Maedhros
"Three more days' ride to Losselire, my lord."
Maedhros clucked his tongue. "I never should have let Maglor name the place for us. Celegorm wanted to call it Angamaite, instead." He sighed. "I suppose I felt I owed it to Maglor after the debacle that was the Nirniath."
The one lantern, swinging from its rope on the ceiling of the tent, cast shadows on the map Braenor had laid out on the table. Maedhros counted the distance between various points on the parchment with a complicated-looking bronze tool. After a minute, he straightened up.
"Five more days, by my count."
Braenor frowned. "To reach Losselire? Are we truly moving that slowly?"
"Not there. Amon Ereb. On the third day, Maglor and his company can stop at the castle. The rest of us will continue on to the fort." Maedhros rolled up the map, carefully straightening out any wrinkles on the parchment. "Stop by his tent tomorrow and let him know."
Maedhros heard the cautious lilt in his secretary's voice. "Of course, my lord. If you would like to speak to Lord Maglor as well, I can wait until the morning's briefings are complete."
Maedhros focused on tying up the roll of parchment. The fingers on his left hand were trembling slightly, which made things even slower than normal. Maedhros breathed out slowly. "I'm sure Maglor is managing just fine without me pestering him. Besides, there is so much to do back here."
Maedhros held the twine in place with his right elbow and finished tightening the knot. He looked up. "Let me know how he looks when you get back tomorrow. I'll be waiting."
._.
Quenya translations:
Snow: Losse
Song: Lire
Iron: Anga
Hand: Maite