Russandol’s body convulsed in uncontrollable spasms, his muscles tensing involuntarily with far more strength than he could ever have mustered by will; he almost threw Findekáno off-balance. His face was buried in the crook of Findekáno’s neck, teeth clamping down on the cloak in order to keep from screaming, but a high keening sound escaped his throat, chilling to the bone.©
The tempered steel by Lyra
If he took the appearance of the moon as a sign of hope, the fiery light that joined it some time later filled him with dread. Oh, at first he cherished the new light, fierce and hot, bathing the land in golden light. He was astonished by the multitude of colours that now appeared, delighted by the far-off birdsong and soothed by the warmth on his torn body; but when the light grew higher, it blinded him, and the black rock from which he hung grew scalding hot. His thirst grew ever more unbearable. He felt as though he were hung in a furnace. His head lolled back against the stone, and his eyes fell shut; memories appeared unbidden of his father working in the forge, explaining to him how to melt ores. Dazed by the intense heat, he drifted into illusions. © The tempered steel by Lyra
“Twelve years, Nelyo,” Macalaurë said eventually, and his brave composure crumbled for good.
“It’s been twelve years." © The tempered steel by Lyra
Taking a deep breath, he took in their scent, still familiar after all those years: Apples and earth and wet leaves, warm scent of soap and wood. He tried to grasp the idea that this was real, that these were indeed his brothers, that he was truly holding them again. The thought took a while to register. They did not release each other quickly.
When they finally did, Maitimo gave his brothers a watery smile.
"I’ve missed you so much.“
© The tempered steel by Lyra
Maedhros, Maglor, Curufin, Celegorm, Caranthir
© ALEF Club, Journey to The Middle-Earth Project
“It’s been worse.”
“That is not reassuring.”
Maitimo forced himself to smile, although it did not last long. “It doesn’t feel as bad as it looks,” he said. That was probably quite true, he thought. He was used to it after all.
“I truly hope it doesn’t,” said Curufinwë. “Is there anything we can do for you? Anything at all?”
“Because so far all we’ve done only seems to hurt you,” Tyelkormo added, and there was a trace of bitterness in his voice.
“Turko!” cried Macalaurë, alarmed. © The tempered steel by Lyra
“Are you hungry?” he asked, padding closer. “I have a secret stash of bread and cheese that I’m willing to share.”
Maitimo blinked. “Thank you, I’m not hungry, but –”
“No,” Carnistiry sad pensively, sitting down on the mattress; Maitimo could see now that he had been carrying the bread and cheese he had spoken of in his shirt, along with a knife. “No, I suppose hungry is not the word. Famished is more like it. I could count your bones this afternoon. At least they’re still all there, except -" © The tempered steel by Lyra
“Did I make much noise? I am sorry if I woke you.”
“You made no noise, and you did not wake me. I often lie awake at night. I just thought something was wrong.”
“Oh,” said Maitimo. His first impulse was to assure his brother that nothing was wrong at all, to tell him not to worry and to send him back to bed. Then he thought better of it. He had been quite good at boasting or telling fibs to his younger brothers, and for the most part they had believed him – but Moryo had always known. Moryo (and, of course, their father) had never fallen even for the most masterfully constructed lie. There seemed little point in lying to him now. © The tempered steel by Lyra