Quietly, without needing to be told, Maglor sets the table, movements long practiced, even if he has has no cause to use them in years.

Memory is one thing they still have in common, of course, but Maglor carries his in his eyes and in the train of his ghosts whispering ceaselessly in his ears, in the star-of-feanor pin that he never removes, in the scars on his hands (in his soul), in the gleaming blade that never rusts that hides in his guitar case... and always, always, in the song that falls from his lips.

"I can't stay, you know. Not for long. People will notice."