(A/N: World Tolkien's; OCs and OLs mine. Got it?
As the title might imply, I -shock and awe- actually know where the story is going to go from here on out. The only problem is finding time to write it. As the title might also imply, this chapter, and the next two to a lesser extent, serve to set the stage for subsequent events more than anything else.)

Responses to Reviewers:
Dragon-of-the-north: You call that a -short- review? I'm not sure I want to know how long you take to write a -long- one. The narrator will be signing the end of the manuscript, so you'll find out who he is then, though it isn't really central to anything, just me trying to cover myself. Thank you for your kind and insightful comments about the romance; I actually found that more difficult to write than the events of the previous chapter, so I'm glad it was both effective and thought-provoking. Though it won't be explicit within the story, I think that, given the parallels between the Silmarillion and Paradise Lost, it makes sense that men of the second age have a worldview that is similar to our own and could use the same vocabulary, i.e. the Maiar as angels, Angband as Hell, the creatures thereof as demons. Why Catrilas was spared will probably go unexplained; I think Ashlug had orders from higher up to keep her alive and beautiful, and perhaps she has already fulfilled her purpose but the power of love and forgiveness kept her purpose from actually accomplishing anything constructive as far as said higher up is concerned. Yes, I canonized Gwindor largely for you, and I'm thinking that Caldrion may even let slip to Noseless that he was married on St. Gwindor's Day, so Half-Dead may actually know of his elevation… And yes, of course this is pre-Rohan: the title does not refer only to our future Ringwraith.
TreeHugger: Caldrion is following a pattern that, in my mind, differentiates his descendants from most other humans, namely that they fall, albeit in less direct and severe ways, and emerge stronger and more noble than before because they acknowledge their past (as opposed to a certain other group of humans who either never fall or fall all the way). Thank you also for your commentary on Caldrion and Catrilas; I'm really glad that this story has more morals than your average fanfic. Yes, Dragon has gotten to me (at least to the point where I can write a noble orc as a minor character). I just thought that Caldrion's character would want to add that statement, both as a more immediate way to keep himself honest should a similar situation arise and also to prove to Catrilas how much he loves her in words that could not eventually become meaningless.

Wings of the Storm, Chapter XI- The Last Calm

[As previously noted, there are questions about why my father would tell this story to us before we were fully grown. I think that here the reason he did so begins to become clear. This was a story he told his children because it asserts that even the children of great ones can change the course of history.]

So the years passed. Caldrion came to the height of his maturity, wherein he might, if given the opportunity, live for centuries. The old (including the noble farmers Orthior and Tatalis) withered into death, the young aged. Only two seemed unchanged: Graldor, perhaps sustained by his position or some inborn strength, and Sirgo, who when he first appeared in Aratur already looked older than any man they had ever seen, so perhaps he had merely achieved that age at which the body can no longer seem older.

There were no more orc campaigns; the only concentrations that Sirgo and the now-aged Frealine knew of for certain were those fairly close to the Great River in the east, and those were too distant and too widespread for the people of Aratur to consider challenging for the time being. Frealine thought it probable that some had settled near the fords of the river Angren, probably putting a dent in the forests of the area, and Catrilas suspected that there was at least one orc base further north and west along the Onodlo than the others that Graldor had already defeated, but neither of those were certain enough to mount an expedition that might simply be the search for a non-existent foe. Nevertheless, the Grand Army of Aratur had grown and was now entirely a mounted force, which gave Graldor greater striking range, which he had not yet used, and the ability to conduct wider defensive patrols.

Caldrion was now the head of a fairly noteworthy family. In addition to the niece and nephew he had adopted for all practical purposes, he was now the proud father of two sons sandwiched in age by a pair of daughters. This not-so-little family was further extended by the addition of Graldor, who the children, with the possible exception of Othcyr, his eldest daughter, viewed as a beloved, if often distracted, uncle.

Caldrion could not really understand what was going on with Graldor. The King had not withdrawn into the high and mighty 'do I know you?' method of ruling that he had adopted after killing Deol, but he was not the casual, out among the people, lead by example King that he had been. Nor, for which Caldrion was also pleased, did he occasionally provide immature jokes and pranks as he did in his rather extended youth. He could be both polite and friendly when addressed, but when not otherwise engaged he would seem preoccupied with staring into space rather than seeking someone to talk to as he once had. As an aside, that particular behavior of Graldor had served as inspiration to all the young men of Aratur. They could now stare shamelessly at attractive females and, if caught, merely protest that the woman was "between me and my space."

But the situation was, at the very least, stable. Graldor clearly remained his own man and was not showing any particularly disturbing behaviors, unless one were to consider the fact that four or five of his favorites were now living in the palace as his harem disturbing. Caldrion, Sirgo, Frealine, and basically everyone except the young warriors who wished to emulate him hoped that he would just pick one of them, get married, and beget an heir already, but all of them also acknowledged that this perceived degeneration was simply the natural progression of his appetite for female companionship. In a concession to prodding from Melgras, the last remaining of the original noble farmers, who hoped that his loyalty might be rewarded, Graldor had agreed to name an heir in the absence of one of his body, even though his appearance and health indicated that he had many good years ahead of him.

Much to Melgras' chagrin and Caldrion's embarrassment, Graldor, taking advantage of a flair for showmanship presumably acquired during the defeat of Deol, hosted another huge feast in Aratur and arranged, through a bit of clever patrol scheduling, for Caldrion to come into the hall, dressed in his full armor, just as the King proclaimed the Numenorean his heir for the time being. Luckily for Caldrion, Fremus did not use his talent for impressive-sounding titles on the new royal. Even at formal occasions, he was only announced as Caldrion, Heir to the Throne of Aratur and Captain of Cavalry. He had managed to persuade Graldor to reserve the title of Prince for the legitimate heir that he sincerely hoped would arrive in time.

That was something Caldrion needed to remember: though Graldor did not appear to have physically changed, his mind and personality clearly showed that he was no longer and would never be again the carefree chieftain worried only about the survival of his town on the plains rather than his destiny regarding the entirety thereof. He wanted to more aggressively pursue the goals Annatar had laid out for him: conquest, agriculture, and defense. None of the other leaders were particularly enthused by such a course of action. Despite the fact that Calenardhon saw no regular trade, meaning that the towns had to be entirely self-sufficient, both Aratur and Hillguard were prospering, which meant that Graldor did not need a war or a large-scale agricultural expansion to distract the people.

Sirgo was out of the towns more often than not, personally exploring the largely unknown territory beyond the usual patrol routes around Aratur. Frealine and Halin were busy with their new project. After the near disaster during the second orc campaign, Frealine had come to the conclusion that Aratur needed archers of its own and had gone through the long and fairly arduous process of teaching himself how to use a bow before he had sought out and begun training other soldiers with good eyes and dexterous arms to do likewise. Halin, Frealine's most successful pupil and now, along with Smosur, whom Graldor had truly forgiven for following Deol, a leader of the Grand Army in his own right, was going through the equally difficult process of learning to shoot accurately from horseback, so that eventually all the archers, small in number though they were, could be mounted in battle rather than merely in transit. Melgras was busy teaching and delegating his duties to the relatively new noble farmers: Betlin, Dunev, and Gripler. Fremus, never much of a leader to begin with, had, at Graldor's suggestion, degenerated into being little more than a valet for the harem girls. And Caldrion was spending as much time as possible with the children of Aratur, particularly his own, trying to make them experts in the fine arts of swordsmanship and horse riding.

Caldrion looked up from Hrethere, his younger son, whom he was helping with a compound attack move, at the sound of Othcyr's triumphant yell. His eldest had been sparring with her older cousin Teorand and had not only matched him evenly but had pushed him back hard enough that he had tripped, allowing her to move her blunt blade to his throat and claim victory. As Caldrion approached to congratulate her, Teorand grudgingly accepted her hand to help him back to his feet, clearly disgruntled at not only losing to a lady but losing to one so much younger than him. He scowled, assuming a defensive posture, but she remained at ease and laughed lightly at him, as though she were one of the Hillguard women he had, without much success, been attempting to woo. Teorand lunged to resume the fighting and did not entirely catch himself when, in his peripheral vision, he saw Caldrion striding toward them. Teorand lost his balance and would have fallen had Othcyr not caught him. Visibly embarrassed, Teorand shook off her grip and nodded, "Uncle."

"Keep your weight forward when you retreat. It will give you a better chance of staying on your feet, or at least not baring your throat, if your back foot slips. And remember that you are fairly strong; don't just give ground when your sword blocks hers." He turned to his daughter. "Well done, but don't get too confident. Remember that you are a woman, and as such your advantage will lie in quickness more than strength." She nodded, but not happily. He had always underestimated her strength and prowess with a blade, and would probably continue to do so.

He turned to head back to the others when something else occurred to him. "And try not to range so far when you spar. When you aren't fighting on horse, you will most likely be in close quarters where you either will be unable or unwilling to give much ground, so you should practice like that."

As her father walked away, Othcyr's abashed face turned to a grin, the fire in her eyes setting off her bright golden hair. "That lazy father of mine! He only said that so he would not have to walk as far to talk to us." Teorand did not answer, but only shifted his sword to resume the match. He had no intention of letting her beat him again.

Back with the others, Caldrion resumed the instruction of his sons. Eodryn, the elder, was a more than competent swordsman when he set his mind to what he was doing but wildly erratic when he became emotionally involved in his battle. Eodryn, his father, his siblings, and even his mother (who had insisted that her husband teach her how to use a sword so she could defend herself if she ever encountered an orc or a rapist again) all bore nicks and bruises from such uncontrolled clashes. Hrethere showed far less interest in swordsmanship than in archery, about which his father knew next to nothing. Halin, another who Caldrion's children viewed as an uncle, taught and encouraged Hrethere. While Caldrion did not deny that his son had a far better eye than he did, he also insisted that Hrethere be at least adequate with a sword so he could defend himself at close quarters.

Elsewhere, Catrilas was enjoying a pleasant summer ride with Eadgla, their youngest, who had only recently gotten her own pony and thus was still thrilled even by the gentle demeanor and slow pace of the creature. Catrilas, moreso than her husband, believed in encouraging whatever talents her children possessed, but the importance of at least competence as a rider was critical in this culture where the role of horses was becoming more and more central. Othcyr was little more than that; she preferred to fight on foot when given the opportunity and was never completely comfortable when she was not on her own two feet. Eodryn rode as he fought; brilliantly when he was focused on the task at hand but without control when he thought he had mastered it and was merely enjoying the wind on his face. Hrethere had proved to be good at riding smaller creatures, and Catrilas expected that Caldrion would soon arrange for him have one of the mares descended from Aroch, which ran very smoothly and thus would serve him well in his goal to be a horse archer like Halin.

The only charge of Caldrion who was not spending the afternoon practicing at one thing or another on the fields outside Aratur was his niece. Eoscla was doing what would have been her aunt's duties for the household, today laundering the clothes and preparing for a family supper. Unlike the rest of her family, she much preferred such domestic tasks to the rigors of riding and sparring. Not the least of the reasons for her preference was the opportunity to flirt with the young soldiers when they were around and gossip about them with the other young women when they were not. Caldrion did his best to turn a blind eye to such activities because, while he did not disapprove of them as long as they remained innocent, he had come into Eoscla's life too late to establish himself as a strong authority figure and felt he was in no position to affect her chosen way of life. And he also had to concede that, for a woman who should be seriously considering marriage, spending time with the soldiers was probably more productive than continuing to spar with boys several years younger than her. Her brother was the closest to her in age, and he was still on the practice fields only because a knee injury sustained shortly before he was to become a member of the Army had kept him off the field for more than a year and forced him to relearn much that he had been good at before. His lack of progress recently had Caldrion worried that his nephew might find himself a farmer after all.

Catrilas, on the other hand, did not watch Teorand's progress from day to day but followed Eoscla's activities as best she could, was convinced that her neice thought of Graldor and Halin as something other than uncles, and worried that the only reason she was still a maid was because she could not decide which was her favorite. Catrilas disapproved of her niece's choice of both men simply on the grounds that both were much older than she, nevermind that the former was a womanizer who already kept multiple girlfriends and the latter, while never the wandering lover the King was, certainly was not the innocent, surprisingly young looking man he seemed to be, as evidenced by his earlier involvement with Farvas (who had eventually settled down with Yilisond, the soldier, who had apparently decided that her beauty outweighed his desire for a voluptuous woman).

Back out in the field, trouble was brewing. What should have been simple practicing between Teorand and Othcyr had turned into an all-out fight, exacerbated by the deep psychological wounds each bore. Perhaps because he had lost his mother to the consequences of her own wild spirit so young, Teorand's general views of women were narrow and rather chauvinistic, and, his pride still stinging from his earlier defeat, he chose to punctuate every blow with a remark on the inferiority of females in general and his tomboy of a cousin in particular, who did not pursue the womanly tasks as his sister did and was, in his opinion, thoroughly unfit for the only other use women had in his mind, namely making babies. This in turn raised Othcyr's ire, for Teorand was speaking bluntly of views that she knew Graldor harbored, based on his behavior, and suspected her father of holding, based on the sparseness of his praise for her compared to the lavish congratulations he bestowed on Eodryn, even though he could only rarely best her on foot with a sword. Her chosen mode of retaliation involved fewer words and progressively more aggressive attacks.

Despite the bluntness of the swords, each had given the other a substantial number of nicks and bruises. Both had largely forgotten that this was not a real life-or-death struggle. Teorand feinted high and, when she moved to block him, he struck her just above the knee with enough force to rip the fabric and knock her off balance. "Curse your father for not killing Aunt Catrilas after he raped her. A man should at least have the decency to do that so he won't be later burdened by worthless monsters like you," he spat.

Were Othcyr listening from a distance, she might have concluded that he was furious with the whole world at the ill luck that had befallen him all his life, from the loss of his mother to the strong possibility that he would no longer be a soldier, and not taken personal offense. Standing immediately in front of him, however, she lacked the perspective to react to anything but the horribly cruel insults to her parents and to herself. She roared and, with a focus that would have reminded her father of his attack on the orc archers had he seen her, stormed toward Teorand. She easily brushed aside his attempt to block her and gave him an impressively deep cut on his sword arm considering the blade's lack of sharpness, causing him to drop his own weapon. As he tried to back away, she landed a shallow cut across his stomach. At this point, Teorand probably avoided dying that day by stepping close to her and grabbing her wrist, twisting it until she too dropped her sword. He failed to press his advantage, however, releasing her sprained wrist and taking a step back. Her right fist broke his nose and her left, following immediately thereafter, hit him in the jaw and knocked him down.

She was on top of him before he could move, her legs straddling his chest while she pulled out the dagger she always kept on her person. She looked down on him, the wild ferocity in her eyes frightening him so much that his pants became wetter and he could not muster the will to scream. "My father is not a killer," she said, annunciating every word in a voice that sounded as deadly as it was soft. "No one ever insults Mom and Dad like that."

Her already battered right hand forced his mouth open. Ignoring the pain in her hand as, realizing what she was about to do, he sunk his teeth into her fingers, she brought up the knife and, in a thoroughly messy manner, removed most of his tongue. Teorand probably passed out immediately, but that did not keep her from reinforcing the message by battering her fists against his head and chest.

Closer to the town, Caldrion had noticed that he could no longer see them sparring. His concern grew as he drew near to where they had been and could not hear them. Finally, he came upon the macabre sight. His nephew was lying on his back, his face bleeding profusely, while his daughter punched the defenseless form repeatedly, mindlessly, with a bloodlust that was disturbingly familiar.