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So she plops them on a mountainside. South continent, middle of nowhere.

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And he sings for several hours. Not magical songs, just loud and stirring and pretty ones.

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They're nice. She records them for listening to while she is stuck in accelerated perception; variety is good.

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"Ready to go back," he says, "and you shouldn't even bother, Cáno's a thousand times better."

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"I have listened to all the recordings I have of his enough to contemplate improvising harmony, which is a high bar to clear considering my lack of musicianship." She pops him back.

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So ask him for more, he says, putting he necklace on, he's got thousands of hours of songs. And good luck.

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Thanks.

Back, she tells Lúthien. How are you doing?
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Good! You saw we got him out, Mother's mostly back with it, everyone's safe. All I could want. You?

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Getting lots of work done. The other teleporter took care of a couple more rocks, I'm hoping the Enemy gets the hint that it's not working.

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And does something else?

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And maybe takes a few years to think of a something else.

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How many years do you need?

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- original estimate in sidereal time fifty to two hundred, narrowed since then to fifty to seventy-five, first twenty or so of that knocked down already, factor of three in the hole, partway there - If I assume I'm not interrupted by many things that require my personal attention one way or another, could be ten years, could be more than that.

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Okay. We'll hang on.

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To mention or not to mention that if they provoke a war by being contemptible idiots this will certainly constitute something that demands Loki's personal attention. Good.

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The response would in any event have been the ever-unhelpful 'we're not Kinslayers'.

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No doubt. I'll be back in a few weeks, unless there's anything I should stick around for.

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Invitations are again extended to stay over any time.

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Rain check on the princess sleepover. Maybe once they can invite Thor.

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Nothing drags her out of acceleration. Three missiles at a time? No problem. Ten? Just as easy. Missiles shot continuously for a day? No problem. The two target cities have effective communication. The Dwarves are grumpily digging themselves back underground where Dwarves belong and where that sort of thing cannot happen.

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Poor Dwarves.

She pushes; she manages to stay under for three months real time. She thinks she has a handle on the scope of the problem and the rest should just be filling in.

(She makes sure to thank Celebrimbor when she's between months-in-the-hole.)

She visits Maedhros and takes him out wherever he'd like to be when she's having a break.
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Maedhros is in a good mood; he thinks his project is proceeding, at inscrutable Elf pace. This time he'd like to go flying.

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Flying it is! Here is some sky.

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And two swifts, and some aerial acrobatics.

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Wheeeee!

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