The sun had long set beyond the hills of Himring, and the stars began their silent watch when Maedhros, son of Fëanor, returned to the stronghold. The battle's din still echoed in his ears, a grim reminder of the cost of war. With his surviving brothers at his side, each bearing the weight of loss and resolve, Maedhros crossed the threshold of his fortress, his mind already turning to the future.

In the solitude of his chambers, lit by the flickering glow of a single candle, Maedhros tended to his wounds, both seen and unseen. Yet, it was the unseen scars, those carved deep within his spirit, that spoke of a greater torment. The Oath, sworn in the fiery passion of their father's forge, bound him and his brothers to a relentless quest, a quest that had led them to this moment of reflection and retribution.

Months passed like the slow turning of the heavens. Maedhros, the Tall, the Dispossessed, poured over maps and missives, his keen mind devising strategies that might turn the tide in their favor. He sent word to his allies, calling for aid, for unity against the darkness that threatened to engulf their world. The halls of Himring, once filled with the sounds of celebration, now resonated with the quiet intensity of planning and preparation.