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 know it's not fair," Loki says. "If I could make them like you, and make it so they could choose what to do, I would do it. That's what I tried last time there were orcs here, I checked to see if they could turn into werewolves and get free will that way. Without it their innocence is not theirs to keep, they can be turned in the Enemy's hand at any moment. It is not fair. I would never have made a species that way, I would never abuse this trait that way if I were bringing up a child of a species with this problem, but they are here now, not when I could have saved them. There's a colony of orcs, southwest of here, who I caught before the Enemy changed how he did things, and I got them out from under their oath. These ones, I can't do that."
"It's just," the same person says even more hesitantly, "we haven't seen the Enemy. Maybe he's so bad that killing lots of innocent people to stop him is right. But if he is - what if killing all of us somehow stops him?"
"I've seen Thauron. So have the earlier werewolves, although he was putting on a show for them. I've seen his victims, not just the orcs but Elves he's taken. I'll tell you horror stories, so will the Elves, if that will help.
"You have free will. You can never be made as indelibly dangerous as these orcs are. You would have to make choices to get there, choices they don't have. The reason I'm here is so that you can have your first while existing as a species without Thauron whispering in your ears; but even if I weren't here and all you knew was what he told you, there would always be the possibility that you could change your minds later. I think the orcs would if I knew a way to let them. I wish I knew a way to let them. I don't."
"If they left out the right parts, yes. What parts do you imagine I could fold in to a description of mutilated prisoners dangling from a cliff face by one arm, only two of many clinging to life, to make that sound like the Enemy had no choice? I remember it quite clearly, I can make an illusion if words don't cut it. I cannot keep the orcs prisoner, I cannot let them go, but I am not torturing them. Orcs are born in constant pain and I fixed it."
"I imagine the orcs would rather their babies not go to the Elves-and-orcs afterlife with them, but I can ask, if that would make you feel better."
"Would you prefer to bring your children to Mandos with you or leave them here?"
"That's what I thought."
She jumps down again, replaces the soundproofing.
"If any of you come up with anything to get around the oath problem, please, tell me. I needed help to think of my last solution, too. I don't know everything. But the problem is real and right now I have nothing. One day - one day I am going to invent a resurrection spell, figure out something to release them, but I can't do it today. They'll keep. Not the way they ought to, but that wasn't something I took from them."
"Do you really want to watch?" she asks. "I can cope. I wouldn't ask this of you."
She climbs up.
She apologizes to the orcs. She tells them what she told the last batch about her expectations of Mandos for them. She asks if any of them would like to name their babies.
She writes down the names and figures out how to connect names to the correct babies and apologizes again and ices them all.
That's probably just normal nightmares, then. The Elves would've mentioned if they had a song for that, right?