"No longer in-" he lets out a sharp, sour laugh and pushes back a falling braid behind his ear. "No, that part almost makes sense. Little rooms in strange inns do not seem the work of the Doomsman."

There's a lot he wants to consider here already- consider or, perhaps, find a sword and try and take out his feelings on that damned balrog. But there are only so many crises he can deal with at once, and whatever is going on with Maedhros has to take priority.

(He can help Maedhros. He can try to fix this.... right?)

So he sinks down to the floor beside his cousin and reaches out to cup Maedhros' chin in his hand. "Russandol."

He tries not to snap, to find that blend of gentleness and authority their grandfather wielded so easily. He has to be careful. It feels like Maedhros might shatter under his hands if he presses too closely, and there's the shake of exhaustion in his hands

"All right. Once subject at a time. You've the expertise on both- there or here? Which do we need to discuss first?"