"...I had you pegged for some sort of fighter, yes." Barcus says softly. The loss of a hand can certainly occur in industrial accidents but something about the elf's bearing made him think this was not the case. "If you need anything from me, I...well, I'm not a fighter, but that doesn't mean I can't sympathize a little."

He waits on the other side of the restriction, holding the lantern low to Maedhros can see his way. When he reaches the other end, he offers him help up, which may not be necessary, but at least it's kindly meant.

"Tymothee?" He calls, after the elf finishes speaking. "We're here to help. There are two of us. You don't know us, but your family asked us to come help you. Are you hurt?"

There's only a moment's hesitation before the little voice rings out again, and he sounds excited this time, hope bubbling up amid the fear: "My leg hurts! I can't stand up and it's so cold down here, please!"

"When I say one, you say two, all right? Your voice will help us find you. One!"

"Two! Be careful there's another hole in the floor! I fell down it!" Well, that's good to know.