"I can try." Maglor eyes the pools thoughtfully. "These are not my waters though. They don't know me. And pools don't tend to do waves much. But... "

He considers thoughtfully and then brings out his harp and begins to play, a ripple of sound like sunlight on the water, calling, yearning, looking back into the deep waters of memory. To the harp, he adds his voice, singing in his own tongue of the memory of the sun's first rising, glorious and golden, unexpected and wildly welcome.

And the little pool answers with light.

Faint, at first, then brighter, and brighter, until the water blazes as if the twin suns overhead were setting into the waters.