Maglor manages a shaky laugh.

"That I will not begrudge - I know here we sometimes have little choice in our shapes."

Maglor has had nothing of his own yet - but then, until his brother and Elrond, he had no reason for any sort of prolonged contact. It is, he knows, only a matter of time, now.

"You are very different to the dragons of my world."

The blade has settled to an uncertain grey, but he still cannot bring himself to put it away.