It's a cold, dark, wintry night in Himring, and there are no stars visible in the sky. Maglor is sat by the fireplace in one of his and Maedhros's private rooms, quietly tuning his harp. Maedhros is stood behind him, gently braiding Maglor's hair. There is a comfortable silence between them, that is broken when Maglor shivers, as a cold breeze blows in through the window.

Maedhros: "Káno? Are you alright?"

Maglor: "Yes, yes, I'm fine, Nelyo. You know you don't need to worry about me so much... It'll take a lot more than that to kill me..."

Maedhros: "Please, Laurë, don't joke about that... If you died, I wouldn't be able to take it..."

There is a long pause, as they both look deep in thought. Maglor's hands fall away from his harp. Maedhros finishes braiding Maglor's hair, and wraps his arms around his shoulders, pulling him close.

Maedhros: "It's so cold tonight... I don't think I can remember a winter quite this harsh..."

Maglor: "No... Me neither..."

He leans into Maedhros's chest, letting his eyes fall shut. Maedhros buries his face in his hair, breathing in the familiar scent of violets.

Maglor: "Nelyo... I miss Atar... and I miss Grandfather..."