“Is this your doing, Elros?” Maglor asked, at once the same elf Elros remembered from his childhood, the one who had taught him of hope and of despair, and more still, a power in Maglor’s words that once had not been there.

Elros looked out the window before he responded, to Finrod playing his harp beside a weeping Beren, and to Maedhros laughing beside Fingon, and further to all the other elves who had been remembered and brought back in the only way the Music had allowed, different from their pasts.

“Not mine alone,” Elros said, and knew Maglor was lesser as well, less able to understand the hearts of Men and know why Beren wept and Elros despaired.