"Far he journeyed in that ship, even into the starless voids; but most often was he seen at morning or at evening, glimmering in sunrise or sunset, as he came back to Valinor from voyages beyond the confines of the world."

Maedhros

Maedhros noticed the pile of trim white planks by the fire before he noticed the cauldron bubbling above it. He gestured with his hand and raised his eyebrow in question.

The scout glanced over at the fire. "Beans, sir. Trying to use up the last remaining supplies before we arrive back at Amon Ereb tomorrow. No more salted pork, I'm afraid." She sighed.

Instead Maedhros tapped the smooth wood of the top plank as he sat on the bench. "Are you anticipating so great a need for arrows, a day's travel from the fort?"

"Oh." The scout dug a metal ladle into the pot and doled out a portion into a small bowl. She blew on the spoon to cool it. "Wanted to leave a supply for the next party, my lord. Shame I won't be able to get through many arrows before bed, but we do what we can."

"A good thing I came by, then. Oblige me, please, and set up the vice on the bench for me."

She obeyed. In the absence of a second hand, Maedhros had learned to adjust. The scout turned the handle, and the sleek metal jaws slid into place around that first plank. Her eyes flickered upwards. "It's been a long day on the road, my lord. I'm sure an important one such as yourself has much more valuable things to do with your time than shaping arrows."

"If you think of something more valuable than stocking our watchtowers, let me know. In the meantime you may go to bed."

The scout chewed quietly for a moment. "Fair enough." She raised his spoon respectfully to her forelock and disappeared up the stairs.

Maedhros was left alone with the crackle of the fire and a tall, comforting pile of Things to Do in front of him.

._.

"Idle hands make for a wandering mind," said Feanor.

Maedhros perched on an upturned barrel nearby. His feet could not yet reach the ground, and instead swung back and forth in the air. From the window outside, the light of the trees cast silver shimmers on the floor of the workshop.

Feanor plunged the iron tongs into a bucket of liquid. There was a hiss, and a great spurt of steam dappled Maedhros' father's forehead with dew. He looked up at Maedhros. "I get all my best ideas when I give myself time to rest. You never know where your mind will take you."

Maedhros, watching his father at work, in that moment believed.

._.

Maedhros still believed, and because of that belief squinted his eyes to saw a perfectly straight line across the length of the wood. The thin rod fell to the floor with a quiet clatter. Maedhros went through the rest of the plank, again and again until a pile of ash-white rectangular shafts littered his feet. The hands still and the mind wanders, Feanor had said, and therefore Maedhros fastened each rod in turn into the little wooden groove on a nearby table and moved the shiny metal tool back and forth methodically, until what had previously been a long thin wooden rectangle now turned into a long thin wooden cylinder.

You kept your hands busy, then. Maedhros picked up the sandpaper and smoothed out the rough spots on each shaft until each one was perfectly smooth, ready to thrum past a bowman's hand and fly straight and singing through the air.

The roaring fire below the cauldron had reduced to coals, to the point that it was getting rather difficult to see. Maedhros lit a candle.

There were so many thoughts. And it took unending hours of busy hands to keep them at bay.

One thought, in particular, rose unbidden from the swamps of his minds and prodded at him.

Feanor. No. Maedhros dug under the workbench for the pot of glue and the basket of goosefeathers.

Feanor. More brilliant, more bold, more beloved than … Maedhros narrowed his eyes as he daubed at the wood with the glue brush … than anyone. You will never be as much as him.

"Good," he said out loud, quietly. "Feanor being so much greater than all of us, in his mind, is what brought me and Maglor, and everyone else – peace upon them in Mandos' halls – to misery. If every last trace of Feanor burns away from me, I should think myself all the better off."

He tried not to think about the guilt that curled up in his chest at those words.

Liar.

Curufin, the spitting image of their father, had idolized Feanor and was dearly cherished by him in return. "Little Father", Maedhros teased to him. And now Curufin lay still beneath the cold earth of Doriath.

Feanor would have done it better.

"It's because of Feanor's oath that Curufin in dead."

Feanor could have saved him. He would have figured out some way. If Feanor had been the one in charge at the Nirnaeth, we would have won. Feanor wouldn't have gotten captured after the Dagor Nuin Giliath. Feanor would have stayed king.

"But he didn't!" The arrow shaft Maedhros was holding snapped in two. He leapt to his feet, knocking over the pot of glue, to throw it into the back of the fireplace. "Instead he died as soon as we arrived in Middle Earth and left me behind doing my best to take care of all of us." He brought his hand up to his face. "And I've failed."

Maedhros stayed like that, unmoving, with his hand over his eyes. He took a few deep breaths.

The fire crackled as it consumed the first fresh bit of wood in hours. Someone cleared their throat.

"If it helps, I accidentally break the shafts all the time. I usually toss them into the fire before anyone can count them."

Maedhros opened his eyes.

Iarben stood at the bottom of the spiral staircase, just in front of the little wall. In his hand hung an empty waterskin.

Feanor would have been impressed at how fast Maedhros' mind raced in that moment.

Iarben spoke before Maedhros could answer. "I considered slipping back up the stairs and then walking down again very loudly. I decided it would feel foolish."

"How much did you hear?"

"Only the last bit."

Maedhros looked around at the piles of future arrows surrounding him. The glue pot lay on its side on the bench in a pool of off-white gloop. "Drat. Where do we keep the dustbin?"

Iarben pointed silently to the little metal container sitting at the edge of the coals.

Maedhros scooped it up in his hand, then swore and reflexively let go. The bin dropped to the stones with a loud clang. Maedhros' eyes bounced to the ceiling to where the rest of the scouts were sleeping.

"Oh dear." Iarben dashed forward.

Maedhros rapidly waggled his hand back and forth in the air. "Just a burn; nothing to fret over." He peered at the angry red weal on his palm and hissed in a breath through his teeth. "I'll dunk it in the rainwater barrel outside. Spare me a moment; I'll be back to finish cleaning."

Iarben gingerly picked up a rag from the pile of dirty cloths in the corner. There was a soft squeak as he swept it over the top of the bench. "Already done, sir." His feet turned in a circle as he took in the mess surrounding the fireplace. "Are we preparing for a battle, my lord?"

Maedhros blew on his hand. "Resupplying the tower's armory. Less work in the morning, you see."

Iarben slowly nodded. "Yes, sir. I can see that."

Maedhros walked to the door.

Iarben picked up one of the smooth white shafts. "If I may, I think you've accomplished enough for one night. I and the others can finish the rest in the morning."

"I … " Maedhros' mouth opened and shut as he searched for the right words. He waved his hand vaguely. "Yes. All right."

Iarben's shoulders relaxed.

Maedhros stared at the doorknob in dread. "Good night. And … "

Iarben knelt on the floor and began gathering up the sticks.

Maedhros placed his left hand on the doorknob and turned, wincing. A billow of crisp pre-dawn air swept into the room. "And I desperately need to dip my hand. Thank you. Goodbye." The door swung shut again with a thud.

There was a quick series of crunches and then a splash. Maedhros exhaled.

He drew his hand out and examined the slick surface of the skin. It didn't look so bad now, in this light. "And thank goodness. I don't have any more to spare." His audience, which consisted mostly of trees and a single lone pigeon roosting on a nearby tree, didn't laugh.

The night was fading, gradually illuminating the clusters of oak and drifts of dried leaves that surrounded the watchtower. The stars were still visible, scattered across the sky, but soon they would fade in the growing light of the sun.

Maedhros exhaled and craned his neck upwards.

And then he saw it.