I can braid up your hair all nice. But there's no one around.

Mm, yes pleas, hair isn't as much a thing for me as you but it's still nice.

So he braids her hair.

There really is something lovely about having another person handling your hair.

And then Idaia banishes the shrubbery and straightens her clothes as best she can and they can go back to the house.

They stop by mid-week to make edits and suggestions to the house plans. It's going to be such a pretty house.

And visit with Imliss again. This will be convenient more frequently when the house is built.

How's she finding Tirion?

The first printing press is very nearly done, which is excellent, and she is making a reasonable amount of headway on learning all of the everything given the time she's had to do it in, and Feanaro's letters continue to be adorable.

Great. 

There's a stir in the streets that afternoon. Melkor gave a talk, it was very provocative.

...A talk about what?

Eru's newest race is set to awaken in Arda soon. They're called Men. They're shortlived, dangerous, violent among each other and towards others, and destined to take over the planet and scour it with unthinkable atrocities. Melkor had demonstrations.

...Is he likely to do another talk on this subject? It seems intensely relevant to Imliss's interests.

He is! There's one tomorrow. 

Lovely.

Demonstrations, huh? What did Men look like?

Ugly, by Elven standards, but pretty normal, by hers. The demonstrations mostly show them unleashing horrible violence on each other in various ways.

...

She goes to find Maitimo.

His office is full of people. Hey, Imliss, he says, may I grab a late dinner with you?

Sure. When should I be back here?

Ah, after the Mingling probably, I am not sure I'll be able to disentangle myself any faster.

Right.

She goes off and reads books, somewhat distractedly, and is back after the Mingling.

Hey. I am very sorry. The city's in a bit of an uproar. Damn him. The Valar will be worried, but assuming he did not lie they'll hesitate to ask him to stop speaking. What's up?

That's my species.

...I thought you two were fifty-something? He said they barely live to eight.

We use a solar calendar. Involving a sun. That you don't have. I haven't brought it up yet because it's been advantageous to let people believe we're fifty-three of your years old but I'm pretty sure we're way younger than that.

Charming.

I'm trying to figure out what his goal is here. Obviously people want to go stop the world being overrun by billions of Men, but they also know perfectly well how prophecies work.