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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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"We're going to be waiting a while," he says lightly, "I'm quite sure he can't walk. Tell me what you're thinking right now."
imeanforever
"I hate you and the cube root of nine trillion four hundred billion three hundred seventeen million six hundred two thousand one hundred nine is probably not too far off from twenty thousand which multiplied by itself thrice is twenty times twenty times is four hundred thousand times twenty is eight trillion so that's too low. Twenty-five thousand multiplied by itself thrice is -"
"Stop.
What's the most unpleasant order you have ever been given?"
What's the most unpleasant order you have ever been given?"
imeanforever
She can't answer him. She is busy being stopped. Doesn't involve breathing.
"Answer me."
imeanforever
He didn't say truthfully. Fucking idiot. Thank goodness. "'Cooperate with Sunstroke until I come back'."
His eyes narrow. "Truthfully."
He twitches a finger and something slaps her. "Answer all my questions truthfully."
imeanforever
She can't prop herself up from having been slapped. And she still can't say anything because she's on a stop plus a whitelist and he hasn't asked anything since telling her to answer him.
Maitimo, darling, he says, you by all accounts took to enslaving people like a natural. Promise, order him to truthfully explain to me how you are avoiding questions.
I don't know. I can barely hear you two and don't know what orders she's under.
"Explain to me how I should have phrased my questions so far in order to get what I want."
imeanforever
"Remembering the recency rule and putting verbs in your sentences."
"I expect it'll take us a thousand years to become sufficiently competent in the way your language works that we can be confident of our expect intent being carried about. But I think the Valar will leave us alone for that long. I do appreciate the tutorial. Tell me truthfully what the mistakes are that we've made so far."
imeanforever
"Forgetting the recency rule. Not putting verbs in your sentences." Not saying 'completely'.
He lights the floor beneath her on fire again. Just for a minute, while he's getting control of his temper.
He puts it out.
Maedhros arrives. He is crawling. He is missing most of the left side of his face. "Order him to tell me what he's thinking."
Maedhros arrives. He is crawling. He is missing most of the left side of his face. "Order him to tell me what he's thinking."
"Almost all of my attention is occupied by screaming panic at the existence of orders and the fact there is someone who can give me orders and the fact she is doing it and the fact you are making her. The rest of my attention is mostly dedicated to thinking about how I could have avoided this if I'd been in possession of a larger share of my wits when I'd found her, and extrapolating from that to determine how many obvious ways to get out of here I am missing because of the current state of paralyzing screaming panic.
Oh, and amusement at how outmatched you are. I am definitely experiencing amusement at how outmatched you are."
Oh, and amusement at how outmatched you are. I am definitely experiencing amusement at how outmatched you are."
"Order him to always answer questions truthfully," he says, frowning, "and with all relevant information."