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[ a startled look down the locket is the last Will will see of Maglor's face until he reforms. The hand not filled with the bottle goes to Will's shoulder, Maglor instinctively twining healing and comfort into his voice, the subtlest thread of power like a soft warmth (he is no healer, but he was not that long ago a father, and before all that he was an elder brother, and some things are instinct by now) ]

I am sorry Will, it seems a cruel way to travel. Will you be well?

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