There's an amphitheater, a place where a hundred of the stone walkways twine around to create space for a hundred thousand people to sit in close proximity, and someone is giving a lecture or a demonstration at the base of it, the seats closest to him filled with eager, tiny, bearded Dwarf-children.
And they spiral down, and down, and down, past waterfalls and egg-sized gemstones left half in the rock and halls of crystal. Everything grows gradually more ornate and more perfectly maintained and the clang of hammers fades behind them. "People say," her guide says, "that we only have a council instead of a single King because there were nine winners of the competition to design the throne so we couldn't just select one person to sit it." And they push open the doors to reveal, indeed, nine thrones so elaborate it would be hard to choose between them, and nine squat bearded people sitting them.
I was actually thinking, if they like Findekáno and are paying that much attention and would have somehow rendered him able to succeed - in what I'm assuming would be a lone approximately suicide mission, because how could he justify bringing any of his people along - why didn't they just fetch Maitimo, perhaps before he was condemned to believe that everything is a hallucination for way too damn long.
I'm not sure I have it written down. But if the Valar were paying attention they wouldn't have to wait for Findekáno to go in person to know it would be a nice thing to do for him.
Tyelcormo told me that I should have told them, that I offered to pay you to heal him. I'm not sure I should have. I got him to agree not to tell Father. He hates being an instrument to other peoples' ends.
You've managed to tread just fine so far. Just - if you're going to resent the Valar for treating us like personally unimportant instruments of their pretty stories, keep in mind that everyone in the world sees him that way, and tolerates him or not basically depending on whether they think the pretty outputs are more common than the scary malfunctions, his own life obviously a rounding error in the calculations between those things. And to none of them is he a person. And that this makes perfect sense as an approach when the stakes are this high and also is horribly unpleasant to be on the receiving end of.
Most of my personal impression of him still revolves around him constructing silly Asgardian sentences.
And she goes to the guest room with the beautiful tapestry and songs her brain up up up and works.
She thinks she'll just crash here until it's time to go meet Maitimo. She will acquire songs if Macalaurë offers them under whatever licensure and attach songs to things as requested per their own appropriate agreements.
Fëanor says that retroactive perfect memory is theoretically impossible but the theory doesn't account for multiple universes existing in the first place and he could probably do it in a decade if she thinks it should be the priority.
It takes a special sort of mind to declare a thing theoretically impossible, acknowledge that it's actually even worse than that, and then estimate ten years. "That's faster than me learning to teleport even given my revised estimate with the perception speeder thing," she says, "and confers most of the benefits but at a remove - you'd still have to develop anything I told you how to make in a separate step and not currently having that sharp a memory I can't guess how long that will reasonably take but it will certainly involve things like mining for things of otherwise limited use and extremely high-precision very large facilities. I think it would be reasonable to prioritize it or not; you know more than I do about the opportunity cost."
And on the morning of the day she's supposed to meet Maitimo, she bundles up all her song pieces and she and nineteen decoy blobs of sky-blue head his way.