"He [Maglor] clearly knew his way about the place very well indeed. We ended up in another courtyard that seemed to be some kind of exercise yard. It was filled with a large number of guards and soldiers embarked on a bewildering variety of military activities. In the far corner, there seemed to be an open space and, even as we arrived and Maglor began weaving his way across the yard, a tall red-haired man walked out into the middle of that open space, sword in hand, and began to run through a series of slow sweeping movements that seemed to be some kind of fairly complicated exercise.

I learned later that Maedhros routinely did this set of exercises every morning at this hour and that Maglor knew them well, because when he’d visited Maedhros in Himring previously, they always practised them together. Maedhros, however, was obviously not expecting Maglor that morning, in view of yesterday’s events, and had not waited for him. Maglor, with me trailing after him, reached the edge of the open space. Maedhros was apparently completely focussed on his exercises and seemed to take no notice of him.
Maglor tucked the fiddle under his chin and began to play a slow searching tune. Maedhros did not pause in his movements, his legs and arms moving in an unbroken, intricate pattern. He might not have heard those first couple of notes at all. But it soon became clear that Maglor was synchronizing the notes of the tune with Maedhros’s movements, that in fact the tune was designed to accompany the set of exercises.

They ran through the whole set together. Then they repeated it. Then—and it was impossible to tell which of them had initiated it, Maedhros or Maglor—they speeded up and went through the whole set more quickly. They repeated it. They speeded up again. Maedhros’s movements, so slow and deliberate to begin with, began to resemble an exotic dance, as the sword wove in and out and drew arcs and straight lines in the air. By now, all over the courtyard, everyone had interrupted what they were doing and was watching Maedhros.
Maedhros and Maglor speeded up again. And then they went even faster. It became difficult to follow the movement of the sword with the naked eye. They went faster than that, and it seemed incredible that anyone should be so quick on his feet. They went even faster than that, and now just to play the fiddle so quickly and precisely as Maglor was doing was a noteworthy feat. As for Maedhros’s face, it was a pale blur, and all that could be seen of the sword blade was a reflex of light that danced around Maedhros like a spark of fire.

It was not only an amazing display of skill. It was a work of art, beautiful, the more so, as the man himself was not. For he was after all marred, crippled. I altogether forgot for the moment that all this was about war, too, as much as the ugliness and horror outside the walls; I was thinking of dragonflies I’d seen dancing over pools in the woods of Neldoreth. Suddenly, Maglor played a long drawn-out note and, right in the middle of that whirl of speed, Maedhros came to a halt and at once stood still as a stone, the blade in his hand slowly sinking towards the ground like a leaf drifting down from the branch of a tree. In the ensuing silence, all the bystanders let out their breath in a collective sigh.

Maedhros sheathed his sword and came towards us. He seemed to be breathing more shallowly and quickly, true—but well short of panting.

‘Thank you’, he said to Maglor. ‘A bit showy, perhaps, but under the circumstances, good for morale, I think.’

‘That’s what I thought’, said Maglor.

The brothers exchanged a brief smile."

[Extract from Chapter III, section I]