Disclaimer: Tolkien’s Middle-earth – Kortirion tip-toes round the edges.
Unyielding rock rasped under his shoulders and back, scraping against thigh or hip as he tried to stir; tiny crevices caught at shoulders and elbows as the winds buffeted him. He knew every splinter and shard on the surface of that rock-face; all in agonizing and infinite familiarity. By enchantment he was kept hanging, cruelly bound by iron, forced to watch, under star-light and scorching sun, beneath foul fume and soaking rain... to carry on living.
Exhausted, pained to madness, even his fiery spirit began to fade... but, the surface changed... softness... salt-tears... a warm, supporting arm... was it over?