He remembers a name, Elrond Uriah Imladris.

He remembers a tall man with bright red hair and a missing hand. He remembers an ink-haired man with soft skin and a voice like velvet.

He remembers a brother, broad-shouldered and strong, with a head for numbers and a love of patterns. He remembers shared birthdays and pinky promises and a secret language. He remembers asking, 'For always and always?' and always hearing 'Of course.' until the one day he asked and he didn't, because Elros wasn't alive to answer. He remembers standing at a funeral, crying in math class, looks of pity rather than sympathy, sitting alone at lunch — they all said that they'd be there for him, but when it came down to it, nobody really wanted to spend their lunchtime with the grieving boy who barely spoke.

He remembers chanting in Hebrew, remembers graceful script on parchment (ךאהבת) (V'ahavta, meaning And you shall love). He remembers a bar mitzvah, a coming-of-age ceremony that should have been shared but wasn't.

He remembers a steep rock buffeted by a churning sea, remembers a ledge by the ocean. He remembers long blond hair and iridescent purple scales.

He remembers a series of gentle kisses by the edge of the water. He remembers hearing "I love you" and saying it in turn; he remembers meaning it.

He remembers a young blond mermaid holding his head beneath the waves and crushing the air from his lungs.

He doesn't remember the house he lived in, three minutes' walk from the beach.

He doesn't remember his favorite movies, Dead Poet's Society and Star Trek: Wrath of Khan. He doesn't remember his favorite books, Series of Unfortunate Events and Ender's Game.

He doesn't remember Maedhros waking him up after a nightmare; he doesn't remember Maglor's songs. He doesn't remember the afternoons he spent helping Elwing bake, or Eärandil teaching him the names of the stars.

He doesn't remember the Fibonacci Sequence or the Golden Ratio.

He doesn't remember how he wanted to be an architect.

He doesn't remember how he used to love puzzles.

He doesn't even remember what a Rubik's Cube is.

It takes them nearly a day to find Elrond's shoes, laid neatly on the sand.

"Why?" Maedhros's voice is broken, and the shards cut Maglor's heart as surely as broken glass would cut his fingertips. "Why would he —" Maedhros swallows. "Why."

If Maglor weren't still in shock, the dullness that settles in Nelyo's tone at that last "why" would terrify him, as well it should.

He thinks distantly that it was probably for much the same reason that Amrod covered himself in gasoline and lit a match. But he doesn't say that aloud.