The problem is that my father doesn't do anything insincerely. You'll never get a grudging or formal or political apology from him. And a personal apology you'll get only when it's prompted by personal respect, and when Nolofinwë claimed the title of King of his host the possibility of that rather dissolved. He is flying in tight circles. In addition, there's a significant population in their host who outright just want us dead, and who wanted us dead long before the ships burned.
Loki threads the circle of his flight, swoops up before she touches the ground. I'd been tending to interpret it in terms of loss of face, but that makes sense too.
A grim, tired chuckle. That too. If we make concessions they will likely be used as leverage to demand more concessions, and I don't think anyone is certain what happens at the point where we've made enough concessions that we would no longer stand a chance of imposing any significant costs on them if they then just decided to kill us.
I'd retire to a tower in the mountains and invent things in exasperation.
I think the Nolofinwëans might tolerate you if they knew you hadn't set the boats on fire.
Yes, that. Pardon me while I entertain a highly inappropriate fantasy of learning to teleport, acquiring a small squad of galactic mercenaries with weapons I'd sooner not even begin to describe the mechanism of, killing the Enemy, and then putting everyone who doesn't get along on their own uninhabited planet.
Well, that and historically forcibly removing people from their homes doesn't go very well.
Right. So, making people move if they don't want to move: usually a bad plan. Sometimes a better plan than letting people continue to live near each other, but people get attached to their homes.
The cousins I am most worried about were very determined to found their own kingdoms in Middle-earth and bring enlightenment and better stewardship to the locals, so I am not inclined to fear they'll settle near my family and keep building friction. I have reservations about their plans, but am utterly powerless to do anything about that.
It might be easier to move your people, or your cousins, because they've only recently moved in themselves. Maybe even by the time I learn to teleport Quendi reckoning will call it 'recent', especially if they don't have any children, who know the place as home from day one. ...Trying to move in and rule over locals without knowing in exquisite detail exactly what you're doing: also historically a bad move.
I'll make a note. And she does. Do you know which of them are planning to strike out and try it?
They're planning to visit Doriath at their great-uncle's invitation, probably in a few months.
She has a certain bluntness, which I'd appreciate very much if I were fonder of the opinions she's blunt about.
Mostly that. The particular hypothetical I was entertaining was 'what if Thor had landed on the ice instead of me', and the answer is she would have thought they were very nice and badly wronged and would have been easy to direct into a complete massacre against your family and then she probably would have tried to solo Angband, which Lúthien thinks would not have worked but which Artanis thought sounded great.
Artanis watched her family cut down on the streets of her hometown and it is very understandable to desire that the guilty parties experience the same thing. I expect if it had actually occurred she would regret it, later. But yes, this is related to why we hesitate to make concessions.
It's like a game theory problem on an exam with a sadist for a tutor. 'In one to five thousand words, solve the problems of this entire continent and its well-justified rifts in the underlying social fabric with only illusion magic, healing spells, and the ability to turn people into birds'.
If that worked, I'd just have to convince my father that I'd just conducted an internal coup for him and gotten the entire militarily useful part of the Nolofinweans back under his command and that Findekáno ruled there in name only, and then take down Angband and hope that everyone's favorable impression of the balance of power is either cemented by my success or spurred to improvement by my death.