Used to Weather and Wind by Gwenniel

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Chapter 3

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It was late in the next day before we reached Amon Ereb, and by that time the people there had also noticed the red fire and figured out what it meant. In daytime while the sun briefly shone from the low southern sky, there was no fire in the north. Instead, a dark cloud, presumably smoke, covered the horizon. It bode no good: the cloud seemed to stretch all the way from the Blue Mountains to far beyond the lands where the forest of Doriath grew. But surely it was not possible for Morgoth to have breached the Siege from every direction, both from the East and the West! That was what we all hoped for, at least.

Pityafinwë quickly took over the meeting, and I let him do so, my mind unable to not dwell on what a state our brothers and cousins' lands might have been in. By the end of the meeting we had deviced a strategy or at least a course of action. We were too few to form more than one effective troop. On the other hand, what we could send out was a cavalry, which kept up some hope.

The following day was the first time we had gone to battle since Dagor Aglareb where we had driven Orcs away from Gelion. Once again we steered east, towards Gelion, Pityafinwë and I in the front. Our aim was to join our brothers - or one of them, whichever we could find first - preferrably before the place where Little Gelion met Greater Gelion. This direction we had chosen, because, as Pityafinwe said, if the battle was to be like the previous time, the Enemy would opt to first break the Gap of Maglor on the eastern side of Himring and only then go for Pass of Aglon on the western side. There was a chance that Orcs would try to break Aglon as well: it was a road that led straight to Himlad and further on to Doriath. But as things were, we could only hope that the pass would be guarded well enough by Tyelkormo and Curufinwë. We did not have the power to go to both directions, not until we had met up with our brothers at least.

A group of scouts we had sent out ahead of us returned with the news of that no Orcs had been sighted. We took it as a good sign and rode on, speeding up, tireless. It was four days since we had left Amon Ereb. Every day the smoke in the North increased, every night the sky glowed red. Still we saw no Orcs. What we saw were only flocks of birds flying high above us, flying south, and hurried prints in the snow, all fleeing. It did not take a Green-elf to see what it meant.

A day before we aimed to reach the delta of the joining rivers of Gelion, we finally met a being of our own kin. Five Elves, two on horses, who stepped forth from behind the trees as soon as they saw the banners we were carrying.

"Who is your lord?" Pityafinwë asked them.

"We are a patrol of Prince Caranthir," they said. My heart leapt up with hope.

"Where is he? He cannot be far away, can he?" I said. "Lead us to him."

"He is coming this way," they said.

"What's wrong?" my brother asked quickly. "We have come here to bring him strength in the battle."

With all due respect, Prince Amrod," they said. "how much do you know of the battle? Himring is under siege with Princes Maedhros and Maglor trapped there. Lake Helevorn has been defiled and Prince Caranthir is retreating south, because we could not hold the Orcs back any longer."

Thus we learnt of what had happened. The servants of Carnistir knew little of what was going on west of Himring, but we heard of how one night, now a fortnight ago, streams of fire had been sighted north of Dorthonion, and the very next day Orcs had attacked with unforeseen and terrible strength. No messengers had made it through to Dorthonion or Mithrim, and our brothers had held the passage to East Beleriand best they could. More of that, they said, we could hear from our brother himself, whom we could soon finally meet at a nearby glade where he was stationed for a break.

Carnistir was unhurt by the battles, but his eyes were bleary and his hair more messy than usual. But when he saw us after we had climbed down from our horses, he hugged us tightly. Then he pulled back. "You should not have come here," he said, turning away.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"I mean that you came all the way here for nothing, Telvo," he replied. "You know I am not one to give up the first, but the Enemy has beaten us badly."

"That is why we came, for backup," Pityafinwe said, crossing his arms. "We heard that you are retreating, but you cannot turn away like this. You have to stand and defend."

Carnistir's eyes narrowed. "Stand and defend where, Pityafinwë?" he snarked. "I held my defence at Helevorn, yes I did; but what now, when Helevorn has fallen and there is no stronghold left to hold the front? Dorthonion is in ashes; Himring is locked in a siege. Thargelion has little settlement and I don't have the luck of those Arafinwëans with their loyal Edain peoples holding steads where I could retreat to hold a siege. The closest best place for a siege is south at the River Ascar where I have already sent those of my people who cannot fight, but with the odds as they are, the proportions of the troops, I would be lucky to hold it for even seven days."

"Seven days with your troops as they were," I said. "But now you have us on your side."

Carnistir looked from me to Pityo and back to me again. His fists clenched. "You're right. With your strength we could hold them off for a while longer," he sighed at last. "If Maitimo and Macalaurë during that time can free Himring, perhaps our luck will turn."

Seeing my elder brother regain his courage gave me hope as well. But Carnistir still looked distressed. "Have you... heard anything from Tyelkormo, Curufinwë and Tyelperinquar?" he asked. Pityafinwë shook his head.

"We have not heard from anyone," he said. Carnistir bit his lip.

"Last time I received news from there, the Pass of Aglon was breached and Himlad was under attack. It's a flat land and does not possess the natural barriers Himring does."

"Will they be trapped?" Pityafinwë gasped, glancing at me. I met his eyes.

"If need be, they will back to safety as well," I said. Curufinwë was proud, but as a strategist he knew when to attack and when to defend. "They... may travel south?" I suggested then. It was more of my personal wish than actual guess. Still... "We did send them the letter. They could try to head for Amon Ereb."

"Yes, they could," Pityafinwë muttered, his fingers tugging at the edge of his cloak. "Where else would they go?" he asked Carnistir. "If Himring is unaccessible and Dorthonion truly is lost, surely they can still come south."

Carnistir shrugged. "Supposing they find a way out from Himlad, they could still go westwards," he said after a while. "It would be a nasty passage along the old Dwarf-road, but I hear that although Tol Sirion is under a siege, it is not yet overrun."

The idea of Tyelkormo or Curufinwë travelling to Tol Sirion sounded dubious, knowing how tense the relations between them and Artaresto Orodreth were. Carnistir must have noticed my expression. "You're right, I have no idea of where they are going," he glared at me. "I have no idea if they are going to make it out with their lives intact. The only thing I know is that the northern pass has fallen. The Long Peace has ended, just like the rumour-spreaders have warned for years." He looked as if he had more to say, but silenced himself and stood up, turning away, walking back to his own group and slipping into the crowd on concerned looking soldiers.

I did not remember when was the last time I had seen Carnistir's face so stern. His face was stoic, flickering between emotionless and anger, but both Pityafinwë and I knew him well enough to recognize the sincere worry behind it.

My twin brother sighed and walked to the side of the opening. He sat down beside a tree.

"They could come south," he muttered, leaning on his knees. "The people from Dorthonion, too." He tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, yet ignored it when it fell down again. "What do you suppose happened to all those Men who lived there?"

"I'd rather not think about it," I mumbled. If Dorthonion was lost, and especially if its princes, our cousins, had been slain in battle, I did not dare to harbour a hope of the civilians surviving.

"What if we had gone for west instead of east?" he went on. "Maybe we could have helped out at the Pass and change the course of the battle..." He sighed. "No. Had we gone west, we would not be here right now to help Carnistir."

I made no comment. I paced nearby for a few minutes, then went to seek for Carnistir. I found him discussing with one of his officers, looking annoyed and grived. He held up a hand to silence the others as he saw me coming. "What is it?" he asked.

"Nothing urgent," I admitted. "But earlier you talked about rumour-spreaders warning about this. Who are those rumour-spreaders?"

"Them!" Carnistir scoffed. "Philosophers of the Arafinwëans, mainly. Dearest Prince Finrod, ever the seer, and Aikanáro Aegnor, who has been looking gloomy for years now, it seems - or maybe it's only when he sees me. Why do you ask? Have you been hearing the rumours as well?"

I told him of what the Green-elves had told us about the signs they had noticed. Although Carnistir was no hunter or a lover of the wild, lines formed on his brow. "Is that so," he muttered, but made no more comment on it. He had never had much fancy for talk about premonitions and mysteries of the unknown future - he was practical, like father in that sense - yet still he seemed somewhat disturbed by my tale.

We lingered at the glade no more than was necessary, and left south as soon as we could, crossing the River Gelion at a nearby ford, then heading south. Because of the extended break we had had in the glade, we could now not afford to move on slowly. Orcs could march for miles in the long winter night and keep marching even during the pale daytime if they had to. According to Carnistir and all the people with him, the troops that Morgoth had sent were bigger than any previous time, and somehow fiercer too. It was obvious that Morgoth had not been lazy during the time we had kept him locked in his hideout: he had formed himself new forces, and part of those forces had already lain Dorthonion in waste.

Our retreat was a gamble. The strategy was based on the faith in that the Orcs would follow us, rather than stray away from our wake and turn towards Himring. That is why our distance to them was never too long. During all our march we trusted their ignorance and tricked them into following us to a place where we could hold a front until we had obliterated them. Thankfully the game of tag did not last for too long: the road to River Ascar was less than a hundred miles. On the other hand, what waited for us after the race was a siege by the river. If all failed there, we would try to make back for Amon Ereb. That, however, would be another long journey, and unlike Thargelion, the western side of Gelion had not nearly as much woodland to protect us from evil eyes.

"River Ascar," Pityafinwë says, stopping his horse. Behind the grey treetrunks, down a slope, we see a grey narrow stream rushing westwards where it would join the great Gelion. As we approached it, I realized it looked narrow mostly because its edges were lined with ice. With freezing feet we cross the water best as we can.

"So this is the place," I say, observing our surroundings as we reach the other side. The rocky angle of two meeting rivers, with a half-ruined stock-blockade shielding the northern side, a modest tower, yet better than anything we had seen by the road so far.

"This is it," Carnistir confirmed with a nod. "It may not look great and fancy, but this angle was once held under siege for seven whole days." He looked grim as we watched the rest of our troops cross the river. The cavalry could not cross the river, as the narrow ice bridge we had used would not have held their weight, and the stream elsewhere was dangerous to cross at winter. However, we had already decided that they would serve as the vanguard further away and lead whatever Orcs they could not hold to where we could take care of them from behind the blockade which we spent the rest of the day fortifying with stone. It was not the best of plans, I realize now, but it was enough. The stream would be of equal hinderance to the Orcs, under whose weight the ice was certain to break.

Yet when the fight started the next night, I felt as if nothing was certain.

Ugly foul-jawed creatures lined the other side of the stream. Our troops on horses had been able to split the enemy's soldiers and directed a part of them to battle elsewhere, but after that we received no news from them. The trek through Thargelion had silled through the enemy in some ways, but there were still plenty of Orcs left to deal with. My sword and armour became bloodied with enemy filth. By the following morning they had besieged us.

The second day the Orcs tried to cross the river. They had so far been unable to to reach our side, and we had had the advantage of attacking them on their ground and then retreating back behind the blockade. Many Orcs had drowned in their attempts to repay the visit before they thought of bringing in something to function as a bridge. We slew many as the reached our shore. They slew many as they pushed through.

The third day the riders returned - it was a successful day, because they attacked the Orcs from behind, taking them by surprise. However, it cost many lives on our side as well. During the short daytime my brothers and I poured over maps and diagrams. At the end of that day we saw the northern sky briefly turn red again. We did not know the exact reason or location, only that it clenched our hearts.

The fourth day I received a nasty blow in the head. It was nothing, I told Carnistir as he bandaged my brow. "I know you want to prove your worth," he muttered, tearing another piece of bandage with his teeth. "But don't be so reckless."

"I am not reckless," I replied.

"This is why I didn't want you to have to come to battle," he said.

Behind him, Pityafinwë crossed his arms. "You are grateful for having us here," he said.

Carnistir did not reply, but kept working with the bandage. Finally binding it fast, he glanced back at Pityo. "I am now, yes. But if the siege falls, I would be even more grateful if I could trust you were out of harm's way."

At that I did not have the heart to tell him not to underestimate us.

The fifth day was much like the previous, and the sixth blurred into the fifth as the day with heavy snowfall was as dark as the night before. Our enemy had suffered greater losses than we had, but not enough to make us strong enough to go out on them without certain two-sided slaughter. At some point, when I peeked from across the blockade, I thought the air looked a bit less heavy, the shadows paler, but Pityafinwë placed a hand on my forehead and said it was probably just my imagination. By imagination I presumed he meant possible concussion, the way his eyes looked at me in concern.

By the seventh day I had lost count of days, but Carnistir said it was the seventh. "No one has ever held this blockade for more than seven days," he said grimly that morning.

"At least someone has held it for as many as seven," Pityafinwë replied with all the optimism he could muster. "And surely we can do better."

"What happened on their seventh day?" I asked.

"I arrived and the siege ended," Carnistir replied.

As the bleak light of that seventh day waned, a cry went out among the Orcs outside the blockade. Our guards, not having expected an attack until dark, readied their bows, preparing for an attack. Then the realization of that the Orcs were occupied by something else hit us, and with caution we all armed ourselves with weapons. Foreign arrows were flying from among the trees and bushes. At the end of that day the Orcs were either dead or driven away. After the unexpected turn of events, they had taken up a retreat, making us the pursuer, our remaining horsemen riding after them, leaving their rearguard into a red mess on the grey snow.

The leader of the Green-elves stepped forward, casually counting the arrows he had picked up from the trampled ground. "We meet again," he said, glancing at us, Pityafinwë and me. "A fine prey you hunters have caught, but you should have slain it before bringing it to our lands."

"So you are the people of Ossiriand," Carnistir said, stepping forth. "I hope you accept our gratefulness even though it is the only thing we can offer."

"I presume you are the great lord of Thargelion. We did not come here for rewards for saving you," the Green-elf said. "But certainly, I am glad you recognize the aid we have provided you with." He turned towards Pityafinwë and me. "That we should meet such a long way from your fortress. Have you received any news from your brother in Himlad?"

"No, nothing concerning the signs you spoke of," Pityafinwë said slowly. "In fact... no news at all."

"We need to try to contact our allies," Carnistir said. "We should send a message to Himlad and Himring."

"How is your proud fortress upon Amon Ereb?" the Green-elf asked.

"We left some people to keep it," I said. "The enemy is unlikely to come there: it is a modest place and so recently settled that few even know we live there."

"It is a famous battleground, the place of a heroic last stand long ago," came the correction. "Orcs will remember its existence. But very well, I trust that you know what is the best course of action for a land you have claimed. I wish you luck. We may meet again." Thus he turned away.

"Green-elves, are they always like that?" Carnistir asked, looking after them as their white cloaks disappeared into the woods. "You have strange friends." I laughed. He looked at me curiously, then smiled as well. We knew that we had but briefly halted the advancement of the Orcs, that they would return at some point, probably soon; we knew that Thargelion would never return to what it was, but at that moment a great relief filled all of us.

After we had laid the dead to rest, we returned to Amon Ereb. Quick messengers were sent north to Himring. Should they return with bad news, we would prepare to journey north; with good news, we could stay on Ereb, guarding the west bank of Gelion from there. The eastern side would be protected by the Green-elves.

"It is a fine fortress," Carnistir said, eyeing at our half-finished home. "Yes, one can clearly see the Dwarven handiwork in these blocks... but the style is quite Noldorin."

"It's not even nearly finished. We need a lot more room if your people is going to stay here as well," Pityafinwë said apologetically. "But we put the construction on hold for the winter."

"Then we shall continue together once spring comes," replied Caranthir. "If it comes."

Spring did come. Sooner than we had expected it to, it seemed, and after a week or so of freezing nights, the weather became warmer again, and we received a reply from Himring, bringing our isolation to an end.

The message was read out loud at the court meeting. A scribe's formal handwriting. Himring was laid under a siege, but stood strong against it. Himlad was forced to surrender after grievous losses in long battles, but Princes Celegorm and Curufin led their people westwards, their destination, according to mixed reports, either Tol Sirion or Nargothrond. Their fate is currently unknown. The surrounding hills were recaptured and the Pass of Aglon was taken under Noldorin control. Refugees from Dorthonion have joined the troops at Himring, uniting under the rule of Prince Maedhros. Refugees state that a number of survivors have travelled east under the leadership of Lady Emeldir of the House of Bëor. The territory of Dorthonion has been deemed hostile, having fallen under control of the enemy. Princes Angrod and Aegnor have been confirmed to have been killed in action. No messengers have been able to reach High-King Fingolfin or Prince Fingon, all roads to Mithrim having been cut by enemy forces...

So the text went on, with little hope in sight. It described deaths and losses, sieges and battles, a grim update on what was happening in the outside world. It ended by Prince Maedhros' orders to keep Amon Ereb fully guarded and keep enemies from entering Estolad or the South.

A part of the message was not read at the meeting. The familiar handwriting of Macalaurë.

Pityo, Telvo. You marched forth bravely although we never asked you to. Was the battle when we first entered Middle-Earth not enough? You have shown the bravery we always knew you had, yet we wish you had not needed to. With things as they are, however, peace cannot return to Beleriand and war will become a reality again.

The last message from Tyelkormo was recovered by scouts to the ruins of Himlad. In the letter mentioned that he regretted how he was unable to contact you, but at that he had indeed felt an unrest in the woods, but that not even the animals had been able to give their fear a name other than the obvious: Moringotto. However, the rest of the message had been left unfinished. What his words are about, we do not know, but we hope whatever you wanted to ask him will be answered the next time you meet. For you shall meet again. We all shall meet again. Keep that in mind.

Moryo, you already know what to do: keep an eye on them, keep them out of harm's way. To you as well: we shall meet again. We dare not yet leave Himring for the fear of the Orcs returning - we are in the middle of a standstill - but before the next snow, we will meet. Take heart, brothers.

We did not meet them before the next snow. Letters were sent and received: we even learnt that Tyelkormo and Curufinwë had after a detour to Tol Sirion made their way safely to Nargothrond with Artaresto, where they now lived with Findaráto. Still it sounded strange in my ears that Tyelkormo and Curufinwë had joined Artaresto out of all people, but I was glad. However, we heard little from them.

Maitimo and Macalaurë had written that we would meet them, but urgent errands sent them always elsewhere. After the siege of Mithrim had ended in the death of our uncle and the crowning of a new High-King, Maitimo had to make long journeys to visit our newly crowned cousin while Macalaurë stayed behind to take care of the duties of the lord on Himring. Maitimo's journeys never came south.

We also had our own duties. What sort of duties would be left to us? For one thing, the fortress upon Amon Ereb was given a second tower and a second wall. Its inner yard was expanded and by the end of that year there was room enough for all to settle in comfortably.

A day late that year, just before the end of autumn, Pityafinwë and I went out hunting with just the two of us. So many hunting trips that year had been for hunting Orcs only, with warriors and swords, fierce defences against enemies journeying the banks of Gelion. It was a refreshing change to ride north-west instead, away from the routine, and to see familiar landscapes as we neared the old lands of Estolad. Estolad with its abandoned ruins still intact.

Abandoned. "Are we happier with Amon Ereb, do you think?" I asked my brother that night at our small campfire upon which we roasted a piece of deer we had caught that day.

"We still have no followers, no vassals," Pityafinwë yawned. "We have proved our worth, however." He lay down, stretched on the ground, staring at the skies. "But are we happier? We have seen war. Do you think we can ever be happier?" I did not reply.

I stared into the dark night. We had not spent a single night outside just for fun, not since the battle. Moldy fruits and dry leaves hung from the tree by the camp, even drier brambles covered the ground, and the dirty white skeleton a small, skinny animal lay beneath the tangled branches. Sparks from the fire flew up in the chilly air. I leaned back.

"I doubt the key to happiness is having vassals and fortresses," I said eventually.

"No, but it is the way to protect those you care of," Pityafinwë replied. "And is that not the key to not being always underestimated?"

"I think..." I said then, "that we have never been truly underestimated." Pityafinwë turned to look at me. "I think," I went on, "everybody has merely been discouraging us from taking action, precisely because they want to protect those they care of."

Pityafinwë laughed, but his laugh was kind. "This is why I love you. Always saying things like that," he said with a smile. Then he rose to a sitting position and poked at the fire with a stick. "I forgive them for protecting us, but still think it is time for us to come forth. We have seen war. It makes me happier only because it lets me know there is still a purpose for us, a place for us to show our talents. As long as I have a reason to strive forwards..."

We ate our dinner in silence, watching the stars and the night sky that in the north was only a black and grey as the shadowed clouds reeled across the lands. The lands where even our kinsfolk would no longer travel, now that the bliss of the Long Peace had ended. Beautiful in their emptiness, the emptiness that had, in the end, been the reason it was still untouched by the wars - almost like a blessing. Again I fell asleep before my brother, and in those quiet lands I slept more peacefully than I had slept since we decided to take matters into our own hands and build ourselves a fortress...

Dorthonion had fallen, lives had been lost, Beleriand after the siege was every bit as grim as the letter from Prince Maedhros had made it sound. But being hunters, my brother and I would adapt. Used to weather and wind as we were.

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The End