"Now when first the tidings came to Maedhros that Elwing yet lived, and dwelt in possession of the Silmaril by the mouths of Sirion, he repenting of the deeds in Doriath withheld his hand. But in time the knowledge of their oath unfulfilled returned to torment him and his brothers, and gathering from their wandering hunting-paths they sent messages to the Havens of friendship and yet of stern demand. Then Elwing and the people of Sirion would not yield the jewel which Beren had won and Luthien had worn, and for which Dior the fair was slain. "
Maglor
In his adopted home of Beleriand, Maglor was accustomed to being awakened in the morning to the dawn chorus of birds nesting in the trees. Here in the encampment just outside of Sirion, Maglor opened his eyes to the rumble of siege weaponry.
A few minutes later, Maglor stumbled out of the tent and squinted in the sunlight. Even this early in the day, the air felt thick with humidity. His eyes scanned the distance and quickly identified the silhouette so familiar to him, he could have sketched it on parchment without needing to look.
Maedhros had always loomed larger than life in Maglor's world. Figuratively, yes: Maglor's older brother wielded authority with such self-assurance that it felt like a natural extension of him, like the bronze hand that had capped Maedhros' right wrist for the last few hundred years. Literally, too. Maglor, lord in the house of Feanor, felt positively diminutive as he walked up to Maedhros' seven feet of height.
As he got closer he could see the bags pooling under Maedhros' eyes.
"Gods above, Maedhros. Did you drag the battalion to Sirion yourself?"
Maglor's high lord raised his hands defensively. "We needed to set up our perimeter quickly. I've been up all night coordinating with each company."
"All this – " Maglor gestured behind his shoulder at the little town by the coast, " – to attack that?"
"Doriath looked unintimidating, too. I won't have another repeat of that."
"Peace upon them in Mandos' halls," Maglor muttered automatically.
An officer approached Maedhros with a piece of parchment and an expectant look. Braenor, Maglor remembered, with his vulpine features and hair brushed back like someone that had stood in the face of a high wind for five minutes. Maglor the general stood on the grass awkwardly as his brother conferred with the elf.
When Braenor finally trotted off in the direction of a row of trebuchets, Maglor cleared his throat at his older brother. "Where are Amrod and Amras?"
Maedhros shrugged. "In the command tent, I expect. I told them to be there by the time the sun was a finger's width above the horizon."
Maglor snapped his heels together. "In which case, I'm running late."
Maedhros called after him as Maglor made his way once more across the sea of grass. "Tell them I'll be in shortly. I just need to get everything right."