"You can destroy our bodies enough we can't sustain them, but as far as anyone's ever heard of there's nothing you can do to stop us from having conscious experiences - and if you're dead you're either all alone or in the Halls which are reputed to be terrible. At least this way sometimes she's asleep."

"The Halls?"

"One of the Valar collects the dead. And brings them back if they are worthy. Mass murder obviously disqualifies you, so it's just - waiting, alone, forever."

"- but -"

"No one deserves that?" Shrug. "No one deserves to have been born to an Arda but here Eru put us all. Except you, I suppose. Welcome to the sculpted horror show of our idiot gods."

"Who's Eru?"

"The god who scripted everything in the first place. She directly intervenes sometimes but don't think we haven't tried prayer."

"Oh."

"Sorry."

"So why are the children here -?"

"The king of Sirion? Had two sisters. They were seven, I think, when we sacked Doriath - that being the last city where this whole nightmare played out - and somebody in the middle of the fighting took the kids outside and we guess they ran away into the forest and starved and I figured this time I would make a different horrible mistake. They're safe here. The enemy doesn't bother us - why would she, we practically work for her -"

"...oh."

"It is likely the Enemy will follow up in Sirion  now they're defenseless. Or has already."

"If you'll find it cathartic to yell at me or something you can, I understand..."

"I don't really want to yell at you, it doesn't seem like it would help anything."

"It wouldn't. I don't do a lot of self-flagellation for the same reason, but lots of people still find it - emotionally reassuring on some level -"

"What was the oath exactly -?"

She closes her eyes. "If I speak the original language will you still understand me?"

"I think so."

"Be she foe or friend, be she foul or clean,

brood of Morgoth or bright Vala,
Elda or Maia or Aftercomer,
Man yet unborn upon Middle-earth,
neither law, nor love, nor league of swords,
dread nor danger, not Doom itself,
shall defend her from Fëanáre, and Fëanáre's kin,
whoso hideth or hoardeth, or in hand taketh,
finding keepeth or afar casteth
a Silmaril. This swear we all:
death we will deal her ere Day's ending,
woe unto world's end! Our word hear thou,
Eru Allmother! To the everlasting
Darkness doom us if our deed faileth.
On the holy mountain hear in witness
and our vow remember, Manwë and Varda!

"I suppose that's the generic 'she' and you don't get anywhere if a man has them."

"Yeah, you can't rules-lawyer oaths that much."

"Suppose it would have been unrealistic for me to think of anything you didn't in six hundred years."

"I don't mind if you try. But - yeah, we've tried. The major loophole if you can call it that is that we're only obliged to harass anyone who is currently in that moment holding a Silmaril, so the minute they surrendered it or we got it back it'd be over and we wouldn't have to - but at this point we have a reputation, people don't trust that they'd be okay if they surrendered and they'll surrender and then keep trying to kill us -"