The forks are summonable by the names their originals chose for them. The forks are apprised of the plan. The fleet heads for Endore, ready to have a space battle in which a shuttle plummeting into the ocean will barely attract notice.

I'm sure we need to kill him, Fëanáro says, but if this is what it'll take to persuade the denizens of Earth.

Well, unsummon, Amelia shrugs. I doubt it's possible to kill a daeva.

'Teleport to an empty dimension' is also on the list of candidate solutions, but yes, probably it is not.

I'm legitimately torn between being glad of it--so it can't happen to the four of us--and annoyed--because we can't do it to him.

If only it were impossible to kill a daeva unless they were a mass murderer, he says wryly. If you'll excuse me, I'm working on the involuntary dimensional teleport option.

Yeah, of course.

Five days to Endore. They land in the system and have a very dramatic space battle. The Enemy's on-planet, and presumably pointing a finger to blow things up; they were expecting this, and try to get some hits on Angband in; most of the population didn't jump here at all or stays well-back of the doomed ships flying at high speeds towards Angband.

And a shuttle spirals off course and crashes unsurvivably in the ocean.

This is mildly uncomfortable.

They have maps, of course. They landed outside an Elven kingdom where they won't speak the language but it has common roots with Quenya and the Enemy does not appear to be imminently winning.

Okay, they go there.

It's stunningly pretty. If they make clothes in the local fashion they won't be noticed for a while.

Ada does that.

Then they can walk through a beautiful countryside, along some train tracks, and towards the nearest city.

When discreetly possible Ada communicates with her fork on Feanaro's ship, getting as much of the language as they can.

And they arrive at the city. They're barely looked at. The city's been bombed; there are areas that are rubble. There are angels fixing some of them.

Amelia resists the urge to flagrantly blow their cover by pitching in.

After a while someone comes up to them and asks over osanwe - new here?

Yeah.

Where from?

She picks a plausible location from her sister's conjured newspapers.

Ration cards and papers?

...Lost 'em.

...how are you planning to eat?

Um. We're working on it.

You probably want to go to Displaced Persons, they're in Homeland, that building. He points.