" … At the last they cast anchor in the Bay of Eldamar, and the Teleri saw the coming of that ship out of the East and they were amazed, gazing from afar upon the light of the Silmaril, and it was very great. Then Eärendil, first of living Men, landed on the immortal shores … "

Maedhros

Down below past the stairs, the scouts had their fire going. Maedhros stayed atop the small tower, keeping watch. There were enough people in their party for them to take shifts, but if Maedhros had not volunteered to stand guard for the next six hours, he would have instead been expected to go down into that dim, stone-walled room with everyone else. It would look strange not to. There, the smell of smoke and the clink of metal on metal – little forks on tin plates – would have set him on edge. Too many bodies packed into one place, too many little movements out of the corner of his eye, even if Maedhros sat with his back to the wall. Sudden sounds, too. A bark of laughter at a ribald joke. A scream of mock outrage from someone bested at a round of cards. A harsh, metallic clatter from a helmet and sword set on a bench and then thoughtlessly nudged over the edge.

Maedhros had gone down for dinner two nights ago at the last watchtower, before they had set out on the road again. No one could have heard the loud thump of his heart in his chest, no matter how it resounded in his ears. Possibly no one noticed the tremor in his hands either, or they were too polite to mention it. Eventually, neck sore from the tension of forcing himself not to look around in alarm at every new noise, Maedhros had feigned tiredness and gone off to bed.

Up here there were only distant chirps and rustles, as the forest came alive at dusk.

Until Maedhros heard thumps on the wooden steps. Maedhros turned his head, and Iarben's helmet appeared above the trapdoor. He held a bowl aloft like a torch.

"Soup, my lord? Some nice warm beans, flavored with salt and … more beans." Iarben brandished a spoon at his high lord. "But at least it's filling."

Maedhros balanced the bowl in the crook of his right elbow and dipped his spoon into the mush. "I've had worse."

"I suppose they didn't exactly have traveling cooks during the Nirnaeth." Iarben leaned back against the parapet and then froze, as his own words caught up to him.

Maedhros continued munching on his horrible beans. "A lot of dried meat. Six days would have been a long time to subsist on bread alone." He glanced at the new captain's expression. "Before your time, I gather."

Iarben swallowed. "I wasn't yet grown. My father went off, at least. Didn't come, um … " Iarben cleared his throat. "Never came back. But I heard the songs, after."

"That's Maglor for you. Hill of the Slain; most gruesome sight I've ever seen." Maedhros' throat felt tight. "Some of the best elves I've ever known were piled there. Left for carrion. But Maglor made such a pretty little tune, you can almost forget how horrible it really was."

Maedhros chewed quietly. He was more comfortable with the silence. Iarben's feet, on the other hand, made a soft shuffle as they shifted against the stone. Maedhros counted down in his head.

… Two, one …

"What's it like, being in a real battle?"

"Sirion … "

Iarben shook his head. "Sirion felt … different. Not how I expected it to be. I think, not what any of us expected." There was a silence filled with unspoken words. Iarben stared at the ground. Finally, he looked up at Maedhros with wide eyes. "How do you bear it? Seeing all the things you have over the years?"

It was a very forward question. Maedhros looked out into the dark. He was there to keep watch, after all. Somewhere, shrouded among the pine trees, a lone owl hooted.

On the other hand, it was just the two of them, atop this tower. Maedhros finally allowed himself to notice the heaviness that pooled, once more, in his chest. Celegorm. Caranthir. Curufin. Amrod. Amras. "There's a reason why all of you are down there and I'm alone, up here."

A strange look glimmered in Iarben's eyes.

"You should go down, too," said Maedhros quietly.

Iarben straightened up, and the moment dissipated. "Now that you mention it, the night is rather cold. I forgot to grab my cloak." He looked back as he stepped towards the trap door. His mouth opened again.

Maedhros pressed the empty bowl into his hands. "Good lad. No need to shiver on my account."

Iarben started down the stairs.

Maedhros called out after him. "And thank you for the soup."