[He will have to remind Maglor of Makalaurë, then, for his son cannot have lost himself too thoroughly to be refound; yet this, he cannot do from a distance, and so it is not the time for that, now.

For a short while, only the wind can be heard, rustling in low trees. Then, Fëanáro picks up another part of his son's words, the third which needs to be taken up.]

You spoke of a young woodland prince's injuries at your brother's hands; for what reason did this come to pass, and are those woodlands those of Mirkwood?

[It would indeed be a cruel twist of fate, to have one in his company sworn to a lord whose son his own sun hurt in such a manner. Dangerous as well, and certainly necessary to know.]