Celegorm staggers a little under the heavy hug- but he needs no urging to return it fiercely and tightly, one of his long-fingered hands lightly stroking Maglor's dark hair.

All the heat of his upset dissolves, and instead he clutches Maglor to him, gently consoling; as if they are both children again, and his brother has woken from a nightmare. The reality-- that they are all men grown, and life the nightmare from which there is no waking, no relief-- he tamps down to the back of his mind.

"It's alright. It's alright, I'm here, it's alright. We'll get your hands bandaged and seen to, and they'll heal good as new, you'll see...!" He'll ask what happened later, but the reassurance seems important to him: a musician's hands were almost as important to his work as a scribe's.