They fly on.

He goes back to sad singing.

"—what's that?"

"...a song? For all the dead people?"

"...it's beautiful."

"Thanks. It helps."

Once Fëanáro resumes, he listens for a bit, then calls it in on a radio, explaining his findings. And the song.

He keeps singing the song.

His companion does not interrupt it with more conversation. The song makes him somewhat uncomfortable.

The trip takes a while.

That is okay. He is an Elf, even if he's not telling these people because they are a sort-of evil dictatorship. He has Elf-shaped ideas of a while.

About four hours later they reach a large coastal city, a tall statue of a man with outstretched arms standing on a hill overlooking the city.

Flap flap. He keeps singing.

They reach an official-looking building, something like what the PRT building he was in with Legend would have looked like some three to five years ago. The cape starts dealing with the bureaucracy to let himself and Fëanáro through, but the winged boy draws stares.

That's fine. He keeps on singing.

The personnel looks—very militaristic. Lots of guns, even more than at the PRT, and everyone very prim and proper. AK brings them to a waiting room, and says, "We should wait here."

"Okay. For what?"

"Vice-Director Silva."

He folds his wings and waits. "Can I make food?"

"...sure."

Here is a very elaborate tasty breakfast spread. He is hungry; he's been flying.

Well AK isn't jealous of this at all, no, sir.

"There's enough for two."

"I. Probably shouldn't eat anything you make."

"I'm eating it, would I poison myself?"

"You could make the poison in it as I take it," he suggests.