He isn't allowed to attend the hearing where the Valar will debate whether his mother should stay dead forever.

Usually having the palace to himself would be wonderful but it's like there's a storm in his head and moving or thinking or anything at all shakes it and he can't focus and he's spent most of the time curled up in a ball wherever he is least likely to be bothered. He is there now.

And then he's not alone.

The kobold appears in a clear spot. She's surprised to be anywhere, but not surprised enough that her instincts fail her. Her first priority: find someplace to hide until she's more familiar with the immediate area.

A dog-like thing appears in the middle of the room. He stops crying to stare wonderingly at it; it immediately darts off to hide between a dresser and a block of stone for an unfinished sculpture. He feels an odd sense of camaraderie. He wonders if the Valar meant to put it outside rather than in the palace.

The kobold listens. Her hearing is very good, good enough that she can navigate by it if need be, but the acoustics are strange, here; if he's being quiet, she's not going to notice him.

Then she trances, reaching out with her mage-sense...

He is still being quiet; he's transfixed. He should go and get someone and tell them that there's a dog in the palace except he doesn't want to talk to people and the dog isn't bothering them.

There's a person in the room. She loses the trance, freezes, then relaxes - it's far too late to worry about self-preservation now.

She waits, for a few minutes, considering her options.

The dog seems scared. He doesn't usually read people but a scared dog is a bit different than a person.

He'd convey reassurances to the scared dog, but he doesn't have any. The dog should be scared. The world is awful.

The person... also isn't moving. Are they okay?

She peeks out of her hiding place.

"Are you supposed to be outside?" he says, even though dogs can't speak Quenya. "The Valar usually put animals outside but perhaps one of them forgot there was a city here. Since it's so new."

...that sure is a little kid of some unfamiliar species. Speaking an unfamiliar language, too. They can't possibly be expecting her to answer ...or, well, maybe, if her guess of their age is really wrong... but what happens if she cocks her head to indicate curiosity?

Dogs also don't stand on two feet like that. 

Or listen very attentively. 

Even people don't usually listen to him that attentively.

"Hi," he says. "You're in the palace. I'm guessing you didn't mean to be here. Palace." And he gestures around. "Fëanáro." At himself.

She goes very still.

She blinks.

"...palace," she has an accent, but she's a very good mimic. "Fëanáro. Kobold," she pats her chest.

"You can talk? 

I thought only the Quendi talked, that's why we were called that! Or are you one of the Aftercomers? A star shines on the hour of our meeting," he says formally but in earnest. "Kobold. Hello."

This kid is pretty cute.

"Kobold talk. Hello," she says, conversationally, taking a single step out of her hiding place.

"But - do you not have your own language? I don't mean to stop you from creating your own language, if you just got invented, and it doesn't make sense that anyone who could speak would go very long without doing it -"

Confusion, again.

"Sorry." He scratches his head. "Uh. Well, I'm not going to not talk to you, even if it messes something up, you need words for things if you don't have any. Uh. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten." He counts on his hands.

She watches closely.

"One two three four," she counts, extending the fingers of her right hand. "Five," the first four fingers are tucked back in and one comes out on the left hand, "six," the first finger on the right hand comes back, "seven eight nine", more fingers accompany it, "ten," two fingers on the left hand, none on the right.

He frowns. "We go by twelves. You go by fives?"

She squints a bit.

"Five," she points to the first finger of her left hand with the first finger of her right, "ten, ten-five, ten-ten. Twelves?"

He counts up to twelve. "Two-twelves, three-twelves, four-twelves."

She continues watching attentively.

"Five, two fives, three fives, four fives," she demonstrates her left-hand numbers along with this new grammar. And then, "twelve, two twelves... three twelves." This last one involves a new gesture, one finger on her right hand extended over her left, and then the hand sign for eleven displayed afterward. "Talk fives, twelves...?"

"I'm not sure what you mean," he says, engrossed.

Hm.

"I'm not sure what you mean. Talk?"

"That's what we're doing, yes. We're talking. We could, uh, sing?" He starts singing. "Now I am singing instead of talking."