Cor gives all his savings to a project that's trying to eat away the distance to the Moon, and he gathers supplies and tries something else.
A young human man in nothing but a pair of shorts, painted all over in broad patterns with still-wet blood and fine ash, appears on his knees in the middle of an unreasonably pretty city and falls unconscious.
And I should have suggested it. You thought on your feet well with the second one.
He's been growing his hair out inhumanly quickly; it's not quite long enough to braid yet. He clips it back. He sings. He relays things north.
They can't disarm until Sauron is definitely gone but they lay the groundwork to do it afterwards. They set up to have elections (in a distributed council system the public votes on laws, rather than on leaders). They work on human immortality.
Thuringwethil visits. This one is a mage.
"Oh? I'm the awesomer one."
"Do I get something out of it?"
"I'll take your frivolously magical chicken recipe. I swear that this isn't actually an adequate check because my impersonator is probably Sauron and he's good enough at illusions to make you think he swore to things."
"You're a sweetheart. I found some more worlds! One has acid in the atmosphere and two are too cold for humans to survive even a couple minutes on and the rest don't have atmospheres but so it goes. I'm gonna have to adapt the ritual to get myself landed near a sun."
"Way faster than you but it'd still take weeks and that's boooooring."
"Can't think who else. The Balrogs could do it but they're not that creative or they wouldn't be Balrogs, you know? Did the fake me wanna fuck you."
"They can do lotsa humanoid forms but they take shortcuts, the bodies aren't functional."
"How do you ambiguously assassinate Sauron?"
"I like you."