Celegorm stares for a long moment, his expression going increasingly still while he watches his brother weep against him. He moves them, just a little, Maglor nearer to the wall, Celegorm's narrower body shielding him at least a little from any eyes that might see this moment of weakness, this fragility.

Perhaps it is a shadow of the curse upon him, hounding thought and memory, ruthless as wolves in winter. Driving them all Maglor a briefly a little closer to the edge of madness.

So he strokes his brother's back, in the same slow and soothing matter he would gentle an upset horse, and does not speak until Maglor has leaned back a little. "Shhhh, shhhh. Speak no more of such things. I..." He swallowed, thickly. "Show me your hands, Maglor; we must get them cared for."