Book 2: A Brief Respite

"'Tears unnumbered ye shall shed; and the Valar will fence Valinor against you,and shut you out, so that not even the echo of your lamentation shall pass over the mountains. On the House of Feanor the wrath of the Valar lieth from the West unto the uttermost East, and upon all that will follow them it shall be laid also. Their Oath shall drive them, and yet betray them, and ever snatch away the very treasures that they have sworn to pursue. To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well; and by treason of kin unto kin, and the fear of treason, shall this come to pass. The Dispossessed shall they be for ever.'"

Maedhros

One thing, Maedhros thought, that no one mentioned about great tragedies was all the administration required in the aftermath.

Individual graves were out of the question. Maedhros, veteran of too many battles including a few supposedly glorious victories, immediately shot down that proposal. So that meant a series of trenches, seven feet wide and about a hundred feet long, each. Six feet deep, too, at all points.

"Isn't that a bit excessive?" asked Braenor, veteran himself of the secretaries' tent. "The men are dead on their feet as it is. Wouldn't it be deep enough with say, four feet?"

"They're not, and no. From experience. Once we leave, wildlife will come pouring down out of the hills."

Braenor shuddered, and so it was done.

It was a lot of work and the soldiers admittedly were tired, so Maedhros had to organize shifts to work throughout the night. He also had to organize a rota for the healers to come around to everyone, both the Feanorian camp and whichever residents of Sirion were willing to submit to treatment after today's events. His remaining host, which he glumly noticed was now smaller than simple casualty numbers would indicate, needed to be assembled and readied for the march back to Beleriand the next day. The siege weaponry needed to be prepared for transport. A seemingly endless procession of tasks, and while a voice – which sounded in Maedhros' imagination very much like Maglor's – nudged him in the back of his mind telling him he should get some rest, some deep-seated need kept driving Maedhros forward even as weariness dragged at his limbs.

He even helped out with some of the physical labor in addition to the administrative kind. It seemed like the right thing to do. There were a lot of bodies, and the distance from Sirion to the trenches a few hundred respectful yards away required a punctual relay of carts trundling over the grass of the Havens. Maedhros, with his stature, posted at the end of that line, gently lifting Sirion's dead from their repose on the carts and squatting down to lower them into those gashes in the earth that his soldiers had carved out. Physically, it wasn't that difficult. Some of them were quite light.

Maglor was away in his tent somewhere, tending to the Peredhil. Amrod and Amras were gone too, somewhat more permanently, off with Celegorm, Caranthir, and Curufin at last.

The exhaustion was a haze that settled on the edge of Maedhros' field of vision. He kept working.

One of Maglor's captains, Tamblin was the name, was watching him closely. Maedhros took a moment to lean back against the earthen wall of the trench and pointedly met his gaze. "Captain?"

Tamblin stood six feet above Maedhros' head, on the grass. "Just wondering if you'd like us to take it from here, my lord."

"You're still working at this hour. Why shouldn't I be?"

Tamblin looked down at his feet. "With respect, my lord, I've had a rest. I've just come back to relieve the outgoing shift."

"Happy to hear it. Your concern is appreciated, but I have duties to attend to."

Tamblin looked off into the distance, where the sound of waves crashing against rock rang out of sight in the night's darkness. "I know why you want everyone laid to rest before sunrise. I know how hot it was earlier today, and will likely be in the morning. We'll take care of it, sir. With this at least, everything will be done right." He shut his mouth with an air of finality.

For Tamblin, Maedhros thought, that was practically a soliloquy.

The simulacrum of Maglor that Maedhros kept in his head prodded him again. How long has it been since you've last slept, or even eaten? Maedhros' feet, however, stayed fixed to the ground. His fist dug into the side of his leg.

Tamblin spoke carefully. "It's a tall trench," he said, brazenly lying in the face of Maedhros' height. "Let me help you up, sir."

Moving slowly, Maedhros made his way up the ladder and accepted the proffered hand that, strictly speaking, he didn't need.

"With your permission, my lord, I suggest you get some rest," Tamblin muttered. "We'll be there in the morning when you need us."

Maedhros' dreams that night were silent except for the rustle of wind, and ocean waters churning in the dark.