Slowly, slowly, Maglor pulls himself back from the memories of blood and fire, his ghosts lingering close tonight. Merlin's hand on his breaks the trance a little, drawing him back to the present.

He manages a smile from somewhere, although it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Thank you, my friend."

He sighs, and draws the other hand across his eyes, suddenly seeming old and weary and diminished. "And now you know. I do not know how long I wept there, mourning by the sea, nor how I survived the years, although I being to suspect the Valar's hand in that. My next clear memory is the ships leaving for Numemor, the Silmaril gleaming above them, and realizing my Elros was at the helm of the main ship, tall and kingly."