Curufin squeezes that hand gently, responding to the faint smile.

"He does look peaceful. Perhaps he's dreaming of something positive. I hope so." Maedhros' face is relaxed, his lips barely parted, his eyelids closed softly over those dreaming eyes. His hair is scattered over the pillows, making fiery rivers amongst the white sheets.

Maglor's special talent is for hearing the music that every living being and every unliving thing makes, wittingly or unwittingly, as an expression of its unique nature. Osanwe it is not, but it can be used as an avenue of communication. Curufin knows this because of his own relationship with Maglor.

"You can't hear his Song at all? Or is it just very muted?"