The guard gets suddenly solemn. "This way."

Follow follow.

"He's resting," says red-haired-presumably-a-son-of-Fëanor when he sees her. "Assuming you came to talk languages with him. I appreciate you coming back."

"I will probably not be able to leave a room with a wakeful Fëanor without talking languages at least a little, but my actual purpose is to heal him."

He blinks. "Okay. I don't think he plans to ask you to."

"Maglor suggested a sort of oblique offer-of-sorts. If he refuses me outright I will not force him, of course; feel free to coach me in further detail on how to present the prospect, or offer it before I go in."

"Cáno's good with words; his suggestion is probably as good as anything I'd come up with. I appreciate your flexibility."

"Thank you."

"Can you do anything for people who are already dead? Or just dying ones?"

"Only the dying. I do not know if resurrection is practical, especially resurrection of a people who are not obliterated on death the way mine are and are instead - elsewhere, possibly difficult to extract."

He nods.

"You're Pityafinwë, yes?"

"Yes. The locals are calling me Amrod, which is something like what you'd get if you translate 'Ambarussa'. We're using their language for all internal communications that aren't time- or clarity- sensitive, to make it clear that we're here to aid and not to supplant them." He hesitates. "I mean, that's the official reason: the real reason is that my father is happy to engage in even the costliest of signals of friendliness if it lets him play with languages, and otherwise finds diplomacy very stressful."

"Diplomacy is stressful."

"Yes. You've apparently thrown yourself immediately into it."

"Well, sometimes stressful things are necessary. But if I find a situation in which sincere goodwill, a willingness to clearly state my opinions with arbitrary amounts of context, and the option of veiled threat do not serve me, I will be in a bit of trouble."

"Veiled threat would do you badly here, but the other ones are much appreciated."

"I am glad that my decision not to issue any veiled threats has been correct."

"When we were in exile Melkor came by the house and offered to help my father find the means to leave Valinor without the consent of the other Valar. My father was intrigued, that having been a persistent goal of his, and stood at the door to hear him out. Until Melkor implied that he would, of course, claim the payment he rightly merited for that service, and then my father slammed the door in his face. If he'd asked to negotiate payment he'd have been fine; it was the implication that he did not need to." He cocks his head. "I think my father's awake."

"If I want to make any trades I will specify clearly, thank you for the advice," says Loki. "Should I just walk in, or...?"

"Yes, go ahead."

In she goes.

Fëanor looks very slightly less alive. "Hello," he says.

"Good morning. It occurred to me that it might entertain you to hear some Asgardian in another accent. My friend and I were separated on leaving Asgard but I can produce illusions of his voice and he's from a different part of the planet." She helps herself to a chair. "You should be advised that if you touch me you might spontaneously recover from some or all of your ill health due to healing magic."

"That seems unlikely. We can fix ourselves to a substantial degree, but this damage seems...persistent. I have been wondering if perhaps Mandos is just loaning me some time in a body that clearly cannot sustain me because he doesn't want to deal with me as a prisoner just yet."