"Celebrimbor's work, he is the son of Curufin," Galadriel recounted, albeit a bit tightly. As Elros began his work and the Elessar elevated him, her shine faded to a dull glimmer. Her dress was grimier, her wounds more horrifying, and all the strain fell heavily upon her features and limbs. She looked wrung out, even by human standards, and shot him a fragile smile as he rebound her wounds.

"And he certainly would," she agreed, but with a touch of hesitation born from trying to recall Elrond in his youth. "How did you come to be here?"