There's an amphitheater, a place where a hundred of the stone walkways twine around to create space for a hundred thousand people to sit in close proximity, and someone is giving a lecture or a demonstration at the base of it, the seats closest to him filled with eager, tiny, bearded Dwarf-children.
And they spiral down, and down, and down, past waterfalls and egg-sized gemstones left half in the rock and halls of crystal. Everything grows gradually more ornate and more perfectly maintained and the clang of hammers fades behind them. "People say," her guide says, "that we only have a council instead of a single King because there were nine winners of the competition to design the throne so we couldn't just select one person to sit it." And they push open the doors to reveal, indeed, nine thrones so elaborate it would be hard to choose between them, and nine squat bearded people sitting them.
If you mean, do I have enough charming conversation in my life, I'm doing fine. I even have more people to talk to about the old forbidden subject of 'magic' and the new forbidden subject 'frost giant' here than I had at home. If you mean, do I live in hope that I will find certain conditions to obtain among Men, you are entirely correct.
I like girls a little. I tend not to like the same girl more than once, which isn't so bad when I can just explain that in advance and avoid misunderstandings. But if you think I know how to navigate the mores of Quendi lesbians...
I didn't say you couldn't; I don't care for the implied insult against me, my best friend, and a decent fraction of both our bedmates.
If nothing happens in the morning either she will head back to the Fëanorians to apologize to Macalaurë.
Land outside the gate, walk in, look up last conversation and open with that osawnëing Macalaurë in particular followed by Are you busy? I need to apologize.
I didn't realize that songs were a particularly proprietary sort of thing and reviewing the conversation through that lens it looks very much as it would if I'd been purposefully withholding the intention to distribute copies as largesse. Your cousins explained it to me. If you want me to I can dismiss their copies from here, it'd be awkward but I'd do it, they've got five each on jewelry kept in a soundproof box, I don't think that idea is proprietary and you may feel free to steal it. If you don't want me to make any more besides the one I'm carrying I can do that too. I have some from them that are under various sorts of license, I can share some of those.
The one I'm expecting to be most broadly popular when I can't talk people into turning them over for use at my discretion is copies for copies - I enchant whatever random objects they like with the song and I can make that many copies elsewhere. I've got one that I can use but not copy again.
Another song I have that seems of use to you is one that checks someone's impression of reality against the version they're describing and highlights discrepancies - accusing people of lying is a very serious insult, but of biasing a telling, intentionally or no, and it will catch lying, and it can do so in a way that's not visible to the speaker.
And lately I've been working on treating wood so it doesn't rot quickly, which is a bit more mundane but probably useful to everyone.
They wanted the lying one for interviewing Sarpalarë; I don't think they'd need their own copy for that if you wanted to let me have one but not copies. Would the wood thing work on paper or is the going plan still to reverse engineer my notebook page?