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The grownups are all very busy, but the children are all bored.
Bored or having nightmares. But Tasárinon was not on a ship and did not see the people dying and has only heard it thirdhand and can't exactly have nightmares about the look in his mother's eyes - well, he probably could, but he hasn't - so he's bored, and he is drawing on the floor. It is an absurdly intricate drawing. He has been embellishing it for three days.
"Communications with Valinor are reasonably fast, we can keep in touch while you're travelling if you run across anything else on the internet you have questions about or so forth. Once you conclude oaths exist I can swear to be as forthright as possible with you and then you can ask anything you're avoiding asking for functional-working-relationship reasons."
"Sounds good." He hops into his shuttle. He makes a clean model of his computer with nothing much on it and runs 'patch for Cam'.
The Valar live on the peak of the Holy Mountain Taniquetil, which he can easily pull up pictures of: scenic, geologically implausible, center of the main continent. There's a sprawling and stunningly pictureque city around the base of the mountains.
Plenty of places, in the city; no obvious ones higher up the mountain, unless he wants to land directly in the middle of the thrones of the Valar in the seat of their power which he probably does not want to do.
...well, he thinks about it, but no. He lands in someplace that looks suitably disused in the city and hops out and if nobody wants to know what the fuck he flies for the mountain on wingpower.
There are people who want to know what the fuck! They take a while to assemble, though, and watch him fly off a little astonishedly.
How lovely! Cam lands on it and looks for anything like a visitor's center or failing that an obvious path in that people are supposed to take.
There's no visitor's center; there's a path, wide and decorated with lots of precious stones and shiny metals and other things that are not remotely impressive to a demon. There are other people walking the path; they stare at him.
"...yes. One typically dresses up to go see the Valar." Cam is not wearing a shirt. The comment is perhaps a little pointed.
"...sure why not." Cam looks for something reasonably tasteful that, if not traditionally masculine, is at least being worn by a dude, and when he finds something copies it in a different color scheme with room for his wings. "Thanks for the tip."
This is astonishing and now a lot more people are staring. "You're welcome," the tip-giver stammers.
"I am from a lovely place called Hell and I am going to ask that the Doom be quarantined so that it cannot escape into Hell and other worlds of my acquaintance if the people to whom the Doom apply interact too much with people from there."
"Ah. The Doom on the Kinslayers. I do not know how open the Valar are to petitions on the topic, they have been petitioned by lots of grieved relatives of Kinslayers."
"I am hoping they would rather fourteen billion innocent people from my home planet who are slated for a thoroughly mediocre afterlife if they die not be casualties of inadequately constrained contact."
"But they wouldn't know about the Doom, and they've never heard of the Valar, so they wouldn't necessarily know to keep their distance from the Doomed people."
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