He's in a field of plump squashes. Yellow and orange and green and purple, covering an acre or so, with a big wooden house visible at one far end. 

Two things are notable: firstly, it's ridiculously pretty, more like a landscape painting of a field ready for harvest than an actual field ready for an actual harvest. All of the squashes are in glorious good health, all the surrounding leaves are green, all the trees at the edge of the field are tall and vibrantly autumn-colored. Spaced evenly through the field there are stone children in stone dresses with their hands flung up to the heavens. 

Secondly, the light is off. It's bright and golden like noonday sun, but it comes from the western horizon. 

Bizarre and alarming.

It doesn’t seem like anything or anyone is leaping out to attack, but he shouldn’t be here, and all his senses, mundane and magical, are immediately on alert. Sounds, movement? Ambient magic or mage-artifacts? Minds detectable to Thoughtsensing?

(A quick memory-search through all the religions Leareth knows of doesn’t turn up anything with iconography that matches the stone children, so that’s no hint to his location either.)

The statues are magic! There are some people in the house! One of them has noticed him and headed out onto the porch to check who is in the squashes.

Leareth flashes through and discards a dozen different reactions, including 'immediately Gate out again' and 'hide behind an illusion until he knows what's going on'. He still doesn't know where he is, which means it may not be within range to Gate at all without a source of free magic to replenish his reserves, which the statues don't seem to offer. 

He'll settle for readying all his defensive shields, and then talking to whoever lives here in hopes that they can at least tell him what country he's ended up in. He still can't think of any explanation for the light being so odd. 

"Greetings," he says, on the off chance that he's still close enough to Valdemar for them to understand the language (seems unlikely). "I apologize for landing in your field." He keeps his Thoughtsensing open, not actively probing but listening for surface thoughts, trying to pick up on the stranger's reaction to his presence. 

The person has expensive silk robes and long black elaborately-braided hair and brown skin and a politely befuddled expression. He is thinking that there is a small god in his squash garden which is embarrassing because he's not dressed for it at all - and the small god looks kind of winded, or something - and if that's the small god's first shape it's a really good one! Though he looks frustrated so maybe it isn't. 

"We're very honored," he says in his language (he did not recognize Leareth's at all), and bows, and contemplates which squash is the best one to offer as a present.

Do they wear even fancier clothing to greet whatever kind of divinity a 'small god' refers to? He can pick up some of what the stranger means from his thoughts, but the sounds, though very beautiful, are completely unfamiliar.

:Can you understand me?: he tries in Mindspeech. 

Yes, the person responds immediately, expecting that to be heard, expecting the rest of his thoughts to be private, but not actually blocking mindreading in any way.

Maybe they ought to serve a six-course breakfast, if the smallgod is new at taking Quendi form - smallgods new at taking Quendi form like eating. He suggests to his son, back in the house, that he wake his mother, and maybe go ask the neighbors for eggs and rizwah flour and so on.

:I think we have a misunderstanding: he sends. :I am a human mage, not a 'smallgod'. I intended to arrive somewhere else; I would appreciate if you can tell me where we are now:

(He's going to wait a bit before clarifying that 'expecting your thoughts to be private' does not actually work as a technique for shielding; he doesn't know enough of what's going on yet to be sure that he isn't thirty seconds away from facing sudden hostility, and he would prefer to have some warning.) 

Oh! I'm sorry! I don't know what a human is and usually all of the people here who aren't Quendi are smallgods. You're about thirty miles from Tirion, in Valinor. In the universe, he adds as an afterthought. 

One assumes that they're still in the universe, but neither of the other place names is useful at all. :Why is the sun like that, here?: He points, not really expecting a useful answer at this point. 

The Trees? I don't know what they're like where you're from. In Valinor the land is lit by the two Trees. Laurelin is golden - the one we can see now - and soon Telperion will wake. Telperion is silver. 

On reflection, it's starting to seem less likely that he's still in 'the universe' after all, at least the one he's familiar with. Has he ended up in some undiscovered plane, rather than just routing through the known ones? It...seems like it might take a while to figure out.

:Those are not familiar to me: he admits. :Where I come from, the sky is lit by the sun – something like a very bright star, if you have stars here?: 

We have stars here! If you go far enough east you can see them. Some of them are brighter than others but not anywhere near as bright as the Trees. When we lived only by starlight we were preyed upon by monsters.

Perfect, now Leareth has twice as many questions. Now that he's paying attention, it's increasingly obvious that the stranger isn't human – the physical differences are subtle, but the mental differences less so. Though meeting a nonhuman sentient being is much less strange than a world with glowing trees instead of a sun. 

:It may take some time to figure out how to return home from here: he sends. :In the meantime, if you are willing to offer a place where I can sit and rest, and perhaps tell me more of Valinor, I would be deeply grateful: 

Of course! Our house is right back there, and you can stay as long as you'd like. 

- probably.

It crosses his mind for the first time that actually Yávië has been saying they should leave, and even though she is probably overreacting he should not promise the stranger that he can stay forever when actually there is debate about that. This is accompanied by a burst of irritation that this is even in question, kings have one job and it's to make sure that no one has to worry about open-ended commitments...

You can stay for a couple of days at least and I think it's very likely that you can stay much longer than that if you'd like but I would need to talk to some people, he corrects himself.

Well, they're certainly very hospitable. That's convenient. Whatever potentially-messy political situation he's glimpsing the edges of, is less so. 

:Is there some complicated situation there?: he sends. 

Oh. Uh, I don't expect you should need to worry about it but my oldest daughter lives in the city and hears all the gossip and - it's hardly my place to criticize people, mind, when I have no understanding of what all the difficulties they are going through, but I think that if even if you've invented lots of lovely things, and even if you're very wise and very courageous, it's additionally your responsibility to make sure little girls studying biology in your city don't ever get stopped in the street by men with swords who want to know whose side she's on, don't you think? 

That definitely sounds like something Leareth needs to be oriented to, if he's going to wander around this world for a while trying to find a way out of it. 

:I agree: he sends, a little absently. Privately he's thinking that the King in question sounds woefully unprepared for the role. 'Inventing things' isn't a leadership qualification, as Urtho found out the hard way, and wisdom and courage are hard to quantify. :That is quite an alarming incident to hear about in connection with your own child. What are the sides in question here?: 

Sigh. So understand, the King has led us well and wisely for a very long time, and we've grown to be the greatest of the peoples of Valinor, and while from what I know it sounds like there were some mistakes in how this situation has been managed, there's much I don't know.

The King has three sons. His eldest, Fëanâro, is by a different mother - she died, and she refused to come back, and the King's grief was very great and drove him to remarry, though perhaps it was unwise, and with his second wife he had two more sons, and two daughters.

And for a long time they all got along tolerably, I think, if not exceptionally well, but then - Yávië says that she heard that Nolofinwë, the King's second son, was saying that Fëanáro was ill-suited to rule and ought to step aside, and that if he didn't something ought to be done about it, and that's - well, it's terribly rude, and unwise to mention, but it could've been offered in the spirit of constructive criticism, right, or he could've favored Fëanáro eventually stepping aside in favor of Fëanáro's son, who is eminently suitable for the role. But somehow it got about that he was considering persuading Fëanáro to move out, instead, with his family, a proposal to which Fëanáro objected vehemently. And Fëanáro runs a guild of metalcrafters in the city and he set them to forging swords, and carrying them, gods know why, and so Nolofinwë did that too, and now it's a fashion in Tirion and everyone has those horrible swords and everyone is tracking who is in favor of who and spreading dreadfully stupid stories about one another. 

And - the city has lots of fads, right, they went through a time where everyone went around with their eyes closed to expand the other senses, they had a raging fight about the shift in phonemes from th- to s-, one year they declared that it was a bad year for having babies because of something strange in the air from their workshops, and no one had a single child until the Valar'd been called in to fix it. It's going to be fine. everyone will apologize to each other and calm down. But I still think, in the spirit of constructive critique - swords are a silly tool to make this kind of point with, they're menacing. Someone could hurt themself accidentally.

He is sincere in all of this including his conviction that the likeliest way for harm to result is someone hurting themself accidentally. He is worried he's giving Leareth such a bad opinion of the King, who doesn't deserve it.

The notes of confusion are piling up and Leareth has slid through disbelief and right out the other side. Are the Quendi all like this? He's - going to move cautiously, because he seems to have landed across a vast cultural gulf and is missing pretty much all of the context. 

:In my world: he sends, cautiously, :such a situation would be alarming and likely to end with: bodies littering the streets :at least some injuries: he corrects it to, better not to cross too much of the cultural distance in one step. :Perhaps your people are more skilled at: being absurdly naive :the spirit of constructive criticism, and ending such disputes with apologies all round. However, I wish to note my concern:

Leareth thinks for a moment. It's possible he'll be able to find a way back to Velgarth by tonight, but it's seeming more probable that he won't, in which case an unstable political situation is worth paying attention to. And maybe doing something about.

...Not to mention that, from one example at least, the Quendi seem...good. And so does their world. For now. It also sounds like, accidentally or on purpose, they're about to stumble into an end to that goodness. 

:In my own world: Leareth sends, :I once advised a King: He's been a King, or Emperor, at least a dozen times, but he won't go into that for now. :If you think that your leaders might listen to, well, constructive criticism, from an outsider's perspective, then perhaps I can offer it: 

I should hope they'd listen! But you'd probably want to get Yávië's account of everything, she's been paying it far more attention than I have. 

They reach his house. It's three stories tall, made of wood, with squashes and spices hanging from rooftop beams and gorgeous tapestries on all the walls and a woman at a stovetop that has no visible fuel, cooking something delicious. 

Hello! she says. Do humans eat the same things as us - did Tehlan even ask -

I got caught up in explaining the nonsense in Tirion, her husband says.

Oh, that. You mustn't worry about that, Tirion's just always too caught up inventing things to ask whether they needed inventing.

:If the food comes from your beautiful crops outside, then I suspect that I can eat it. And I apologize for not introducing myself properly – my name is Leareth: 

Is the stove magic as well? And is the woman also expecting her thoughts to be shielded without actually doing anything about it? 

The stove is magic. The woman is also expecting her thoughts to be shielded without doing anything about it; her thoughts are, however, exactly what she just said.  

I'm Wilindë, she says. This is Tehlan. We have four children but only the youngest still lives with us, and he's out fetching eggs from the neighbors. 

Leareth can have some spiced squash dish.

It's good! Sitting down is also good. He thanks her politely. And continues to not mention the fact that he can read all of their thoughts including the private ones. He's getting a little more relaxed, but he's not comfortable, yet. It seems safe and friendly and almost perfect in every way, but something here isn't adding up, and the part that he's missing could well be a threat.

:I would be curious to know more of the history of your world and your people: he sends while he's eating. Mindspeech is convenient that way. :Also your magic – you do have magic, yes?: 

We only have a little bit here personally, Wilindë says, making dumplings, but they have all kinds in Tirion. Yávië has a friend there who did our sprinklers. I - wouldn't even know where to start, with the history of the world -

In the beginning, Tehlan says, Eru, the creator, had a vision of the world, and he showed it to the gods and the smallgods, and invited them to take part in its creation. And they did, and they sang in a beautiful symphony that wrote the history of the world. But one of the gods, Melkor, sought to tell his own story, rather than Eru's, and when he learned that he couldn't he was angry, and sought to destroy Eru's, and sang discord and horror into the world, until Eru turned it all towards beauty and good. And Eru sent the gods down to shape the physical world, and Melkor went also, and whatever they built he would destroy - they would build mountains and he would explode them with molten rock, they would build rivers and he would fling the water up into the sky. And many of his changes added to the beauty and variety of the world, and the gods saw that he, too, had a needed role in its creation, but eventually they tired of losing all they created to him and retreated to Valinor - this place - and made it perfect.

:I see: Leareth isn't sure if this is the sort of creation myth that's some amount metaphorical. :I will likely wish to know more of the gods, soon, but - where do your people come in?: 

We were created in the Outer Lands, beside the lake Cuivienen, when all the gods save Melkor had retreated to Valinor. Melkor discovered us first, and he stole people away to torture and kill and to breed his own race of beings, called orcs, that could kill the rest of us. But Oromë, the god of hunting, travelling in the Outer Lands, found us, and the other gods went to war with Melkor over the evils he had done, and they offered us the chance to come to Valinor. 

Most people were too afraid to accept. But three Elves - Ingwë of the Vanyar, Finwë of the Noldor, Olwë of the Telari - agreed to go see Valinor and learn if it was suitable for our people. They went, they returned, and they persuaded most of their people to accompany them. And when they arrived here, they built Tirion and taught the Valar the other things that our people needed to be happy, and the Valar worked with us on those, and our civilizations flourished.

:...And what happened to Melkor, and the orcs?: 

The orcs are still there, I think, some of them. The gods did not know how to heal them and make them what they're supposed to be. Melkor was chained and imprisoned for three Ages.

:'Was'? Is he still there now?: At some point he's going to have to clarify their calendar, but right now all of his instincts are on alert, hunting for the threat that he really ought to have asked about first. 

He was paroled after the three Ages were up. He apologized at the seat of the Valar and understood the evil he'd done and swore to do no more of it, and to devote himself forever to serving the people he had wronged, and to work on the project of healing the orcs, which cannot be done without him.

Which is possibly the most doomed plan that Leareth has ever heard of, but...not out of place, in a world of people who think that the worst thing about their nobility bringing swords into a succession dispute is that someone might hurt themselves by accident, but of course it's all going to be ironed out in the end with some apologies and embarrassment. 

:Thank you for telling me: he sends, choosing his words very carefully. :I...have a very bad feeling about this. I could be wrong - I am not of your world - but in my own world, it would do well not to trust the word of a being who has already shown his nature in his actions. And the events you hear happening now in Tirion have the smell of a god's interference. I find myself doubting that Melkor is as sorry as he claimed:

Leareth sits back to wait for the inevitable indignant defence of a god who murdered and tortured their people but should, of course, be forgiven because he apologized. 

It's been a hundred Years since his release and he's done as he said. I can't - really imagine how he'd be responsible for Fëanáro, Fëanáro makes a point of disliking him. It's not anything at all like the things he did before, in any event. But - I guess if he's making people dislike each other then even though that's not actually evil we really ought to know about it so we can correct for it? 

...That's sort of kind of maybe a step in the right direction? 

:It could be that he has changed for the better: not that Leareth is betting on it :and nonetheless still likes to see the world - disrupted. Whether or not inciting conflict among your people ought be considered evil, it could lead to tragedy. My world bears a long history of such disputes that ended with much worse than a few accidental injuries. So either way, I think that something needs to be done, urgently: 

Well, I suppose you should probably go tell the King that, then, we're not carrying any swords around out here. He feels like this was sort of a snappish response and he feels vaguely apologetic about it but really, Tirion nonsense shouldn't be swallowing up perfectly nice things like meeting interworld visitors.

Wilindë serves him dumplings.

:I am not in such a hurry that I would depart now before sampling more of your wonderful cooking: he assures them. He casts about for the most recent question dropped in favour of something else more urgent. :Might I clarify how long these Years and Ages are?: 

A Year has 1440 days in it, Wilindë offers, smiling at him. It's been....maybe a hundredth of a day since you arrived. An Age is a hundred Years.

Leareth does some mental math, nods. He's doing some estimating here, but 'about a thousand years' is plenty long enough for a god to arrange some kind of indirect plan that will, eventually, result in a lot more things broken or dead or on fire. Which is apparently how Melkor prefers it. 

:How long do your people live?: he asks. 

I don't know what you mean. Would Leareth like some pear tart.

Leareth would like some pear tart. Also, what. :Do your people become frail with advanced age and eventually die of this?: And an earlier part is niggling. :You spoke of a person who died and refused to come back. Is it the usual state of affairs, then, for those who die to return to life again, as themselves?: 

- we do not become frail with advanced age and die of it, no, that sounds like it'd be really inconvenient! And yes, usually if someone dies then Mandos - the Vala of the dead - puts them right back, after straightening them out about whatever reckless decisions they died of.

:It is what happens to all living beings in my world, sooner or later. It is rather inconvenient, as well as tragic. What kinds of reckless decisions do people usually die of?: If nobody ever actually dies permanently for real, in this world, because they have a personal god to bring them back right away, maybe it's no wonder that they're so...trusting. 

That's awful! You should take it straight to the Valar, I'm sure they can fix it. 

:I will consider it, thank you: 

For about thirty seconds seconds before he concludes with a resounding ‘definitely NOT’. He isn’t much inclined to trust gods, period, and even if the Valar are good, if they're as naive as their people and paroled Melkor and he's right about this being a terrible idea – or, honestly, even if he's wrong in this case – they won't stand a chance against the gods of Velgarth. 

People die of swimming accidents, mostly. Occasionally hunting accidents, Tehlan adds. I think once a child was hit by a cart.

Leareth nods. 

:You live in a good world: he sends, and means it. It's...something he's tried to imagine, sometimes. The kind of world where bad things do, sometimes, happen, but where nobody is ever punished permanently for one-time mistakes. Where a child can still be hit by a cart, maybe, but they come back again. Maybe after a god admonishes them to look both ways before they cross the street next time. 

Leareth is...having some kind of emotion about this fact. He's not sure what it is yet. 

Of course, there's the part where he's not at all convinced this world is going to stay a paradise for much longer. And it's not like he knows exactly how bad the parts of it are that lie outside the place where the gods retreated to build perfection around them. 

Tehlan's son -- who looks about sixteen, if he were human -- comes back with eggs and flour, hands them to his mom, and stands against the wall watching Leareth with fascination.  What's the place where you're from like?

:My world is called Velgarth: Leareth starts. :It has gods as well, though they're less helpful to people, and it has magic too. Which might be different from your magic – who made the artifacts here? Your stove, the statues: 

People can make them, but it takes a lot of concentration, and I haven't learned how yet. Yávië's friend made the statues. We had a smallgod here just to make it rain on our farm, because we wanted to grow things that need more rain than this area gets, and he heard about it and said you could do it with magic. Now they water the yard. The stove my parents got as a wedding present.

Leareth smiles. :How clever! We also have weather-magic in my world, but none that can be cast onto an artifact to work by itself. Mortal magic users – humans such as myself, and other species – are responsible for most work with magic, either an artifact like your stove or, more commonly, simply casting when it is needed. Rarely, a god will intervene to create something. We do not have smallgods; we do have extraplanar beings which can be summoned for certain magical purposes, but they are not necessarily friendly and those more powerful than mortals are risky to call on:

He glances around. :I might show you some of my magic, if you wish?: Well, a very minor demonstration, he's low on reserves and has no idea how to get more. 

They think that'd be really cool!

Then Leareth can show them a mage-light in the palm of his hand, and an illusion that makes ones of the plates appear to vanish, and a little force-barrier that they can poke at. 

They think that's really neat! It's the kind of thing that would be very hard to do with their magic, as far as they know, though none of them have really studied it. Wilinde thinks that it might help with getting through to the King, having magic, even though you wouldn't necessarily expect magic to be related to Kinging.

Leareth agrees that this is plausible, and there's an argument that Kings should pay more attention to requests on their time from people who might be able to help them in unusual ways, such as with magic from another world. 

...He is, at this point, fairly convinced that this family in particular is the opposite of a threat, and also generous enough that they would forgive him for listening in on their surface thoughts (though he hasn't been bothering to do it much for the last few minutes). That being said, he does have the concern that this an advantage an enemy god might not be able to predict, he's not sure how it'll be an advantage yet and probably he could trust the family to keep it secret if he asked but he's not sure of that. So...he's not going to bring it up, at least not until he has an audience with the King and some better idea what in all hells is going on. He'll try to avoid looking at the private thoughts. 

:Does your world have sources of magical energy that can be drawn upon?: he asks. :Many of my larger and flashier forms of magic are not feasible without that: 

I - don't think so, not really? Unless the gods and smallgods are sources of magical energy. They seem like the sort of things that might be.

:Then perhaps if I do speak to your King later, and he requests magical help, I can ask him then. Though I think I do not want to depart before the–: morning, he was about to say, but they don't even have a sun. :Do you have day and night, here? When is the usual time to sleep?: 

People mostly sleep at Laurelin's height, because it's hottest. it's about to be the Mingling - when you can see the light of both of the Trees - and then it'll be Telperion's hours, which are softer and when you want to be out in the fields or so forth.

:That makes sense. Unfortunately, I am used to shorter days: not to mention still drained from an accidentally-universe-hopping Gate, :and I expect I will need to sleep before Laurelin's light returns: 

Of course! Do humans sleep on beds - we can make ours up for you - 

:We do, yes, and that would be very generous of you: 

While Wilinde bustles around doing that the color of the light changes. If you squint at the horizon you can now see distinct gold and silver beams of light, but if you look up at the sky it's a dazzling white with hints of purple streaked through it. The statues start spraying water over the fields, in a fine mist that makes the field appear to shimmer with rainbows. 

...It's pretty, but it's also really quite painful to look at. Leareth squints for a bit and then attempts a tinted translucent mage-barrier in front of his face. It helps a bit. :I think your eyes must be stronger than mine: 

- can you not borrow mine?

Huh. From the sound of it, it's a very commonplace offer.

:...You would not mind?: he sends. :I think your customs are different from ours. In my world, this would be a very - intimate - thing to do. And my Mindspeech works differently, I think. If you do not object, however, I might try it: 

You're very welcome to. 

Then Leareth will try sliding into Wilinde's mind, looking for the thread of sense-information. 

Wilinde is trying the mental equivalent of shoving it at him, since apparently his magic is different.

Quendi eyes are, in fact, better. A lot better. The slight traces of purple are now obviously some color beyond purple that his eyes can't see, swirling across the sky; the ground is alight without being distractingly bright, and he can see for miles and miles. In the direction of the Trees there's a white stone city on a hill, and if Wilinde squints he can see the carvings on its walls. 

:Your eyes are in fact better: he confirms. :And your world is even more beautiful seen through them than through my own. Is that city Tirion?: 

On the hill? Yes.

:How far is it?: 

About thirty miles from here.

Not terribly far, then, but more than a day's walk. :Are there methods of transport that are faster than walking?: he asks. 

We don't have a horse personally but some of the neighbors do?

:Would it be much hardship for them if I asked to borrow a horse tomorrow?: 

I wouldn't expect so! Someone might be using their horse for something important but it's awfully unlikely that all of them are.

:That would be helpful, then: He frowns. :Ideally I would make sure their horse returns to them, but I am not sure of the best way to do so, if I stay in the city: 

Well, you could let the horse go when you get to the city?

:And the beast will make its own way home? Perhaps your horses are cleverer than ours: And almost certainly their roads are less subject to bandits. 

I should expect so! It's hardly far enough that a horse might get lost.

:Good, then I will not worry about it: Leareth borrows her eyes again in order to check if the sky is still glowing or if the light has changed now. 

Still glowing. 

He'll make polite conversation until it's a little less blindingly-bright for sleeping, then, and hopefully pick up more context in the process. :You mentioned your daughter is studying biology in Tirion. What sorts of academies exist in your world?: 

All kinds - uh, there's plant biology and animal biology and small biology, and all of those kinds have branches for going out and cataloguing things or breeding new variants. There's artifact magic and song magic and glassblowing and composition and all the musical instruments and ceramics and woodworking and geology and astronomy and the study of gods and linguistics and historical linguistics and child development and cartography and poetry and theatre and cooking and theology and architecture and dance and light studies and you can apprentice with a smallgod who does something particular you want to learn about, like ...healing, or designing new animals, or making waterfalls pretty.

:That is impressive. Your scholarship is very advanced – there is no city in my world with so many fields of study: 

The Noldor are the greatest of the peoples of the Quendi at every discipline except mathematics and tile mosaics and silversmithing and fishing, she says. 

Leareth tries and fails to pick out a connection between those domains. :What are the other peoples of the Quendi?: 

The Vanyar, who live on Taniquetil, at the seat of the gods, and the Telari, who live on the coast. And the left-behind, but we don't know anything about them.

:Might you tell me more of this 'seat of the gods'?: 

He points at a mountain in the distance, well beyond Tirion. The gods all have their own domain but they meet and hold council at Taniquetil, at the heart of the domain of Manwë, King of the Valar. The Vanyar lived in Tirion with us when they first came to Valinor, but they wanted to live closer to the gods, so they moved a long time ago, to settle about Taniquetil.

:I see. Do you know what sorts of things do the gods discuss at these councils?: 

It's where they discussed....whether the King ought to be permitted to remarry when his first wife wouldn't return? And the parole of Melkor. 

And, of course, he keeps running into new cultural gulfs in the places he leasts expects them. :Why is it the business of the gods whether the King can remarry? In my world, it would certainly not be something that needed Their permission: 

Well, they're the ones who taught us that a man should have only one wife, and a woman only one husband, for all of time with not even death parting them. When we were ignorant and lived in the Outer Lands we didn't know things like that.

And of course they took it completely literally, and earnestly went to ask permission from the gods when unforeseen circumstances came up, that's exactly what the Quendi would do and what humans wouldn't. :I see. I suppose it would not have arisen before, if your people do not usually die and, when they do, they generally come back to life: He pauses. :I am sorry if this is impolite, but - may I ask why his first wife wished not to return?: 

Well, I have no idea. People say that giving birth to Fëanáro stole the life from her, and that's how he ended up with so much of it. And people say that she thought her husband would be happier without her - he wanted more children, and she was too sick to bear another -

Leareth isn't sure if that's biologically possible here, but he isn't sure his hosts will either, and he decides not to press, it could be a sensitive subject. Also, the fatigue from the Gate is catching up to him. Is the sky any less bright yet? 

Not yet!

Gods, the days are long here. If 'day' is even the appropriate word when there's no night. Maybe he'll give in and try to sleep now despite the light. :I find myself quite tired: he admits. :I know it is not the usual time to rest, but I would very much appreciate borrowing one of your beds:  

Of course!

Their room does actually get, if not properly dark, at least very dim. It has wall tapestries of Tehlan and Wilindë holding hands and then ones with one, two, three, then four children; the two of them look the same as they do today in all of them. The children seem spaced such that one is grown before they have the next one. 

The bed is soft.

Leareth makes a mental note to ask a bit more about child-rearing traditions here. And another mental note to ask for something he can write on so he transfer the accumulating notes from his head to a more durable substrate. 

He closes his eyes, but before sleeping he briefly extends his magical senses further than before, now skimming over several miles around him. What's there to be noticed? 

Neighboring farms, mostly not magic. This one is the only one to have sprinklers. Neighboring farmhouses, mostly with a little bit of magic - a necklace, a stovetop, a hairpiece. 

And none of it is at all familiar, certainly nothing that hints at a direction home. Which he isn't expecting, at this point. There's also no sign of ambient energy to draw on. However, at least he can confirm that there's no hostile magic nearby. 

Leareth lays a quick perimeter of his own magical wards around the farmhouse, just out of habit – low-power, they won't be visible or do anything to people crossing, but they'll warn him of approaching magic, or if anyone other than the family enters the house. Then he goes to sleep. He'll probably sleep for at least eight hours unless anyone disturbs him first. 

They don't disturb him. When he wakes, the light in the sky is a soft silver, sort of like moonlight but brighter. They are out in the fields harvesting their squashes.

It's probably polite to ask if they would like a bit of help, before heads off for the city and whatever is going on there. 

Sure! They are going to harvest these three rows and then when a person with a wagon comes by they will put the squashes in the wagon to take to Tirion. 

Leareth helps with those rows, it won't cost him much time. How fast will the wagon be traveling to Tirion, relative to riding a borrowed horse? 

It'll go slower than a horse but get there before the next Mingling.

Not much delay, and it seems worth it for the chance to talk to the cart-owner and learn more about this world before he reaches the city. Are they willing to give him a ride? 

Delighted to, once she arrives! The cart-owner piles in the squashes and offers various other goods from her carts in exchange; apples, tomatoes, eggs, fish, steak. Then she sets off again, the cart under its own power.

Leareth will use his senses to check if the cart is magical, first, and then ask her about it. 

The cart is magical. 

Yes, it is! We used to have it drawn by horses but it added a lot of logistical complications and I think the horses find the route boring at this point.

:This does seem more convenient. Where did you obtain it?:

In the city! Someone thought of me for one of the first self-moving carts because I make this run so reliably. 

:That's very helpful of them. Do you happen to know how they're made?: Leareth, fairly comfortable that the cart-owner has no hostile intent (the priors on any of the rural Quendi intending him harm are dropping lower and lower), is doing his best to not actually look at the unshielded but intended-to-be-private thoughts. 

I think someone tried to show me the spell but it was four hundred pages. Movement's hard for artifacts. I know that the magic part moves a gear and then the rest's just mechanical.

:Fascinating. What kinds of thing are easy for your magic? Also, I am curious how it is written down. Is there a language for conveying it?:

Light's pretty easy, I think. Uh, when you're encoding the artifact you're just encoding a rise or a fall, at each spot, so it's a two-character language. Horizontal and vertical lines, usually. I think during the planning stages people use various abstractions that are written with normal characters.

:How strange – to me, that is, I am sure it is not at all strange to you. My world's magic is very different. Though light is also easy: He demonstrates. 

Huh! Where are you from?

:A world called Velgarth. I seem to have ended up here by accident – I was attempting to travel somewhere else in my own world:

Were you injured in the accident? It'd be rude to bring up directly but Quendi don't usually wear their hair that short unless it got caught in a wheel or something.

:No – I was rather exhausted from it yesterday but I have slept since then. Why do you ask?" She's thinking something about hair, which is very confusing, but he's not going to let on that he's reading her private thoughts:

Quendi don't cut our hair that short - or at all, usually - unless something awful happened to it. It'd be painful to have it that short.

:This does not hurt me: Leareth promises. :I suppose my people are different. How is it painful for your people - does your hair have sensation in it?:

For whatever reason she looks very slightly embarrassed. Not - directly the hair, but the scalp, yes. That's - also why we don't wear it loose.

Odd. This seems like the kind of thing where he might run headlong into some cultural taboo if he's not careful, so Leareth lets himself pick up a bit more on her surface thoughts; is there something here she's too embarrassed to say to a stranger? 

Hair sensations are nice. Hair sensations are only for marriage.

Of course. The obvious category for that particular flavour of embarrassed face. And if he does end up staying here longer, whether because getting home proves hard or because their political situation is in screaming need of fixing, he's going to get a lot of odd looks and random strangers' concern unless he does something about his hair. His current host has hers braided.

:If I decide to grow mine longer, is there anything I ought to know about your customs for managing hair - do your braids signify something in particular, for example?:

People use them to signify what they're studying, sometimes, or where they're from, or lately who they're supporting in Tirion, but if you're foreign people won't assume any of that.

An excellent segue. :I am curious about this business in Tirion. Do you know much of it? You must visit often, if you make this goods run regularly:

Some of it, though lately every time I come back it's added a new twist. Ah, the short summary is that the King's first and favorite son used to have no interest in ever taking the job and now he does want it, which has discombobulated the people who were expecting to end up with it, and it is rumored that everyone involved is handling their hurt feelings less than gracefully. They've got swords, now, and big metal helmets with red feathers on top, they look like some bizarre oversized bird.

:Certainly an interesting fashion choice: Leareth agrees. :I wonder what gave them the idea? Hmm, and do you have any idea why the King's son changed his mind?:

The helmets are the Prince Fëanáro's idea, I think. The swords too. He says we'll need them in the Outer Lands - and that's why he wants to be King, he thinks we ought to reestablish contact with the Outer Lands and that he'll have to be King to do it.

:I see. Do you know why he thinks you ought to reestablish contact there, or why he needs to be King for it?:

Well, he probably needs to be King for it because it'd be an enormous undertaking, right, we'll need oceangoing boats and lights and apparently helmets and I think there are also helmet-shirts planned, and swords, and I don't know that he can call on enough favors, if he's not King. Certainly it would take a long time and I think he's a bit of an impatient person.

And he doesn't get along with the Valar, I think, and he thinks you can only grow so much if you live in their garden. And we have the people we were sundered from, back in the Outer Lands, the ones who didn't come, and should see how they're doing and tell them about writing and domestication and so on, and make sure their dead get returned to them.

Leareth doesn't mention that he agrees with Prince Fëanáro on just about everything in her second paragraph. He hasn't actually met the Valar yet, so can't say for sure how trustworthy or not he thinks they are, but...gods. 

:Have you ever had a new King take over from the previous, before?: he asks. If their people don't die then he's much less clear on how it would happen. 

No! I think that's why it's causing so much drama, if there were precedent then people'd know what to expect but as there is not, they get very inventive. She does not sound approving.

:This may be an ignorant question, but - in my world, people grow old and die, and usually a new King takes on the role when the old King dies. In your world, this is not the case. Why was there talk of who would be the next King at all?:

The King wants to step down. It's been four hundred Years and he's tired, and his wife wants to move out of the city.

:Very understandable: Four hundred 'Years' must be closer to four thousand years in his own world. Which means that the King is older than he is. That...could be interesting. :Who are the other candidates to take over?: 

The King has chosen his successor and it's Prince Fëanáro. 

:Hmm - it sounds like that ought to be final, then, but that some people still disagree about it?: 

I think some people are being rather foolish. But - yes. 

:Do you happen to know who they would prefer and why?: And, quick glance at her surface thoughts, is the cart-owner getting annoyed with this line of questioning? He's not sure that he's up on reading Quendi body language yet. 

She is of the opinion that at this point the interest in picking a different successor is turning into a national embarrassment. 

Nolofinwë, Finwë's second son, thinks that he's more temperamentally suited, and he's right, and more qualified, and he's right about that too, and will do a better job, which is certainly at least debatable. But the thing is - the understanding we've always operated under is that the King will pick a successor. And I think there's something interesting intellectually about the argument that the new king ought to be the most temperamentally suited person or the most qualified person, it's a fascinating argument, if we had a national debate about it it might win out, but the rule we in fact have is that Finwë picks, and even if that's not the rule we will arrive at in the distant future when we have developed the ideal set of laws, it's still very important that it's the law now. 

:You make a sophisticated argument: Leareth sends. :For matters of coordination, I agree, it is important that the law as it is now be respected. Unless it is manifestly unjust, some might argue, or the ruler imposing it is abusing it in obvious ways. Still, it sounds as though neither is the case and your people have approved of Finwë over his reign?:

Finwë is a good king. He should've shut down all this nonsense with swords, but he led us here and he's led us well.

:Do you have any speculations on why he has not interfered with it?: 

Well, he's never been any good at saying no to the prince Fëanáro, since he had such a tragic early life.

:Understandable, but unfortunate: He's going to leave off poking directly at the 'national embarrassment' for a bit now, see if he can learn more from sideways angles. :What were Fëanáro's interests before he wished to be the next King?: 

The Silmarils. They're magical lights that can grow crops and provide light for our civilization outside Valinor.

All right, that seems important. Leareth wonders how many other important things he's missing because people don't think to bring them up as part of the obvious introduction to a visitor from another world. :How amazing! Might you tell me more?: 

He spent five Years on them. They capture the light of the Trees and cast light of their own, very bright, enough for cities and all the farmland around them. They probably do more than that, but I wouldn't know. He doesn't let anyone touch them. He wears them, sometimes, for important events. They're very beautiful. And not in a way that makes other things seem drab - they make everything they shed light on beautiful.

:Fascinating: He hopes to find out more. :Also, might I ask you a favour? I do not speak your language and so can only communicate in this fashion, but I would prefer to understand the spoken tongue as well, if you were willing to teach me a little while we travel:

Of course!! Where do you want to start, I've never taught anyone a language.

Leareth has learned a lot of languages in his time. He'll start by getting her to speak some sentences out loud as well as communicating them mentally, and then ask some questions about the grammar and word order for subject/object/verb, which kinds of words have grammatical modifiers applied to them, and then he can start collecting some basic vocabulary, pronouns, the names for various common objects or actions, and go from there.

He didn't remember to request paper from his hosts at the farm, so he also asks the cart-owner if she has anything he can write on. 

She does! She can teach him their alphabet, too, if she wants. It's gorgeous. The Prince Fëanáro designed it. The Prince Fëanáro dabbles in a lot of things but linguistics and magic are the big ones. They can practice Quenya all the way to the base of the hill Tirion sits on, where they'll have to get off the cart because it slows to a crawl fully loaded with two passengers going up the hill.

Walking is fine. :It is a very beautiful city: Leareth sends, he doesn't have the vocabulary to say that in Quenya yet. 

I'm sure the cities of your homeland are beautiful too.

:Yes. Usually not so clean, though. It...does remind me of a place I once knew: Urtho's Tower. It reminds him of Urtho, and there's still a distant pang in that, even two thousand years later. 

They reach the city. There are men at its gates, with swords, shouting at each other. Some of them are holding the swords but it is instantly obvious to anyone who has ever trained to hold a sword that none of these people have. Someone is stabbing the dirt for emphasis while he talks. 

There's a conversation in Quenya; he can maybe follow half of it, more if he's mindreading. 

"Who's that for?"

   "Everyone," his escort says. "It's food. I think we all still eat food. What's the story now -"

"The Prince Fëanáro nearly murdered the Prince Nolofinwë in open court."

    "Huh."

"The Prince Nolofinwë started it," someone else volunteers. "He told Finwë that two loyal sons remained to him."

   "Mmm."

Leareth is not fully alarmed yet – it does, in fact, seem that if fighting breaks out the sword injuries are more likely to be accidental than deliberate – but he brings all his defensive shields up instantly. And is reading everyone's thoughts, though it's hard to pay attention to that many so he mainly focuses on the dirt-stabbing shouting man.

Dirt-stabbing shouting man is angry with the King; Prince Fëanáro is plainly planning to kill people when he takes power and if that's not disqualifying what is? He is saying as much to another shouting man, who is of the opinion that probably you shouldn't publicly go round calling the King's heir a traitor to his people if you don't want him to get mad at you and admittedly the death threat was excessive but that's Prince Fëanáro, right, and he's not going to actually hurt anyone on purpose or surely Mandos would have something to say to him about that. 

Other people are also shouting, both out loud and in their thoughts. 

- can't back down now because if they win he'll kill him -

- the King didn't say anything -

- the King doesn't care, the King's decided, the King would like us to all calm down and so that's what we should be doing -

- the Vanyar'll get involved, if it comes to that -

- the Valar'll get involved, if it comes to that -

Great timing. Just perfect. 

Leareth takes a deep breath. He's still a very long way from oriented, here, there's a lot he doesn't know about the history and culture that inform what's going on right now. But - someone has to do the sensible thing, clearly. 

:Could everybody please be quiet for a moment: he sends to the entire group, putting some force behind it. Then, just to the dirt-stabbing man and the other man defending Prince Fëanáro: :Might I speak to you both?: 

Who is that -

- the form's not quite right, though it's good for a first attempt -

They stop shouting.

Who're you? Uh, sir? asks the angry dirt-stabbing guy.

:I am not one of your smallgods: Leareth clarifies. Get that part out of the way. :I come from another world, and have arrived in yours by mistake. When I learned of the dispute over succession, I decided to come to the city immediately - I have experience advising a King, and my world has had many transitions of power, whereas it sounds as though this is your people's first? I wish to offer what advice I can to your King on how to resolve this disagreement peacefully: 

He keeps his mindvoice level, friendly, but with the tone clearly indicating that he's not asking for permission. And waits to see how they're going to respond. 

They blink at him, a bit confused. 

I - don't know if he's taking visitors right now, someone says after a bit.

:I see. Then perhaps I can speak to Prince Fëanáro first. Where is he?: 

- I don't know if he's taking visitors either. 

Nelyafinwë will be. 

- they started this, it's their fault -

- I didn't say the visitor should go to them, just, Nelyafinwë'll be taking visitors -

- Prince Fëanáro moved into the palace, when all this started, someone tells him. Right at the center of the city. I can go with you, if you'd like.

"Thank you," Leareth says to the last person in Quenya, his accent is probably terrible but he's got that much vocabulary. He switches back to Mindspeech. :I may speak to Prince Nolofinwë as well, but I wish to understand Prince Fëanáro's intentions with this death threat first. And, who is Nelyafinwë?: 

Prince Fëanáro's son. He's, uh, easier to talk to, and his office is open whenever he's awake. 

:Then I suppose I would not mind speaking to him first. Why is Prince Fëanáro difficult to talk to?: 

I don't think he trusts very many people, and I don't think he likes talking to people he doesn't trust.

They can head through the city. The streets are mostly deserted, with occasional clumps of people whispering to each other in the shade of its various (beautiful, architecturally improbable) buildings. There's audible singing, though they don't run into the singers.

Fair enough, Prince Fëanáro, Leareth thinks to himself but doesn't say. Instead he compliments his guide on the city, asks some polite questions about the fashions in architecture.

He keeps his Othersenses wide open, both for magical artifacts and for hostile nearby minds. 

When people want to build a building that's impossible (say, because they want it to float) the Valar (big gods) or Maiar (small gods) will help them. Though lately people have been trying to build things they can build without such help; we're not new to building anymore, and in the Outer Lands there'll be no one to rely on but ourselves.

There's lots of magical artifacts here. The lights are magic, some of the storefronts (open to the air, with no glass in the windows) have magic jewelry, the fountains are magic, some of the people are wearing magic things.

Lots of people are watching him, trying to figure out what he's doing here. Wondering whose side he's on.

The palace is stunning, even by local standards. His escort hesitates for a second (should I tell them in advance? I might be interrupting, though) and then picks a door.

Leareth isn't going to enlighten the curious people, mostly because he doesn't know yet. It's starting to feel plausible that he'll end up on neither side, if both are behaving badly. He isn't sure yet what he would choose to do about that. 

He asks his guide what they think of the plan to reopen contact with the Outer Lands. 

It's our birthright as a people. We were meant to live there, but the Valar screwed up so badly that they had to bring us here for us to get a chance to grow up at all. That doesn't mean they own us forever.

That's interesting. :No, I shouldn't think they own you at all: Leareth sends, and pays attention to his guide's surface thoughts; how do they feel about the gods? 

They are actually mostly thinking about whether it'd be rude to telepathically tell Prince Nelyafinwë to expect them or rude not to. You shouldn't telepathically address someone who lots of people might be tempted to telepathically address unless you're sure that yours is the most important interruption that could plausibly be happening at the moment, which for a prince usually rounds to 'don't', but on the other hand a visitor from another world is very important? There's an argument it's the most important thing? This is kind of a terrifying decision to have to make. 

(Prince Nelyafinwë stopped routing things through an assistant because of all the leaks to the traitors).

The questions about the gods are being answered on autopilot from debates held in the city forums a Year ago before things got so bad.

There was a debate? Fascinating. Leareth discreetly slips out his paper and makes a note.

:I do not mind waiting a little: he informs his guide, :but - I am concerned there is time sensitivity to this situation: Assuming things haven't already escalated past the point of no return. 

His guide nods. 

The door opens. These people have swords at their belt and also daggers, and they size up Leareth and look past him out at the street -

Why don't you come in.

Leareth nods to them, and slips into the room. :My name is Leareth. I arrived here by accident from another world. I heard that there was a tense situation and I wished to find out more. And to offer what help I can. I have advised a King before: 

What are these people thinking? 

They're showing this interaction to someone else, in the next room. They're trying to figure out who saw him and how long it'll be before they have to answer questions about having him here. They're wondering if he's dangerous. If anything were to happen to Prince Nelyafinwë there'd be no way to get out of this peacefully, at that point - they're planning to send someone to inform the King, who won't do anything but it'd look bad to have this play out without having informed him -

Send him in, the person in the next room says, decisively, so they do that.

Someone informing the King is good, hopefully the King will ask to speak to him and he won't have to bang his head on a no-visitors policy. He wasn't making any attempt to conceal his progress through the city, quite a lot of people saw him and had feelings about it; that seems hard to have avoided, if he'd wanted he could have hidden himself and his guide behind an illusion but that would have screamed subterfuge-of-some-kind and set off different questions.

Leareth is, in fact, dangerous. He's also not planning to harm anyone – or, at least, not to be the first mover on that, escalating the violence here is the last thing he wants to do but he's not going to stand by and do nothing if it escalates despite his best efforts. 

Leareth keeps all of his thoughts to himself, and follows them into the next room.  

This Quendi is tall and has striking red hair and looks up as if startled, which he isn't, and says "- welcome to Tirion! Can I help you with something?"

"Thank you, speak Quenya only little," Leareth says haltingly, he can manage that much without consulting his vocabulary notes. He switches to Mindspeech, trying to convey as much friendliness as he can in the overtones. :My name is Leareth and I come from another world. I hear your political situation is complicated. I have relevant experience and wish to help your people resolve things peacefully: 

And what is this non-startled Quendi thinking? 

- tell the King that there's a visitor claiming to be from another world, interested in the political situation, and we're of course delighted to interface with him on the King's behalf but if doing so will want to send updates at least daily, since the King's wisdom will be much needed for such an unprecedented situation, he is saying to one of the people who escorted Leareth in -

and simultaneously to someone else I don't think this merits interrupting my father - which, he is privately thinking, is a gamble, and a dangerous one, because of course this obviously merits interrupting his father, who'll be here ten seconds after he hears about it and who will also establish himself as unqualified to be King of anything ten seconds after that -

and at the same time, to a different person, put off Mólië until the Mingling, with my profound apologies, I think you may as well be straightforward that it's about the alien visitor because she'll take less offense and there's no way Nolofinwë doesn't already know -

And ideally he'd offer Nolofinwë eyes on the situation, that being the only offer that could even potentially be taken as good faith at this point, but the decision not to tell his father means he really, really cannot do that, it's one thing to be keeping his father at arms' length from anything delicate and entirely different to be doing that while strategically leaking it to other people -

"I have relevant experience", meaning that his people have gone to war, there are other ways to read it but he's pretty sure that's the right reading - that's not the part I need advice on - 

Another world! he responds, delightedly. We didn't know there were any others. You don't mean the Outer Lands?

:I also did not know there were others until now: Leareth sends, smiling with more genuine warmth. :And no, I do not mean the Outer Lands: 

Most of what he's feeling is relief; at least there's one person in the goddamned city with any of the appropriate paranoia. It's still a baby-duckling level of it, but the ability to route multiple conversations at once is extremely impressive. He can't do that, he can process hearing a couple different threads, but he can't answer even two at once. The information on Prince Fëanáro is rather thought-provoking. As is the hint at how Nelyafinwë – he's guessing this is Nelyafinwë despite introductions not having happened yet – feels about Nolofinwë, the other claimant to the throne. He wonders who Mólië is and how important she'll prove to be. And what the current King's relationship is with Nelyafinwë is, such that him interfacing with Leareth and providing daily updates is a reasonable proposal. 

:May we speak privately?: he sends. 

Might be dangerous. If you were trying to push this mess over the edge the next step would be to kill someone, without witnesses, and let everyone trip over themselves blaming each other - but if you were doing that you'd also be very sure the victim wouldn't know exactly what happened, Leareth has no reason to imagine he'd be delayed in returning -

Of course, he says, and sends his staff out, and cuts their ability to hear through his ears but not to see through his eyes, and sends a summary of all this to Macalaurë.

"Thank you," Leareth says out loud. He holds his hands loose at his sides, palms open in the most non-threatening posture he can manage (hopefully it signals the same thing here), and does some very quick thinking.

He's obviously never been in exactly this situation, but he's experienced enough vaguely-analogous ones. Normally, he would play it carefully, take his time mapping out the various intricacies, before choosing how to insert himself. 

He isn't sure he has that kind of time. More importantly, it's not clear he has leverage in the way he's used to. The Quendi may be inexperienced in some matters, but they're also long-lived - Leareth could be younger than Nelyafinwë for all he knows - and their civilization is, in many ways, clearly more advanced than his. And Nelyafinwë is smart. And, due to the cultural gaps, unpredictable to Leareth. 

There are always some moments when the right path, in expectation, is to take a leap of faith. 

:I will be forthright with you: he sends. :Your world is a paradise next to mine. And the Quendi I have met so far show the marks of having grown up in paradise. Your people are kinder and far more able to coordinate than the people I have known in my homeland. Yet, I have seen many things in my time: he would say he's older than he appears, except that won't even mean anything to an ageless race, :and the pattern that jumps to my attention, here, is one headed for death and destruction: 

He shrugs, slow and deliberate. :Perhaps I am wrong, since your people are different. However. I have spent a very long time trying to improve the state of affairs in my own world. Having observed the flourishing and prosperity in this world - having, for the first time in my life, seen paradise with my own eyes - I am horrified at the prospect that it could be destroyed. I wish to prevent such an outcome. I hope that you might share that goal:

And he waits to see how Nelyafinwë will respond. 

There's so much context that he has no idea where he'd even start, trying to give someone enough of it to - 

- but he's assuming that they got here by accident, that's better than lots of things you could assume, even if it's simultaneously too generous and too harsh - 

The stranger's body language is mostly not too hard to interpret, so maybe that goes both ways.

He looks down. 

I'm very afraid you're right, he says. It was a very terrible mistake - or several of them - to let things get this bad.

It wasn't, not even in hindsight, he's been over it a thousand times and he can't actually pick out a single thing he could reasonably have done differently, everything he tried was fatally undermined by some corner of the mess he hadn't heard about even though he'd talked to four hundred people trying to make sure he hadn't missed it, it wasn't fair, but that's not exactly the kind of claim you can make credibly, and it's a bad sign, insisting that you did nothing wrong as your country catches fire.

And his thoughts are bare to Leareth, it's - well, for one, it's painfully reminiscent of a time in his own past, back at the very beginnings, except - except, really, Nelyafinwë has done so much better than Ma'ar ever could have, it's been centuries and it looks like things still haven't, quite, crumbled beyond salvaging. And Nelyafinwë is the sort of person who post-mortems his own mistakes, and - who recognizes that not even a King is sovereign over reality itself, that a lack of mistakes and the best intentions aren't enough to keep a country from catching fire. He lives in paradise, and he still gets it, what so many people bounce away from – that things can fall apart, that there's no ultimate rule of justice and fairness holding the universe together. 

(At least, Leareth assumes not; he is in a different world that could have different metaphysics. But it's a world that contains a god who was once a torturer and murderer, and this kind of mess developing despite clever and valiant efforts to stop it has the marks of god-interference all over it.)

And Nelyafinwë is questioning Leareth's motives and goals. Good for him. 

:There are some things I wish to say to you in complete secrecy: he sends, with carefully-shielded Mindspeech, from what he's observed it ought not to have any chance of leaking to the others but he's not sure enough of that to actually say the things. :There is a spell from my world I might cast to ensure our privacy, but I understand if you would be leery of this, given that I am a stranger. Though, given the situation with your death god, there is little I can do to harm you that would not harm my own interests even more: 

If that blocks osanwë - the way that my people speak to one another with our minds, which I think is slightly different than yours - it'd be troubling to do for more than a few minutes, as people will try to contact me and be frightened if it fails. If it doesn't block osanwë then that sounds fine.

Actually, he says to Macalaurë, I need you paying closer attention -

Sure, why -

Unfamiliar magic. I don't know what he can do. Just - repeat back to me everything I did or said, make sure I remember it, make sure it makes sense, if something's off send people in -

I think you should tell Father.

And now he has to play this very carefully so Macalaurë doesn't decide to do it himself - he's so tired -

I'm planning to. But this is delicate and you know the mood he's in right now - and we don't know what the danger is, precisely - if something's off about me he can override me, if there's something off about him what do we do -

You're planning to when?

Tomorrow. 

He offers Leareth a chocolate, because the motion with cover his distraction.

Leareth smiles and takes the chocolate. It's shockingly delicious. "Very good!" he says, he has that vocabulary too. 

:I am not sure how the spell I know will interact with osanwë: he goes on. :If it blocks it, tell me and I will not maintain it longer than a minute - you might pass on to your people that they can interrupt to check on you if it is longer. In that case I would want to redesign a version that did not have such a blocking effect. May I try it now?: 

He tells people not to expect to be able to contact him for a minute, they're testing a magic interaction.

Sounds good!

Leareth gathers his reserves, concentrates, and casts the shield. It's not a high-power spell but it's going to take a significant chunk of his strength, he really needs to find an outside source of magic. 

–And Nelyafinwë will notice that his ability to reach any of the other Quendi has cut off. 

That's terrifying. He beams at Leareth. Wow. I don't think even our gods have magic that can do that. It does seem to affect our telepathy; can you say whatever it is you wanted to say quickly so we don't worry them?

Leareth doesn't object to that. He only has a couple of things to say, and it'll tire him less the shorter the time he needs to hold the shield. Nelyafinwë is a shockingly good actor and Leareth is suitably impressed; his face gives away nothing of his alarm. Not that it's doing him much good, right now. 

:I realize I do not have leverage to demand secrecy from you: he starts, :but I ask that you use your own discretion, and share what I tell you only with those you trust absolutely and judge need to know. One. The pattern I see here screams more than impending disaster; a long history plans that ought to be foolproof nonetheless failing, to me speaks of a god's meddling hand. The gods of my world have thus disrupted my plans many, many times. I strongly suspect that your god Melkor may not have been as contrite as he claimed. If I am right, then your situation is dire indeed, but I doubt Melkor expected my arrival and perhaps there is still a chance to pull away from the disaster he wishes to create: 

:Two. The Mind-Gifts of my world work very differently from your osanwë; in particular, my Gift does not recognize the distinction between public and private thoughts. I hope I might learn to avoid reading private thoughts, since it is rude to your people and also distracting for me, but I tell you this because I am aware of what you have been thinking and where it does not match your words, and because this ability of mine may be of use to you for gaining intelligence, if you wished to request that: 

Mindspeech is fast but his minute is trickling away. He's poised to offer to drop his own shields fully, in hopes that osanwë will consider that equivalent to making all of his thoughts public, and letting Nelyafinwë verify his intentions, but he takes a moment to check his reaction. 

Well that's the worst possible news. 

- he mentally reviews the time they've met to see if he's thought about it yet, and he hasn't except very indirectly, and maybe this is enough - have some discipline - if he'd noticed, I'd have noticed him noticing - he's got to think about something else - is Melkor orchestrating the conflict, yes, seems likely, though it's very hard to tell how - should've just let him speak to his father, who is constitutionally incapable of having failings not already known to all of Tirion -

Well, that's sort of unfortunate. Leareth considers, and decides against, actively probing for whatever dark-secret failing Nelyafinwë thinks he has – it's a tradeoff, it probably is relevant, but he's also pushed pretty hard already and he's decided on trust and cooperation as his first attempt. He's seen enough to know that he respects Nelyafinwë, that the man is both competent and genuinely desires that his people not end up in a stupid, pointless, wasteful civil war. And that means he's an ally, if Leareth can get him to agree on that point. 

:I am going to briefly drop my mental shields: he sends, there are still some seconds left. :I hope this will make all of my thoughts public by your magic, so that you might verify that I wish you and your people no harm, and that however I arrived here, I would like to help you repair your situation before I depart: 

He nods distractedly. The problem is that he actually has too much attentional capacity to occupy it doing math or something - he could take the circlet off, but that'd be weird - so he seems to have selected a strategy of occupying it with blind panic, which is stupid and embarrassing. It occurs to him to think that he thinks his father is too smart to be blackmailable about things.

:...Do you need time to think? I can drop the shield so that your colleagues will not worry: 

Leareth frowns slightly. :I am also going to stop looking at your thoughts; I have seen enough to know that you are someone I wish to have as an ally. If it would be easier to think with certainty that I was not observing, however - perhaps I can place a similar shield only around myself, and you can verify that your osanwë cannot reach me: 

I think I do need some time to think alone. Thank you.

Leareth drops the shield, and then raises a new one just around himself, weaving it tight, he's not sure how much the Quendi senses can pick up on but hopefully Nelyafinwë will be reassured by what he can see for himself. 

"I go?" he says out loud, gesturing at the door with a questioning face, he doesn't know the words for 'I can wait outside if you wish'. 

He takes a deep breath. Smiles. "No, it's fine. I apologize."

Leareth nods, and leans against the wall to wait. He entirely does not trust Nelyafinwë's smile or reassurance that it's fine, but he'll accept it at face value for now. 

He takes some more chocolate. Eats it.

"Does it cost you? To make it so no one can hear -"

Leareth follows some of that, his receptive vocabulary is better than his expressive in Quendi; he suspects Nelyafinwë is asking if it's tiring for him.

He can't actually answer in Mindspeech without taking his shield down. "Yes." He makes a gesture with his hands intended to indicate a moderate amount.

Nod. "You can - again - if it's helpful."

Leareth, unfortunately, is having a hard time following what exactly Nelyafinwë wants him to do. And dropping the current shield so he can ask about building a new one will cost more energy. Instead, he concentrates and expands it to include Nelyafinwë; he can pull it back if it turns out that what the man wants is the opposite. :I am sorry, what?: 

I take it you think we should speak under concealment because otherwise someone might be capable of reading us? That's an ability the Valar are only known to have within their own domains but it is possible he's found some way around it. I'm trying to figure out how necessary that is, because it's a major constraint on how much planning we can do.

:I mainly wished it be private when I shared it initially. If I can obtain a source of power, it will become very cheap to shield in this way – I might even build a permanent set-spell on a room: He shakes his head a little. :I doubt even a god is listening to everything all the time, but the moment that a stranger from another world first spoke with you would be a particularly salient one: 

Yes. What's a potential source of power?

:The Maiar were suggested to me. Or a artifact that produces energy for some particular function might be repurposed: 

We can get you a Maia, if this process wouldn't harm them. I think that we should bring this theory and whatever options you have to help us explore it to my father's attention, ideally in some way that doesn't attract Melkor's, though he is almost certainly aware you're here. An additional complication is that Nolofinwë will have learned - or will learn shortly - that you have magic from another world and are working with us, and I don't know what he'll do in response. 

:I had planned to go speak to him after you. Ideally with you, your father, and the current King present. I am not sure if that is workable immediately, but - if I do gain a power source, I will have considerable ability to prevent any violence between you, were that to arise: 

They've talked a lot but maybe they'll be on better behavior in your presence.

Leareth starts to ask about what went wrong in previous conversations, but remembers that right now they're both behind an impassible shield and he is no longer keeping detailed track of what Nelyafinwë is thinking. And getting details on past arguments isn't nearly as sensitive as some other items. 

:My current plan is to drop this shield and go with you to your father; we can discuss less sensitive matters on the way. I can manage another shield today without becoming exhausted, and then we can figure out if a Maia can provide energy in a way that is not harmful to them: 

He pauses. :Before I do that - do you trust me? I did offer to let you see my thoughts: briefly, and Leareth has more than enough mental control to make sure he's only thinking about the current situation, :and that offer is still open: 

I think I'll probably learn more from your proposals about what to do, but I do appreciate it. 

Leareth nods, and lowers the shield, leaving just his ordinary personal shields.

So, tell me about the world you're from.

It's hard to figure out where to start. :It is much worse than this one – well, at least worse than here, I am not sure of the state of your Outer Lands. Some people have magic similar to mine. Most do not. My world is fragmented into many small countries, often at war with one another, usually over petty matters. On average the civilization is much less advanced than yours, though there have been periods of flourishing; things always tend to return to the same state. One where the majority of people are subsistence farmers, who often go hungry and sometimes die of it. Where most people cannot read or write, much less go to study at an academy. Also, unlike the Quendi, humans and most other intelligent races will grow old and die within a century. And we have no god of the dead as obliging as yours. Souls may come back into the world, eventually, but remembering nothing of their previous life: 

He ducks his head. :I...found a way around this. I preferred not to die before I had achieved all that I cared about. Someday, I hope, I will bring that to everyone in my world, but it is a far harder problem than I first thought. I never dreamed I would find a place where it had never been a problem at all: 

What sort of assistance do they need? Can we help?

:...Perhaps. I hope so: Surprised, and realizing he probably shouldn't be, he turns to smile at Nelyafinwë. :Your world's scholarship may be of great value. Perhaps your magic too. Possibly even the Valar: He's going to have to be convinced of that point, though. :Later. Once your local situation is less trending toward disaster. You must repair your own ship before rescuing another: 

Yes. It occurs to me that I agreed with you that this looked likely to be a disaster but we might have very different visions of what that means - what is it you're afraid of -

:Well, in my world, it is not uncommon for a succession dispute that has escalated to the point that the loyalists for both sides are shouting at each other in public while carrying weapons, as I observed at the city gates, to very soon end up with one side attempting to claim a victory by violence. Which generally involves a large fraction of both sides ending up dead. 'Blood in the streets' is a colloquial phrase in my world, and would be literal in this case: 

There's twenty people who know how to use the swords. I guess if you were motivated you could maybe manage anyway.

:A depressing number of wars in my world were fought largely by placing sharp things in the hands of untrained peasants and giving them a day or two to drill before sending them out to run at each other. That is generally sufficient to cause a very large number of deaths: 

He glances over. :Perhaps your people are genuinely less inclined to violence than mine, but I am not inclined to bet on it: 

We are very much capable of violence, it just doesn't come up much. We were expecting to need to defend ourselves, in the Outer Lands.

Leareth nods. :...And what did you mean, when you said this seemed headed for disaster? Was it something different?: He hasn't even gotten into all of the things that tend to happen after an attempt at violent revolution, whether it succeeds or fails. 

No, that was about my - worst case scenario. That people would clash and lots of them would die and Tirion would splinter and we'd have two cities with two Kings, or that the Valar'd get angry and kick us out of Valinor - that's what my father thinks would happen -

:Oh. Is that a possibility?: It's one he probably should have thought of, and didn't. The gods of Velgarth don't tend to intervene so openly. But even they make exceptions, in dire circumstances. Leareth isn't sure how bad things have to get before the Valar would consider it 'dire'. 

:The worst case scenario: he sends, :is that it happens, and does not end there. Wars have lasted for generations in my world, sometimes. Children growing up who never knew peace. And - that is if the fighting is with steel alone. I am not sure what magic of your world might be called upon for violence, but - in mine, there once existed a magical weapon that could rip apart continents: 

(And the only reason it doesn't exist now is that it was used, eighteen hundred years ago, shortly after the Tower that Tirion reminds him of went up in its final conflagration, and it's still not over now, the damage is still being felt, returning to haunt the future.) 

Oh. The war between the gods shook the continents, but I don't think even - I don't think any weapons we've created could do that.

I guess if we were at war for centuries, we might create new ones.

:It occurs to me: Leareth sends, slowly, carefully, they're not behind shields right now, :that what might begin as a war between people, could - lead once again to a war between gods: 

That this could be exactly Melkor's plan, he doesn't quite say explicitly – not that he sees the how of it, yet, but it's hard to do that, with gods. So often you don't until centuries later. 

He lost the last one badly.

Leareth nods. :I have no experience on direct war between gods: he sends. :The gods of my world do not operate in that way. However, I have certainly seen cases where one kingdom was thoroughly defeated, pushed back onto worse lands, and at some point - centuries later, perhaps - found new weapons or new alliances, and tried again. Conditions change: 

He shakes his head again, looking over. :I have very little certainty in any of what I am saying; I still know little of your world: But, worst case scenarios. He would have said bodies in the streets was his median estimate of the outcome here, nothing near the worst case. 

Nod. 

No one wants people to die. Even my father doesn't - I don't know what you heard about that -

:I heard that your father loves the study of magic and languages, and has invented some kind of magical artifact: Which, come to think of it, he should investigate as an energy source; he still has no idea how magic here works, he can't tell where the energy for the cart was coming from. Maybe Prince Fëanáro will know. 

:And somebody claimed he tried to kill Prince Nolofinwë: he adds. :Which might or might not be evidence that he wishes for anybody to die. I am, as of now, unsure what to think – but I weight your word above that of a stranger at the city gates: 

He threatened to kill him. I wouldn't have predicted he'd do that so it could be I'm far wronger in my estimation of him than I imagined. With that said - they were standing in front of half of assembled Tirion, and Nolofinwë said to the King that two loyal sons remained to him - Nolofinwë himself and his younger brother, who sensibly left the country a while ago - and my father drew his sword and told him that if he continued saying such things, maybe he'd stab him. I think he wouldn't, but that's what he said. I think what he wants is for Nolofinwe to - cease to be something he needs to think about - and I think he's not quite sure himself how far he'd go to achieve that, but we did manage to point out, earlier today, that stabbing him will definitely not achieve it and will probably make it super unachievable.

Leareth almost chuckles at the last sentence. :Probably. Particularly given the situation with your death god: He hesitates. :I...can perhaps verify your estimation of your father: By mindreading him, but he's not yet convinced enough of the security of osanwë to speak about that openly either. 

That seems like probably a good idea but - if I'm wrong about him it's because he's wrong about himself, it wouldn't be that he's concealing things effectively. He's - not a very subtle person.

:Also the sense I have gotten. And an awkward trait at best in a potential future King: He suspects that his original hosts were right, and Nolofinwë is clearly the more temperamentally suited of the two. 

Yes. Before the question of his Kingship became so intertwined with lots of other things like whether the Noldor will get to leave Valinor and whether his father loves him I think it would've been fairly straightforward to convince him to surrender it once he had it. Now - not so much.

:I...see, yes. That is an unfortunate entanglement. Now, I suspect I may agree with your father's reasoning on recontacting the Outer Lands, but - do you know why it is so important to him?: 

He thinks it's bad for our growth as a people to continue to live under the rule of the Valar. And there are some people out there and we ought to know what became of them, and maybe teach them the things we've learned.

:And what do you think of that?:

Apparently there are other worlds where people are dying and starving. We have got to get stronger, whatever that takes, and get where we're needed, wherever that is. 

This is not a lie but the process that produced it is rather smoothly dissociated from the history of how he arrived at this belief, and tailored to Leareth instead; that's not even entirely conscious, though he notices it after the fact and wonders if people who read all each others' thoughts constantly avoid it.

Leareth isn't reading that closely, he picks up on the disconnect but doesn't find it notable – it's not like he isn't doing the same thing all the time, and the relevant part is that it's not a lie. He just nods his agreement.

Are they nearly at their destination? They've been walking for a while but also the Palace is quite large. 

His father does not live in the palace and only after considerable to-do consented to a tunnel. They're not there quite yet.

Leareth is curious why his father objected so strongly to living in the Palace. 

"He, uh, doesn't actually get along with the King at all. They were estranged for most of my childhood" and Maitimo's the one who changed that. "And he dislikes incidentally running into his father's children and grandchildren by his second wife."

Leareth is able to follow along with what he's saying by reading his surface thoughts; it's helpful to have him speaking Quenya out loud, actually, he can nab a couple more vocabulary words. :I see. What led to this estrangement - was it related to his mother's death?:

"The remarriage. My father blames the King's second wife for - approaching the King when he was vulnerable and grieving, and persuading him that he should abandon hope that Miriel might in time recover and desire to return to life, and persuading Miriel that the King wanted more children and as she couldn't give them to him she would only hurt him by returning to life. I think - there was plenty of blame to go around, but it was a mistake for the King to remarry as soon as he did and a mistake in which his own culpability is probably slightly diminished by his grief and confusion."

:An awkward situation: Leareth agrees. He isn't sure what else to say, yet. 

My father ran away from home when he was thirty - uh, this tall - he gestures to indicate maybe a ten-year-old. Got an apprenticeship, got married, had a son, didn't speak to his father again until I was six. Nolofinwe's - account of this whole mess would include that the King expects his relationship with Nolofinwe to survive wronging him in this, and expects Fëanáro to walk away and never speak again if he thinks he was ill-done-by, and that he's letting that rule his judgment here.

:Plausible, I suppose. Is it - common, here, for children to run away from home?:

I know of only a handful of other cases and the children were much older. At the time it was wholly without precedent. And among our people to miss, for any reason, a chunk of your child's scarce years - when they are small - is counted among the greatest tragedies a person can experience.

:It is something that would deeply grieve most parents of my world also: And here, for several thousand years at least, there haven't been any greater tragedies to compare it to. Like, for example, a child pointlessly dead of some illness – still a horrifically frequent occurrence in most parts of Velgarth. 

He nods. I don't have children yet but I can imagine that it's unimaginably difficult, balancing the obligations of a parent and the obligations of a King.

Something in that was not quite a lie but skirting it.

Leareth is curious, but lets it slide. :And while grieving as well would make it even more difficult. Especially if - loss of a loved one is so rare and unexpected, in your world: 

Yes. It wasn't, in the Outer Lands, but here we thought we were safe.

Leareth nods. :The King would remember that time, correct? But not your father, or his siblings, or you: What a strange kind of generational divide. 

–It's one that his world will have, someday, if everything succeeds. 

That’s right. My father was the first child born to the Noldor in Tirion, after we built it.

:...That could only have caused it to feel even more important and precious to the King: Leareth guesses. 

Oh, no question. The whole thing's just a perfect storm of sacred things bumping into each other. And now they're at his father's house. These guards, too, know how to use a sword (and there are guards stationed in the tunnel between the palace and Fëanáro's house, which is interesting.)

Leareth will take a quick glance at the guards' thoughts, and pay attention to which direction they actually seem to be guarding in. 

They're guarding Fëanáro's house against trouble coming from the palace; Nelyafinwë so obviously isn't that they've relaxed, seeing him. Nelyafinwë is joking with them, now, all three of them in separate one-on-one conversations, asking after the fit of the helmets and promising jokingly that the next time there's drama he'll make sure it's in some vacation resort or something. 

- from the Outer Lands, yes. He thinks it's another world; they believe the oceans divide the worlds, there. Don't make fun of it, they had none of our advantages. If you don't mind -

The guards step aside. He opens a door into a library, thousands of books and scrolls on its walls, where another Quendi is seated. 

On his desk are three gemstones as magical as a thing could possibly be. They're radiating it, drenching the rest of the room with it so at a glance it looks like everything is magical; they also light it, brighter than the Mingling but not as obnoxious or as difficult to look at. 

He glances up at him. 

I don't buy it, he says calmly. 

The problem is that Leareth looks too much like a Quendi and isn't one. If the process that created him and his people is different than the process that created the Quendi, he should look very different; if it is the same process, he should appear to have been made by the same hand, not necessarily with the same criteria but with the same worksmanship, the same degree of optimization; he's a less optimized Quendi and shouldn't be. It's the kind of alien someone who has only imagined aliens would imagine. 

Nelyafinwë bows. He sighs very quietly in the back of his head. "Father, Leareth. Leareth, Curufinwë Fëanáro, High Prince of the Noldor, the King's heir."

Perhaps he shouldn't explain it, since it'll make the next attempt more intelligent, but the attempts could stand to get a good deal more intelligent before he'd believe one and anyway he doesn't like conversations where he's keeping track of what inferences are downstream of ones he's trying not to share. And Maitimo believes him, and Maitimo's only stupid about politics.

Do you know how many kinds of animals there are in Valinor, Leareth?

Leareth bows as well, not trying to match it exactly since he's not sure how finely-detailed their customs around greetings are. He is confused and he doesn't like it. He's going to be paying very detailed attention to Fëanáro's thoughts for the next bit; Fëanáro, unfortunately, thinks faster than he does. Not many can claim that honour. 

:No: he sends, levelly. :At least ten: He saw that many on the journey. :Likely thousands, if things here work the way I am accustomed to: 

Hundreds of thousands. And all of them are far more different from us than you are, which is interesting. The other races of peoples are more similar to us, because Aulë designed his dwarves from his memory of the intent of creation, and Melkor his orcs from the forcible breeding of Quendi, and Yavanna's just not very imaginative. But still they're more different from us than you are.

Accepting the premise that there are other universes, I would expect that the beings of those universes would be more different from us than the other beings of our own universe, more different even than the animals; the animals are constrained by sharing an ecology and in many cases an ancestry, needing to digest the same things and source light the same way and compete against the same predators, and the beings from another universe wouldn't be. Or, maybe, I would expect them to be identical, if the god who designed us designed you too, or if our design is more overdetermined than it looks from inside it.

I would not expect beings that are almost like Quendi, but with worse vision, and hair that grows on their cheekbones.

His private thoughts: that perhaps he shouldn't have said that bit about the hair, it's got to be a sensitive subject.

:...You know, that is a fascinating and confusing question: Leareth admits. :To which I have given very little consideration, because there were other pressing matters. However, it is in fact very odd, and I would like to understand it myself, since perhaps it holds the answer to some critical question of metaphysics: He looks Fëanáro in the eye. :It seems, however, that you think you have a different explanation?: 

I think someone sent you for these. He gestures at the gems. Or me, but probably these; Mandos could only hold me up for so long. 

He is worried Mandos would in fact think it a bright idea to just keep him dead until everyone calmed down, but he trusts his sons to ensure this wouldn't work. (His thoughts glance on the sons, who are apparently very numerous; Nelyafinwë is one of the ones he trusts least). 

:Someone being who?: Leareth wonders what the other sons are like. Probably fascinating, if that part runs in the family. :And, perhaps I can help you test this theory. Is there anything you might observe, or fail to observe, about me, which would convince you otherwise?: 

My brother, Melkor, conceivably Nelyafinwë but he won't say that, Indis. The second wife.

I was hoping you might have an explanation. In the absence of one, you probably have a language, or do they mysteriously speak Quenya in your world.

Leareth reaches out to Nelyafinwë with carefully-shielded Mindspeech. :How likely is it to convince everybody there has been an assassination attempt, or incite a riot, or otherwise cause havoc, if I cast the barrier again so we can speak without being heard?:

Leave me out of it and I'll explain. Fewer people address him expecting a response than me anyway.

Shield goes up. 

...Leareth sways slightly before catching his balance. That's nearly the end of his reserves; there's what looks like a powerful magic source, right there, but it's not obvious at a glance how to draw on it or whether he can, it's different from his own magic, and also Fëanáro might be able to tell if he tries and it could easily be interpreted as a hostile move. 

He waits to see Fëanáro's response – readying himself, to the extent he can, for a hostile one. 

Huh, how could that be done using things that are known to exist - a Vala could do it in their domain, presumably, which implies a Maia correctly specialized could too, but Leareth is neither - the Silmarils couldn't move someone away from another person but they could slow the world around them, if he spent a Year figuring out how - Nelyafinwë looks normal but illusions are easy -

- there's lots that's not known to exist, of course, but no one else would've thought of it first -

Under most plausible assumptions about what Leareth is, stabbing him would not help. He might try it anyway, of course, but not yet.

He reaches for the Silmarils, pulls them into a pouch that he designed specifically to conceal their light, tucks it into a pocket against his breast. 

What's this demonstrating?

Leareth smiles slightly. Fëanáro is sharp. And has something closer to the right level of paranoia; Leareth can't help but admire that, however inconvenient it is for him right this second. 

:It is not mainly intended as a demonstration: he sends, :merely as a way for us to speak privately. This is magic from my world and hopefully even your gods will not be able to evade it: Yet, at least, and he isn't sure of it but you can't be fully certain of most things and he has to act anyway. :In any case. Within five minutes of hearing about both Melkor and your current political situation, I suspected his involvement. It has the smell of a god's scheme. If I am correct, then matters are likely to deteriorate drastically, and my instincts say you are on the brink of it already. Your world is better than I could have imagined, and I do not wish to see an evil god bring death and destruction to it: 

His smile broadens. :Also, I know many languages – eleven to a basic conversational level, and more if I find a way to transport books in from my world. It would be my pleasure to teach you, if you are curious, but I am not sure it is the most pressing matter: 

I think it is. Languages are hard to fake; I don't think Melkor could do eleven, not from civilizations that interact with each other and are influenced by one another.

:...That is a good point. If you are someone who studies languages in depth, you might ascertain a great deal more from this than most people: Leareth glances over at Nelyafinwë, trying to catch his eye, and mouths the word he thinks means 'down' in Quenya, hoping this will convey that he's planning to lower the barrier. Teaching Fëanáro eleven languages might be strategically useful but it's not sensitive. 

:I am going to lower my shield: he informs Fëanáro. :I am not sure how much paranoia is warranted here, however, I suggest we not discuss Melkor while your gods might in theory be able to listen: 

Shield comes down. :Did anything happen?: Leareth asks Nelyafinwë as soon as he's able to reach him with Mindspeech. 

A lot of things are happening, because of his father's decision to threaten to murder his brother earlier today, but no things happened as a direct result of the shield. You're good.

:Apparently I am going to be teaching your father eleven languages from my world, as he thinks this is hard to fake and it may convince him that Melkor - and presumably the Quendi candidates - could not have sent me. It would be well if you could hold off anything escalating in the meantime: Leareth's lips twitch. :At the very least this ought to keep your father occupied for a good while: 

What is Fëanáro thinking now – is he talking to anyone now that the barrier is down? 

Subjectively a minute twenty-five seconds, he says to Nelyafinwë, who nods. I want to learn the languages. 

I'd like to have something to tell the public -

To tell the traitors, you mean. 

To tell the public in such a fashion that the traitors will hear it from someone they believe and think they've outsmarted us. 

Yes, all right, come up with something. 

"Well?" he says to Leareth. "Eleven languages. Are there eleven peoples in your world?"

:Considerably more than eleven, though it depends how one counts – hmm, I had been lumping modern Tayledras and Shin'a'in together with ancient Kaled'a'in, since they substantially share vocabulary and grammar, but the latter is archaic and was spoken about two thousand years ago in my world – I believe one of our years is a tenth as long as yours, so two hundred Years. For reference, among humans – the race that I am – that period would encompass perhaps eighty generations. In any case, the others are...:

He mentions three related but distinct tribal languages of the north that he found worth learning, as well Valdemaran, Karsite, Rethwellani, Hardornen, the trade-tongue of the region, and both the official state language for government matters and the colloquial day-to-day language of the Eastern Empire. Rethwellani and Hardornen are related; they both share an ancient common root with the Eastern Empire's tongues, to which Valdemaran is more closely related even though it's smack in between the two other countries. The northern languages form their own family, they're not mutually intelligible but they share a lot of grammar conventions. He's not sure where Karsite came from; probably it's related to a language family further south. The Kaled'a'in-descended language family is a third cluster, and trade-creoles in general are their own mess, this one is no exception, it's got a pared-down grammar and is smushed full of random loanwords from all over the place.  

He gradually goes from suspicious to intrigued to wildly uncomplicatedly curious and would like some sample sentences from all of those, and then some more from Rethwellani and Hardornen, and then an explanation (preferably referencing all this history) of every grammatical irregularity. He repeats back everything said to him, perfectly, and then tries steadily unlikelier variants: "I had been eating?"  "I have been eating, but you have not been eating?" "I had been eating when you ate me?" 

And Leareth is mostly just becoming more impressed, and gradually relaxing a little despite himself; he had completely not been expecting this to be fun. Fëanáro in this mood reminds him of Urtho, if you substitute 'languages' for 'gryphons', and honestly the former is much more appealing to him. The unlikely sentences get a chuckle from him. He can give sample sentences easily; he can't explain every grammatical irregularity to Fëanáro's satisfaction, at least not from memory without referencing any of the notes he doesn't have.

Leareth is starting to notice that it's been a long time since he ate, though. Or slept. He can manage for a good bit longer without the latter if he can obtain the former, and better still if he could refill his magic. He doesn't feel comfortable enough with Fëanáro yet to ask about the Silmarils. 

:Nelyafinwë?: he tries instead. :I wished to check what is happening on your side. Also to find out if meals happen on a schedule here: 

I can have something sent in, do you eat the same things as us? There's a lot happening and I'm watching most of it, is there a specific thing you're looking out for -

:So far it seems I can eat your food without difficulty. I am curious mainly whether people seem to be more or less agitated, and whether there are speculations about me. If nothing is urgent, though, we can discuss later – your father is still ravenous for my languages: He returns his attention to quickly check what Fëanáro is thinking. 

Word's gotten around that you say you're from another world, and also that you're confused and from the Outer Lands, and that you went to talk to the King about things. I don't know what Nolofinwë thinks, which will be the most important thing. I think people are mostly less agitated - we asked ours to get off the streets and go read some new research about the Outer Lands -

:That is a clever story. I was - not sufficiently discreet on my arrival, given what I know now. Hopefully this will cover for it: He's not sure what else he ought to have done, if he'd pretended to be a Maia then he wouldn't have gotten the helpful orientation and might not have found out about the succession dispute at all. 

I can't imagine there's any way to land in another universe with a hostile foreign god you don't know anything about and guess right off your safest cover story. We might be able to swing this - not with Nolofinwë, I think, but with the public at least...

"I ate your hat, I ate your hat because I am your hat, I am your hat because I ate your hat? Grammatical?"

:That would be a relief: "Yes," he says out loud to Fëanáro. "Make sense, no." He's been slowly picking up more Quenya vocabulary as well. :You are very quick with languages: 

"Not with only languages," he says. "Or do I say, not only with languages? In Quendi there is a general quickness to people. Quick at languages, probably quick at math, probably quick at magic."

"'Not only with languages'. My people share that trait." He'll answer out loud in Rethwellani as well, Fëanáro clearly has the vocabulary down. "I am quicker than most humans." Modesty has never been one of Leareth's personality traits. "I suspect the average Quendi is quicker than the average human, just as your eyesight is better, and so your extremes would seem - very impressive, from where I stand." 

It's very irritating, if there were any chance of it working he'd consider trying to switch to a Quendi body, but he'd need to convince one of them to have children with them - if that were even possible, biologically speaking - and then wait a very long time, and that's assuming his–

–bastard gods, he thinks to himself, he should have thought of this a day ago. He has no guarantee that his immortality will work at all here, and he needs to check that as soon as possible, and be about six times more cautious in the meantime, damn it not so long ago he was being blasé about Fëanáro considering stabbing him. Not that it'd be likely to get through his personal shields, but he can't guarantee that, it could be a magical sword. 

"The average Quendi is older than the average human, maybe a Quendi of thirty would not seem very quick to humans. Or maybe they would, already they would see better. Or do I say 'they would still see better'. I am not an average Quendi anyway, I am the quickest Quendi."

Leareth refocuses; that can be dealt with later, not right this moment, at the very least he doubts Fëanáro will let anyone get away with killing him before he's extracted every single language fact. "I think that 'already' is the word you want, although for humans eyesight arrives early – in fact, children see and hear better than adults, usually, our bodies deteriorate with age. Yours do not?"

Clearly Fëanáro has no particular leaning toward humility either. What's he thinking right now?

He's thinking about other sentences to tease out the distinction between 'already' and 'still'. "I still went to the store today, I already went to the store today, both are good? But if I say, a Quendi of thirty would already seem quick, I shouldn't say, the Quendi would still seem quick."

Fëanáro is really a very...focused...sort of person. 'One-track' would be the unflattering way to put it, despite his Quendi ability to have multiple threads of conversation. 

"Already is, you were expecting something in the future and it came sooner? 'Still' means something was true in the past and you might expect it no longer to hold but it does. Quick - we might say clever, also - is something that would increase with age, usually, whereas, hmm, you might say: a human of thirty is already adult-sized, a Quendi of thirty is still this high." He gestures at around the height that Fëanáro supposedly was when he ran away. 

"Ah hah." Someone brings an elaborate spread of food and hands it to Nelyafinwë, who passes it on to them. Fëanáro wants the names of everything on it.

Some of the dishes are unrecognizable to him and thus don't have names in Rethwellani, but Leareth can label bread and cheese and some familiar-looking fruits and vegetables, and give the generic word for 'pastry' for the things that look like that. It's really remarkably similar to the food he knows, when you think about this; he mentions this as well. 

He nods. He frowns. 

How did you get here?

The important question is 'did you get here by some process no one else in the history of your world would plausibly have stumbled on', but that's a leading question so he is going for the more neutral one. 

Leareth switches to private Mindspeech. :We have a magic we call Gates - it allows opening a door from one place directly to another, even if they lie thousands of miles apart. Gates themselves are common enough; I was trying a very unusual experiment, a way to make a Gate undetectable. I expected to arrive in a cave where I store some rare books, and instead I stumbled into sombody's squash garden: He's not going to give any more detail in a place where a god might overhear. Just in case, someday, it matters. 

So here's my biggest reservation at this point. There's a Quendi math concept, your world might have it too since your math is the same - there's never two of something.

:We do not have the saying, but - if you mean that two is an un-parsimonious number, compared to 'one' or 'countless' - I have been musing on it also. Perhaps there are countless worlds, and accidental journeys between them are absurdly rare, such that they happen once or twice in the history of a world – or perhaps they happen more often and usually end in the visitor's death in some quiet patch of wilderness: 

- how would that happen? The death in the wilderness part, interworld transportation being exceptionally rare seems plausible.

He still keeps forgetting about the 'paradise' part. :In my world? Cold weather and lack of drinkable water, most likely, perhaps wild animals, starvation if they survived the first two, or poisoning from a non-edible plant eaten in desperation. A human lost in a wilderness they are unfamiliar with is unlikely to survive unless they are very clever and resourceful – having mage-gift would help, but not remove the danger entirely, even a mage needs to sleep and your world contains no ambient energy that I can draw on. I imagine this is not the case here, but might still be in your Outer Lands?: 

Well, we started in the Outer Lands and we managed all right but maybe these days it's that deadly, with the monsters Melkor made still running about. In Valinor all the plants are safe to eat and there are enough Maiar you can usually find one by wandering through a forest shouting for a day or so. There are some wild animals but they're mostly more afraid of us than we are of them. 

:I assume that your people also started as a group, not all separated and alone? If you were to abandon a group of ten humans in the same wilderness, their chances would be far better – even two would be more likely to survive, since they might trade off on sleeping and watching for danger, and more hands and eyes mean more opportunities to find firewood and water in time: 

They started in pairs, husband and wife, and in clusters of six, twelve, eighteen, twenty-four, thirty-six, and forty-eight, for a hundred and forty-four in total.

:...That is bizarrely specific. Do you have any idea why?: Leareth frowns. :My people have no cultural memory of arising in such a way. I doubt that we were created by the gods at all, as I assume the Quendi would have to have been for it to occur in such a way; in my world, animals change over many generations and sometimes entire new species result, and the world is very old. Though some races on my world were god-created, more recently, so it is possible this happened in our prehistory: 

Eru, the god who charged the Valar with the making of the world, made us directly; the Valar cannot create sapients without his aid, or Melkor would have done that instead of having to make orcs from Quendi. I don't know what he had in mind with the specific groupings.

:Fascinating. I think our gods cannot directly create a sapient species either; they do it by modifying others, or in one case reuse human souls in horse-shaped bodies for reasons that somewhat make sense in context. I do not know that we have a god that created the entirety of the world and the gods in it; if we do, they have never communicated in any way that was recorded or remembered: 

Fëanáro seems pretty convinced on the 'other world' part. Leareth wonders how convinced he is on either the Melkor plot, or Leareth's motive being helpful. 

What're your gods like?

:Decidedly unhelpful, for the most part. Cryptic and mysterious. Very slow, tend to act indirectly. They do not usually speak to mortals of their goals: 

The Valar are also typically very slow. They're happy enough to talk to us, though. They want us to behave ourselves and be happy in paradise.

He does not think much of this goal.

:A kinder aim than most of the gods of my world: Leareth admits, :but - one that would frustrate me. Especially if they have given up on bringing paradise to those still outside it: 

They have no way to get here if they want to. And some of them do; they were looking for a lost family member, when the Valar decided it was time to depart.

:The Valar never went back for a second pass? How hard would it have been?:

They transported us to Valinor by moving an island across the sea. They did make a second trip, but not a third. I don't know why, except that they're stubborn and sort of stupid.

:And so you would like to do it yourself?: Leareth frowns. :Or build your own paradise there, I suppose, one not run by stubborn and stupid gods. Your people might be more than capable of it, now that your civilization has had all of this time to flourish: 

Yes. I don't plan to come back. We needed their help, back then, since the lands they'd abandoned to Melkor were desolate and full of monsters, and lightless because they never got around to lighting them. But now? We'll be fine.

:I believe it: Leareth smiles. :I do not think I could stay for all of it - if there is a way back to my own world, which there ought be if I Gated here, then my people have greater need. However, it does seem that in the near term, you have a problem. One that looks very worrying to me, and that could throw all of your hopes off course, if I am right about who is responsible. That, I do wish to help with. I have relevant experience – since humans are so short-lived, our kingdom have had many opportunities for succession, and disputes that were resolved in various ways:

He watches Fëanáro's thoughts closely to gauge his response. 

He is annoyed to be reminded of the succession dispute, which cannot possibly matter at all next to there apparently being other worlds. Nelyafinwë just aspires to universal popularity and takes it very poorly when left with merely overwhelming popularity. And Indis's children never stopped acting like children. I don't think there's anything there to worry about.

:I strongly disagree. It is not the most important matter, no, not by far – it is petty compared to the hope of exploring other worlds – but I fear it is very urgent: 

Nolofinwë's not going to do anything except sulk and yell at my father.

:I am not worried about Nolofinwë. I am worried about - meddling: He glances around, then sighs and reaches for Nelyafinwë's mind. :Is anybody going to panic if I use the thought-barrier again? Your father is being stubborn: 

He does that, he says dryly. He should tell people not to interrupt him and then it'll pass unnoticed.

Leareth passes back wordless acknowledgement. :I may be very tired after this: he admits. :Do not be alarmed - I will not push it to the point of danger: And maybe he can convince Fëanáro to let him draw on the Silmarils. 

:Prince Fëanáro: he sends. :Please request that nobody interrupt you for a few minutes. I would like to speak privately again: 

He's going to do that again, he tells a specific other person. Same check-in afterwards. 

All right, he says to Leareth.

Shield goes up. 

–And he had less left than he realized, Leareth looks around for someplace to sit, if there isn't a chair or something nearby it's going to be the floor. 

He doesn't set up his study with chairs for visitors because then they stay forever but he's very quick on his feet. He jumps his desk and grabs Leareth with one hand while the other one closes protectively over his Silmarils. 

What happened? he asks, sounding more suspicious than concerned.

:Simply tired. Gate here was draining, cannot replenish magic as in my world: Except for the gems that Fëanáro is definitely still suspicious he's here to nab, which means that asking is fraught. :I will be all right: Holding it is easier than getting it up, there's only a little he needs to feed in to keep it stable. :We have - two, three minutes. I did not wish to speak of my theory about Melkor where there was any possibility he might be listening, because I only just arrived in this world and I do not yet know the correct level of paranoia. The appropriate paranoia against gods in my own world is very, very high: 

:I am not worried about Nolofinwë: he repeats. :If it were merely Quendi involved, I would think it likely that all would come out well, given your people's history. But – from what I have learned, this situation appears to have repeatedly gone worse than it ought, given the level of effort and cleverness being put in by all sides, and that makes me suspect enemy action. The fact that it is so hard to pin down – that it could be happenstance, except why would it fall against you so many turns in a row – is why I think it bears the marks of a god's work. And Melkor exists. This does not seem like a stretch to me. Do you not think that Melkor, who required all of the other Valar to defeat, is worth taking seriously? And even if you are not sure of my theory, if it is plausible at all, then a grave situation multiplied by a one-in-ten chance is still worth acting on. You are perfectly good at paranoia, I think, you know this to be true: 

Huh. 

No, you're right. I should have thought of that.