use to be lived in during winter.

"It is true, then. You will settle here permanently," another Green-elf said, glancing at her surroundings with interest. "Will you still tend to your old lands? Compared to your kinsfolk, you two rarely ride north."

"How would you know how often we ride north?" I asked before I could stop myself. She laughed.

"We see more than you know, red-head," she said. I held my comeback out of courtesy towards guests.

"This brings us to our next question," the leader said again, now back to serious. "Since you come from the North, from the fair lands of Estolad, can you tell us any news from there?"

"News?" I asked. "It is long since we have ridden North. What exactly do you want to know? News of what the Noldor are doing? Or news from the Siege against the enemy? Such information is not typically relayed to outsiders, not in this manner."

"News of anything unusual."

Pityafinwë and I glanced at each other. I saw from his expression that he was equally unsure of what reply our guests were expecting.

"We have lived here longer than you, so perhaps we notice more," the Green-elf said. "Or perhaps it is a skill only the Sindar possess and you who call yourselves Light-elves have forgotten. But as hunters, used to weather and wind, as you said yourselves, perhaps you would have noticed something. Murmur among the beasts, tracks on the paths, whispers in the sky..."

"What have you seen?" I asked, cutting to the matter that seemed so urgent, my fists were tense.

"A premonition; foresight if you will," said the Green-elf who had spoken earlier. "Birds fly to southern lands in flocks bigger than before. Beasts migrate - "

"That we have noticed! I did not realize it, as indeed we have not lived here as long, but this fall has been bountiful." Pityafinwë interrupted. "Is it a sign? The rumours...?"

"There is something wrong," I said, realizing the same as my brother. "Something that has frightened them."

"Birds are the first to flee from fire," the Green-elves said gravely. "That has happened before. It happened before the Cold Winter. It happened after your kin had driven the Enemy back to Beleriand. Beasts fleeing before the goblins blades."

Ignoring the Green-elves' factual mistake regarding the Enemy, Pityafinwë and I looked at each other again. Were there not even among our own folk people who feared the end of the Long Peace, who said no good thing could last this long, not since the death of the Trees.

"Do you know anything for certain?" I inquired. "When will the storm strike?"

The Green-elves cast down their glances. Their leader spoke: "We do not know. No one knows the future. We may read the stars, but the stars are dimmed. The animals, however, murmur still, and this is why we came to you." He lift up his gaze, his deep eyes stern. "Rumour tells there is one with the gift of speaking and understanding the tongues of animals. A hunter of the House of Fëanor."

"Tyelkormo..." Pityafinwë muttered. I felt my heart sinking. Our guests had come in vain and we were not able to provide the information they sought for.

"It is not us who possess that talent," I said. "He whom you seek is our brother, Prince Celegorm. He rules in Himlad."

The Green-elf's disappointment was visible, but at the same time he held his stoic dignity. "Can he be reached?"

"He wrote us recently, telling of more wolves in the north," Pityafinwë remembered.

"We can write him a letter and ask for more, but it will take a while before he can answer," I replied.

"It is good," our guest bowed his head. "None of my people wishes to travel the long road to Himlad, where the Enemy's ears are closer and hearts are dark. Not gladly do we ask you of this service, but if your brother can decipher the words of the woods, we will feel more certain." A wry smile spread across his face. "Though of course we, living in the South, have nothing to fear, for is it not your kinfolk who defend the Siege in the North?"

"And long may they defend it," Pityafinwë replied, also smiling, though his expression looked more forced.

Our guests did not stay with us much longer after that as they had their own businesses to mind, but the news they had told us gnawed my mind the rest of that day. I could see Pityafinwë was equally troubled. That day we wrote our letter to Himlad, asking if he had noticed something strange. That evening a rider was sent to bring it to Tyelkormo as quickly as possible. That night we curled on a cushioned bench, staring out the window of our barely finished windows, wondering whether the stars, had they been clear that night, would indeed have told us something of what was to come. Suddenly all the air around us seemed full of premonition. I felt a shiver down my spine as I stared at the dark.

But my brother beside me took my hand. "Long may they defend it," he said. It was enough. I relaxed.

"Should we ride North?" he asked after a silence.

"Can we help our brothers by not finishing the fortress first?" I asked.

"You're right," he said. His fist kneaded his eyes. "I just wish there was a way for us to prove ourselves. It was not even us whom those strange Green-elves sought for."

"We don't know when - or if - something is going to happend. We shall finish Amon Ereb, then march forth," I mumbled. "Long may we all defend." I felt a hand ruffle my hair. Soon afterwards I fell asleep.

When I opened my eyes, it was dark. Pityafinwë was curled at the other end the bench, asleep. Though alike in so many ways - in all ways, some would argue - he usually slept less than I, but when he slept he looked peaceful again. My brilliant twin.

Back in Valinor he and I had often wondered what would be in store for us when we grew up. Maitimo was politically talented, Macalaurë made music like a blackbird (or so Pityafinwë described it), and Curufinwë was the only person in Valinor who had the potential to match our father in skill. Talents and recognition were like dinner, Pityafinwë used to say, in that because we came so late, there was nothing left for us. We became hunters, eventually, but Tyelkormo had already made his fame in the profession. We were, in a way, left in the background. It was never what we asked for, it merely happened: somehow it happened even in Middle-Earth where we were supposed to have a new beginning. And no matter how supportive our brothers were, our place in the shadows seemed to escape them.

Yet back in Valinor, I then remembered, had not our mother told us we would show our might? And another time, had not father once - a faint memory of our home in Tirion - said that our brothers kept us from playing with them simply because they were thinking of what was best for us? Fëanáro by the stove, absentmindedly hanging a ladle in what would be our meal that night while he was browsing for something in the notebook he always kept with him, then peeking under the table where we were sulking as the small children we were. "There will always be dinner left for you," he had said. "You will never arrive too late."

"I used dinner as a metaphor," Pityafinwë had pouted.

"You used it as a simile," our father had corrected. "I used it as a metaphor. But we are both right." Then he had snuck us a sugared apple to share.

I briefly wondered whether I was the only one to still sometimes think about those times.

As days passed, the weather turned colder and colder, the winter clearly approaching. Back in Estolad the snow had probably already covered the ground, we thought, especially since no reply from Tyelkormo had yet come even though we had explained the urgency of the matter. It was only a matter of time before the snow would hit Amon Ereb as well, and our court meeting ended in the decision of putting the construction on hold as soon as the tower had its roof finished. No one talked about it, but the recent news were clearly part of the reason for the plan to quickly finish the tower. The Green-elves did not return.

As the snow reached our ankles and no more came, we supposed that a reply from Himlad would soon come, but it never did. I wondered whether we should ride forth ourselves to see what was going on, but in the end we decided not to, because for all we knew, the letter might already be on its way back. Alternatively, Tyelkormo may have been travelling and thus not yet had time to read what we had sent.

However, not knowing what was going on, Pityafinwë and I went out hunting more frequently than we usually did during winter. Hunting we called it, but it was mere riding on the snow-covered hills, keeping a lookout on anything that could be considered a sign of something. Though we knew not exactly what it was we were seeking.

On one of those journeys the wind blew cold in our faces and we stopped to camp on a hill, by the ruin of an abandoned piece of wall, that shielded us from the light white powder that puffed into the dark air as the snow mowed the snow dunes. We lit only a small fire, mostly to give us some warmth, rather than bring light, as the moonlit snow was bright enough for our eyes.

"I like how you can actually see the stars in Middle-Earth," Pityafinwë said, gazing upwards as we had wrapped ourselves into our cloaks. "You could never see them in Valinor for all the light."

"Feels like Cuivienen," I said. Then we sat quiet again, waiting for the wind to ease.

After some time, I felt Pityafinwë move beside me. When I turned to look at him, I saw how his expression was a surprise turning into worry.

"What is it?" I asked him. "Did you hear something?" My hand automatically reached for my bow, but he shook his head. All the time he had been staring at the night sky, admiring the moon, but then something had caught his eyes, something he now pointed out to me. We stared at it in horror

The horizon in the North was red, a glorious, gruesome glow, faint in the distance, but bright enough to be seen all the way to where we were. We might have taken it for a forest-fire, but it was obvious that it was something else, something more.

Pityafinwë rushed up, I followed him. "That's..." he stammered. "It must be. The Siege! It has been breached."

"How could it be..." I mumbled. Then the dumbed state left my bones. I grabbed my bow automatically. "Come," I said breathlessly, hurrying to our horses. "We have to go. Our brothers are there, fighting. We need to help them."

"Are you going to ride North?" my brother called out from behind me, and as I glanced back, I saw he had not moved.

"What else?" I said, my hands trembling without my realizing it. "It has begun."

Pityafinwë shook his head and caught up with me with long strides. "Don't be foolish, Telvo," he said, grabbing my shoulder, forcing me to stop. "If we are to go, we have to return to Amon Ereb first." And I knew he was right.

My hands dropped back to my sides. "Of course," I said weakly, not knowing what had taken over me. In the north the night sky glowed on. We hurried south.