If he said anything after the second sentence, Calassúrë certainly didn't hear it. Instead, the only thing she hears is sound of her own blood, pulsing through her head at a volume that is surely loud enough that it's strange no one is worrying about whether her skull might crack from the pressure.

This is it, she thinks, this is how I die. Not by sorrow or by sword or even by Melkor himself. This. My head will explode because the Valar are so frustratingly stupid that they drove it to burst.

She can't possibly think of what to say in reply. Something should be said in reply to that, but the correct words aren't connecting to each other to form useful sentences. Oh, she can still form sentences, but all of them are completely unhelpful to her goals. There are a thousand possibilities, each one born from one of their thousandfold mistakes that she could pick out and dissect in front of them, to maybe make them see how the framework they're thinking with is flawed, how they're wrong, and if she's honest with herself, to hurt them. She's spiteful enough right now to say something cutting just to hurt them. It's not pretty, but there it is. The Valar suck, and she wants to hurt them out of spite. Calassúrë has never been this angry in her life, never felt as if her own soul were made of fire and like if something were to puncture her skin everything nearby would just be caught in the ensuing immolation.

It would be terrifying, to suddenly become this molten being when she'd been a perfectly ordinary Elf before, if she had any percentage of her own head to devote to something other than the rage. As it is, she doesn't. It just feels like a perfectly ordinary state of being. Sometimes she's an Elf, and sometimes, she's a fiery rage monster. It's a thing that is part of her life now, nothing to really worry about.

As much fun as it would be to say, 'Bitch, you will know when I threaten you, because you'd better believe I will back up every single thing I say, and if you think I and my family can't tear you sanctimonious assholes down from your thrones in a fit of rage you haven't met any of us,' she can't, because it would just be proving them right. And she'll be damned if she proves these assholes right. Nor can she say, 'The fact that you consider criticism to be a threat proves you are not even fit to rule a particularly thriving pond filled only with very stupid wildlife, let alone Valinor,' as much as it's completely and utterly true. Insults are not the way to go, justified as they are. That would not be her representing the family well, and they would not be inclined to listen to her, and her words would be wasted. She's a songstress, she's spent Years working to use her voice with the utmost skill and grace. She's not going to start wasting it now because of these people.

Pride's a vicious beast that will drive many to their own ruin, but hers gives her inferno direction. Her pride is a snarling hunting dog that helps lead her to her final quarry. They made her angry, and because they made her angry, they do not get to win. They do not get to prove themselves right by tempting her to do something stupid. She is better than that, she will be better than that, because she will be better than them.

She takes a deep breath, and she falls to the absolute basics for anger management. She counts to ten. Onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightninethisisn'tworking. Why would counting help? No amount of time could possibly quench her burning rage, why would she think something so simple as numbers could? Clearly she needs something that, to her, is more certain. The only thing that's keeping her from unleashing a primal scream is her own sense of responsibility. She recognizes this, and she switches tactics.

As infuriating as this is, it has been the first coherent conversation the Valar have managed since the death of the Trees. It has been, along with the most frustrating conversation she's ever had, surprisingly informative. There is likely more that can be gained by continuing it, and there's no one else to manage it besides her. If she loses her cool and stalks off, that's it, no more information. They might not even reply to anyone else that tried. She gets to walk up to Maitimo and look him in the eye and say, 'I lost my temper.' He'd understand, probably tell her that she did fantastically and bring up excellent reasoning for why she did. He wouldn't blame her for not being able to deal with these people. She knows that. But she also knows that Maitimo has a family that is filled with hot-tempered geniuses that have perfectly good reasoning for why they go off the deep end. She knows that his father is already going to require a lot of his attention.

There is no way that she's adding to that. She is the one thing in this life that she can control, she's not going to lose that control just because she's angry.

Calassúrë takes another deep breath, and the firestorm in her soul - doesn't quiet. It reorganizes itself. She does not cease to be a fiery rage monster, but it is not going to burn anything that she damn well doesn't mean to burn. She is going to say the right words here, and if she can't, at least she won't say the wrong ones.

She's going to have to apologize. Ugh.

"I apologize for any implied disrespect and my impertinence," she says, and she's surprised by the clarity in her voice, "but I Swear before Eru that my words were not meant as a threat. I desire to warn you of potential results of actions, and the results of them in your charges, to help build a better future between the Eldar and the Valar. I must speak of potential darkness in order to attempt to shield us from it."

"Your commitment to the wellbeing of Valinor is noted and appreciated. We are trying to determine how best we can protect you and everyone else. This involves attempting to see far into the Years ahead of us, a process that is demanding of our attention. If you counsel that we delay it in order to instead calm our people, we will."

"How long do you estimate it would take to see far into the Years ahead of you so that you could know what path to take, and how long do you estimate it would take to calm your people?"

"It will take months, perhaps a Year, to foresee the effects of each of the courses we are considering and select one from among them. We would hope that reassurance could happen more quickly."

"By what method do you plan to reassure the Eldar?"

"Song, the language of creation and of your people and of Eru's plan."

"Magic songs, or just pretty soothing ones."

"Calming songs."

It's a good thing she's still a rage monster operating entirely off of figuring out the most efficient way to get what she wants and then doing that, because otherwise, she might be tempted to introduce her forehead to her palm. Idiots.

"I do not believe calming songs would result in the outcome you desire," she says, without inflection. "And highly recommend you don't sing any mind affecting songs to those under your care. I am not Ainu, so I cannot tell you specifically how it would go awry, but I am very certain that it would."

"Then we will return to trying to decide on the best course of action."

"Forgive me for delaying you further, but might I ask for all knowledge of Melkor's preparations in Endorë, so that while you decide we might make preparations that might counteract them?"

"We think that would be unwise since it might provoke you to reckless courses of action."

She pauses, to consider her phrasing.

"I believe that reckless courses of action can be prevented or mitigated by giving the Eldar a useful project that they know is worthy, and that not doing so will incite many to find one of their own, which might not be as well-aimed and might fall under the category of 'reckless.'"

"We are debating between several worthy projects for the Eldar, all of which involve restoring light to the world using the remnants of the trees and new inventions."

Okay, not awful, but perhaps not something that could keep her uncle from leaving Valinor the most expedient way he has available to him.

"A worthy goal." Because it is, it's just maybe not the one she needs right now in order to keep everything from exploding into fire. "But not one all Eldar could pursue. Are there other potential projects available?"

"That is what we were discussing when interrupted. When we settle on more we will tell the Eldar about them at once."

That sounds like it's the best she's going to get. Good. She's sick of talking to the Valar.

"Very well. Thank you for hearing me, my lord. I will do what I can to preserve peace and Light in Arda."

"A worthy ambition, child."

Yes, she knows.

But she bows, because she is not going to burn this bridge just because she wants to, and murmurs a, "Thank you."

And then she turns to depart. She'll need to find herself a horse. Absently, she notices her hands have blood on them. When did that happen? She hadn't been doing anything that would cause anything involving blood, does prolonged exposure to Ainur cause -

Oh. No. Those are four little crescent marks, on each palm. Self inflicted. Yes, that makes sense.

She finds a horse, she gets directions as to which way her uncle and cousins went, and off she rides.

Maybe she'll calm down a little before she finds them.

It takes a long time.

Well. That's probably for the best, really. She doesn't want to try to talk to people she actually likes while she's this angry.

It leaves languidly, taking its time to burn through her. But given long enough, and it finishes running its course, like all fires do. Until all that's left is exhaustion and willpower. She might be tempted to just fall off her horse and sleep where she lies, but her uncle is out there somewhere and while his sons probably have it covered she wants to be sure of it first. And she isn't sure on how to best use the information she got - Maitimo should get it, and he'll have some idea of what to do with it. And then she can find some hole to crawl into and - not die, she can't even joke about that right now. A hole to crawl into for sleeping and recovery purposes.

But not yet.

On she rides, with only occasional breaks for her poor horse's sake. They don't do well, in this dark, and even horses from Valinor cannot run forever, even when ridden by a songstress that can bolster its strength with magic. She will not tip into cruelty, even now. It can have its rest. She'll find her kin eventually. Eventually she'll be in range of osanwë, even if she has to ride all over the countryside in order to get there. She knows Makalaurë the best of them all, so it's his name she calls.

Makalaurë?

Yeah?

Oh, excellent, I found you - how's your father -?

Going to live.

Good, she says, with palpable relief.