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"And would you like to continue being a bird or stop now?"

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"I'd love to fly on over to Lake Mithrim and perch in a tree, but I don't think that's where my people need me most."

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So now he is an elf once more, hand in hers, and she lets him go.

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Nolofinwë nods. "It's plausibly worth sending someone over to Lake Mithrim to perch in a tree, though. I'll ask for volunteers."

"I volunteer," Irissë says from behind him. "But once we start turning people into birds to cross the mountains, they'll learn that we can turn people into birds, and then Tyelcormo will make a point of killing every bird in the vicinity. So don't start that just yet, if we want anything useful from them."
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"You," says Loki, "cannot turn people into birds. I can turn people into birds. If I think people are learning to fly for spying excursions I haven't approved instead of merely being birds so as to be carried over the mountains by abler companions I will be very annoyed."

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"I have taken and am taking every conceivable step to avoid violence between our peoples," Nolofinwë says. "I have told every scouting expedition we have out there that not only should they never open fire, they shouldn't fire back, and they should drop their weapons and let the other side kill them. It is tremendously valuable to us to know what they're planning, and it mostly helps us protect people, not kill them more efficiently. If they are not intending to war with us we gain nothing from spying on them. What's your objection?"

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"My objection is this is not the purpose for which I suggested turning anyone into birds, and if someone spends enough time as a bird to learn to fly I lose a way to gently contain them later if some unforeseen circumstance comes up. Would this be a good time for me to go visit your cousins?"

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Nolofinwë shakes his head. "Yes. Probably. Are you sure you know enough to not make things worse?"

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"You may tell me anything more you think I need to know, but the situation seems so unstable I'm not sure there is any sure path by any actor of any level of information guaranteeing that nothing will worsen."

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He takes a deep breath. "My brother copes badly with interactions where he thinks the other person secretly dislikes him; open dislike is fine. Contempt, concealed or not, will make him defensive and he'll probably hate you. He is more trusting than you'd think: he tends to take people at face value about their motives. Most people just aren't interesting to him. He's good at engineering, and respects it, and it's what he tends to respect people for. He's brilliant. He doesn't mind being asked for things but he hates being told to do them. He tends to jump on opportunities to make amends that don't require him to admit wrongdoing or face people he wronged. You're entirely right that that's not enough, but - do have a go."

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Nod. "Good luck crossing the mountains," she sighs.

And she turns into an invisible bird, and streaks towards the settled lake.
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There's a wall built into the surrounding mountains. It is better manned and reinforced than the buildings, which are eclectic and look a little experimental and are densely packed into a small area of level ground near the shore. There are horses, in a valley that has no grass.

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That doesn't seem like an ideal place to keep horses, but maybe these are weird horses.

She swoops around the place, looking for someone who might be a good first point of contact.
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It's hard to pick out anyone who's obviously important; they're all dressed in formal, elaborate Elven robes, but no one has obviously more formal robes, and the royalty aren't wearing circlets or anything. There are scouts returning from a trip up the nearby mountain (Elven scouting seems to involve finding somewhere with an impressive line of sight and then looking around.)

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Of course it does. Note to self: copy elven eyesight with magic. Who do the scouts seem to report to?

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They talk at the walls with an Elf with red hair, who hurries in to one of the buildings near the center of town.

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She follows him.

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There are four or five voices coming from inside the building.

"It looks like they're crossing the mountains," someone reports.

"Great. Let them."

"Well, yes, that is what we are doing, given that the alternative would be stopping them and, not being a Vala, I can't make mountains impassable at will."

"Are they coming here?"

"Too soon to tell."

"I should speak to everyone," a voice says, hoarse and the least musical of all the Elven voices she's heard.

The room goes quiet. Then... "Can you?"

"Yes, obviously."

"You don't need to justify yourself to them," someone says hurriedly, and there are murmurs of agreement. "You need to focus on getting better -"

"Getting better, the outcome, has yet to result from getting better, the focus," the hoarse voice says. "I should speak to everyone."
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Loki exits the building, lands at the nearest door in human shape, becomes visible, and knocks.
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"Come in," says one of the speakers, not the hoarse one.

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Don't they even want to know who it is? She opens the door and lets herself in.

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It's a library; there are around two hundred books, every one clearly written by hand, every one set out on gloriously colorful tapestries on shelves that fill almost the whole room. The rest of it is a conference table, where four people are currently sitting and blinking at her. "I'm sorry," one of them says in a tongue other than Quenya, "are we acquainted yet? Curufinwë Atarinke."

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"Loki Odinsdottir of Asgard. I am a stranded traveler from another realm you've never heard of with interesting magical powers, helpful inclinations, and political neutrality, and I suspect we should have a conversation."

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They all blink.

They all turn and look at the man at the end of the table.

"The Enemy can take any form he likes," he comments, with significant apparent effort, "but there are things I would expect he'd struggle to imitate. What language are you speaking, and why can I understand you?"
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"I am technically a monolingual speaker of a language called Asgardian, using a translation magic - which alas I cannot replicate for others at this time - called Allspeak."

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