Maedhros
A few minutes later Maedhros inhaled the bracing night air outside the tent. The scene outside wasn't tranquil by any means. Back where he had come, he heard shouts from healers to fetch one instrument or another. A cart trundled by carrying a freshly-dug pile of loam, carved out from the earth. And trotting out from behind a cluster of horses, approaching him across the field, the familiar figure of his secretary.
You have to make your own peace, he thought, wherever you are.
He stared up at the night sky. The stars, set in the fabric of the heavens safely far away from any turmoil down on the earth, twinkled smugly back at him.
Celegorm. Caranthir. Curufin. Amrod. And now, Amras. Each face swam before his eyes. The weight in his chest had returned now, affixing his feet to the turf.
" – back another time, my lord?"
The faces of the dead vanished from Maedhros' mind's eye. He tore his gaze away from the stars and stared at Braenor, who now stood before him as if the secretary had been instantaneously transported from a hundred paces away.
Braenor nervously fiddled with the scroll in his hand. He seemed to be waiting for something.
Maedhros spoke slowly, to allow his thoughts to coalesce once more. "I can see I'm needed. What is it, Braenor?"
Braenor reddened with embarrassment. "If you would rather, I could fetch Lord Maglor instead."
Maglor. That face, too, shimmered into view. "No," said Maedhros quickly. "He's done enough today. We'll let him rest for now."
Braenor glanced at the tent behind Maedhros and nodded. "The graves, my lord. People are wondering how far away from Sirion we should dig. And the residents of Sirion have been reluctant to come out here for healing, so we'd like to set up another healers' quarters in the town itself. We're trying to get an accurate count of our army in preparation for the march back tomorrow, but it's been difficult to locate everyone following the battle. Now that we've had some casualties, we also need to decide who to promote in each company, and … "
Maedhros sighed, but only inwardly. Ah yes, the second battle. Only this one was against pestilence, disease, and chaos, so people were much more forgiving if you hacked away slowly at that. A weariness settled in his bones, suggesting that Maglor wasn't the only one who needed a brief respite. He pushed it down.
They set off across the turf. "Tamblin's your elf if you want to talk about organizing the healers. The graves need to be far enough away that you'd have to squint if you looked at them from the town. I told Iarben I'd find him later; let's keep my promise. Come with me now; we have much work to be done."
End of Book One
