"Little good it did any of the Edain who followed us, it seems. If Bor and his sons are on your head, then Hurin and Huor and all their kin are on mine."

They will be beating their heads against this difference until the end of time, it seems. "And you are under the command of the High King. By the same logic, I am responsible for every error you made." He feels so very tired. There's too much of this to deal with at once.

"But you will not hold me to it, because you believe it is only Maedhros Feanorion who must be subjected to such an unforgiving eye, Maedhros Feanorion and perhaps, at a distant second, the Black Enemy of the World. What you do to yourself is unkind, cousin. And it is as sure a path to madness as any ever treaded.

"More, I fear that judgment has blinded you to all that you truly did have power over afterward. You are grieving still, a hundred sun-years later and staring at my face; did you think at Doriath that it did not matter what you did, for you were already damned?"

He sighs. "Then I do not see the point in bringing matters of Arda to a place so removed from them. Not without a reason for a threat to emerge. And not in a place where I have no claim to make justice, if a dead prince can even have that right."