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"I assume the typical orc has lost as many loved ones to Elves as vice versa, and I'll confess that while I've sworn no oaths my initial impulse towards them is not friendliness. Is it possible they are friendly with anyone who has them at swordpoint?"

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"When I left Fëanor's people the five converted orcs were cooperating with some of the Quendi on farming. It was adorable. That said, I do plan to keep an eye out for a place to resettle orcs so there are fewer chances for friction when the numbers grow."

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He shakes his head. "Fair enough."

"I am guessing Mother said we won't be participating in this," Lúthien says.
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"Yes. Although I would still take it as a favor if you would not use the name 'Melkor' to refer to the Enemy or call the Nolofinwëans and Quendi 'Elves' should an orc be likely to hear you."

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"We call him Morgoth," Luthien says, "Melkor is the newcomers' tongue, not ours. And we call ourselves the Iathrim - the people of the fenced realm. I don't know if anyone's devised names for the newcomers -"

"Calaquendi," says Daeron, "Because they came with the light. Though then that makes us Moriquendi, 'dark Elves', which is rather insulting. Anyway, I've heard people using that."

"Calaquendi," she says, "sure. Or Amanyar, or Finwë's people. Will you write a song using those? I'll dance to it and sing it in the halls."

Daeron nods, looking a bit enraptured with her. She smiles at Loki. "Done."
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"Excellent, thank you."

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"I might have cousins among the Amanyar," Lúthien says. "When my father was lost, our people were sundered. His brother, Olwë, went on ahead with half our people. The last we heard, he'd settled by the shores and had married and had children. If there are any of his children among the Finweans, Father will surely desire to invite them here."

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"Actually he said the borders are closed to all of the Amanyar forever. I don't know if Olwë's children would be an exception and don't know if any of them are in either party."

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"He's also said he will literally never permit me to marry and literally never let anyone in who's been captured by Morgoth and literally never take an army out of Doriath again but I expect with the passing of Ages he'll soften. Or with the right excuse. Olwë's children would be an exception."

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"Well, I'll inquire if there are any to be had, then. Is there some reason you are not permitted to marry?"

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"Uh. So the stated reason is that there's no one who'd be suitable, but I think the real reason is that my father, while he has never expressed and has probably never even had any doubts about his own marriage, lost his whole life and all his ambitions and half his people and his brother and his best friend when it happened. So I'm not as annoyed with him as I suppose I'd be warranted in being.

Anyway, if I ever really want to marry I can just present it to him as a fait accompli, he probably wouldn't kill my husband."
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"I see." Continue not flirting with the elf princess. "I remember there was something you wanted to discuss in the morning but not exactly what it was; was it just the orcs?"

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"The orcs and you, I've just been unable to stop thinking about you. You're in a desperately strange situation in the middle of a war and you seem to have taken it all on your shoulders, which is reasonable, because the rest of the world sometimes won't move and the only way to work around it is to start considering yourself the only real way anything good can possibly happen. Except when I've gotten myself in that hole it wasn't good for me, and you at least have real magic but I just wanted to make sure you were okay, and say that you have a friend here and I can teach you how to do the memory palace thing when bored."

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Unable to stop - do not think about that. "I appreciate the thought very much. I'm not sure I have the mental architecture to think in any other way as long as there are problems that exist, and it seems stable for me, but it is kind of you to think of me. I am occasionally frustrated that the problems do not line up neatly to be solved in invariably straightforward and sensible ways but I am sure I would also be occasionally frustrated if I took up any other occupation worth doing."

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"All right," she says, "as long as you keep in mind that you have to be alive and at least slightly fond of the world to do any good for it, and it's worth preserving both those things. Say hello to my cousins, if it turns out I have some."

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"Oh, I very much like being alive and am persistently fond of at least the theory of the world. I will see if you have any cousins to relay that to. I have been asked not to turn into a bird within your borders; which way should I go to get to where I was brought in?"

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"Left," they both say.

"I'd escort you," Lúthien says regretfully, "but I'm not allowed out without a hundred soldiers and I'm not allowed near the borders even with that. Godspeed, Loki."
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"Thank you anyway," says Loki, and she heads up and out and tries to find the patch of woods where she left the wyvern-tail dagger.

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It's still there; the Elves are clearly watching from the trees as she retrieves it, but once she has done so the trees stop rustling and it's impossible to tell if they're there.

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She tucks her dagger away again and finds someplace with enough gap in the canopy to fly towards the Nolofinwëans.

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It's an uneventful trip.

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And where are her point-of-contact Elves Nolofinwëans?

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Findekáno is on guard duty, his interpretation of which involves pacing rather a lot. Irissë appears to be cooking something over a fire.

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Loki changes-so-her-feet-are-on-the-ground (it is not quite "landing") by Findekáno.

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"Loki," he says, "it's good that you are safe. Long trip?"

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