Kib wakes up in a cold sweat, panting.

"C-come in?" he says, rubbing his eyes.

It's Maitimo. "Are you okay? You were yelling."

"I was? Sorry. I - nightmare."

"I'm sorry. Tea? Song?"

"What would a song do?"

"There are monster-vanquishing ones that can be presumed to do nothing at all since most nightmares aren't caused by monsters .There are soothing ones but you said you wouldn't like Lórien."

"I think I'm okay." He shakes his head. "- I've never dreamed Aly being older than maybe twenty-four."

He raises an eyebrow. "That's a little scary."

"Yeah, I think the anachronic story my brain's telling me has her die young and I think I know what of now and it sucks."

"Probably not prophetic, though."

"Yeah, she gives her creching date as forty-two years ago."

He nods. "Should I let you get back to sleep?"

"I think I'm up now. If you want to observe the foreign human ritual of shaving or something no need to leave on my account." Out of bed he gets.

He wants to observe the foreign human ritual of shaving but he wants to not hang around in Kib's bedroom, eighteen, so he makes his excuses and leaves.

And Kib performs the foreign human ritual of shaving, and changes and gets up and goes to eat something and work on the scribe.

That afternoon Eonwë, herald of the Valar, comes to Tirion to speak with him.

Um. Okay. Hello, Eonwë, herald of the Valar, Kib is Kib, human of another world.

Eonwë looks like an Elf except blurred around the edges and there's static in the air and his osanwë echoes in one's head. Hello, Kib. Welcome to Valinor. We have heard from others the story of your arrival, but would hear it from you.

Kib does not like the static in the air or the echoes but it's probably rude to comment or something. I was walking down the street at home and a monster I have absolutely no explanation for, which looked like a giant snake with a full length mirror for a face, slithered around chasing people. I tried to run away, but I tripped, and it - put its mirror on me - and I landed in the street in Valinor.

Would you like us to send you home?

That depends a lot on what kind of longer-term transit access there is. If all you can do is send me home or not do that, I'd just as soon stay here, you don't have any other servantmakers and there's better prospects for my personal immortality; if I can be of use organizing some social program for handling, say, babies that are rescued and brought up to age four or five here and then sent back, or colonization efforts on a third world to deal with excess population on mine, I can do that.

At this point all we are confident we can do without large scale disruptions of a type that could risk the habitability of all involved worlds is occasional transportation of known and well-specified people back and forth. We are trying to think of a stable way to aid children, other than drawing them all into this universe. We have not found one yet. A third world would likewise need to be known to someone or very well specified.