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Confirmation reaches them in the spring that Elwing of Sirion has the Silmaril.
It takes as long as the spring only because they weren't looking. They can stretch the oath that far, they can be disinterested in knowing - but now they know, and so there it is. Elwing of Sirion is twenty-three. Half-man, so fully grown. Sirion is a city of refugees. Elves and Men and, since there are Men, children. Elwing herself has infant children.
They debate whether to send messengers. Debating is allowed, even protracted debating. The Oath, these days, is loud in their minds, and louder when they're pushing it like this, but they drag out the debate for a few months. Messengers will probably be shot on sight. The last time Elwing of Sirion received news of the House of Fëanor it would have been the news that her brothers, twins, aged seven, had not survived the sack of Menegroth.
They send messengers anyway. The messengers are shot on sight. They have good armor, Fëanorian armor, and return home injured but not lethally. Maglor's songs no longer stitch them together. War makes you worse at healing. Maglor's songs are more powerful than ever - he can knock back a wave of approaching enemies, he can make a blade's next touch deadly, he can make them faster and more impervious to danger, but he can no longer do healing.
Maedhros, when he thinks about this, thinks that perhaps there needs to be part of you that is not broken for healing spells to draw on. Or perhaps the Enemy is amused to strip that away first. Perhaps the Enemy finds it suited to the theme as the Oath tugs and yanks and twists them into violence against the lands they once defended and the peoples they once sheltered.
They send messengers to Sirion again. The messengers deliver a plea for the Silmaril, an offer of anything at all in exchange. The messengers do not return at all.
The Enemy is many many hundreds of miles from here but at night Maedhros can hear him in his head. Is it so implausible that I really let you go? the Enemy likes saying. You serve me better free than you ever would have willingly.
The Oath allows them to work slowly. They begin planning the sack of the refugee camp even more slowly than the Oath allows, so slowly that its currents are constantly tugging at them. Any slower and the currents would erode all the things they care about which are not the Oath, and it would be a disaster to go to Sirion once they've been stripped of their capacity to care about anything that is not the Silmaril. So they do not hold out forever. But they work as slowly as they can.
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imeanforever
"I swear before Manwë and Varda that I have never been in the Enemy's service," she says firmly, "but I don't want to talk about how I was injured or where I'm from."
And they relax. "All right. We have healers, if you want we can carry you in, or get them to come take a look at you out here..."
imeanforever
"I can fly to them," she says. "I'd rather nobody try to carry me. Where are they?"
"If you can just fly along with us I can take you there."
And he leads her into the city. The healer looks surprised, but not particularly alarmed. "Hello. I'm Linaewen, can I help you? I mostly heal Men and Elves..."
imeanforever
"I don't know if you can help me or not but it seemed worth a try."
"By all means! Sit down, have something to drink or to eat if you'd like, and I'll take a look at it. What's your name, dear?"
imeanforever
"I'm Promise." She doesn't have anything to drink or eat. She sits. She wonders if she can find out where the Silmaril is by acting like she landed here with the power of speech in the first place and listening; she has some time. Seems worth a try. Maybe she won't have to alarm anyone until the point where she's flying away.
The healer starts singing. It does help. Not nearly as much as sorcery, and it takes a lot longer, but it does help.
She's delighted to see that it has an effect. "I should take a break, dear, but someone else can come in and do that for you again this afternoon. Do you have people to stay with? Do you need to talk with anyone? Lots of people here have been through scary things, we are happy to talk about them..."
imeanforever
"I don't actually know anyone here. I'd - rather not talk about it though."
"That's all right. We can find you someone to stay with. A place by the cliffs, maybe, since you can fly."
"The Lady Elwing, Lúthien's granddaughter, and Eärendil son of Idril and Tuor."
She sings a little while later, once she's had some tea and offered Promise some, and then someone else comes in with an injury and she heads off to look at that.
imeanforever
Promise can walk without feeling like she's making her knee worse now! She totters outside to see if Elwing is just conveniently walking down the street or living in a particularly nice refugee tent or anything.
Elwing lives, she is told, in the palace. It's an under-construction palace but still quite elaborate. Is Promise from Doriath? Elwing likes to meet her people.
With twin toddlers the Queen is very busy but eventually no doubt Promise can meet her.
Does Promise have a place to live? The space is very full but she might know someone who knows someone who knows someone who has an empty bed.
imeanforever
Promise does not have a place to live. She might not stay long term, she'd hate to impose and she's not used to crowds, but a bed for a bit would be lovely.