Lots of reasons. Some of them serve the King here and some of them need to see him and some come to look at the art and some are on city planning commissions that meet here and some are my relatives, the King's new family.

His new family?

My grandmother is dead and the King remarried. He has four more children by her, two daughters and two sons. My father does not like the King's new wife and does not speak to them but you should not bring that up, it makes the King unhappy. 

Ah, political nonsense. More constant, apparently, than both death and taxes.

Got it.

They wait for an audience with the King in a big sparkling room with astonishing woodcarvings and hangings like windchimes that seem to work even though they're indoors. The Elves who wander in and out are all singing the same song, a deep and complex and joyful one. Maitimo stands perfectly still, stiller even than the adults awaiting audiences, looking angelic, listening carefully. 

It's honestly really annoying how she can talk to Maitimo without alerting the other humans, but can't talk to the other humans without alerting all of the elves. Such as, for example, to confer with the woman who speaks twelve languages about what they are going to say if it turns out that they are expected to say things to the king, because somehow she kind of expected that they would go to the palace and just sort of look around and get a feel for why people went to the palace, even though in hindsight she can see that wandering around with a local prince with the most functional existing members of the tiny baby polity that you sort of founded overnight on the border of an existing polity is absolutely the sort of situation in which you probably get told to speak to the existing polity's king, even if you were not previously sure that you had anything to say to him.

She checks on the other humans. They look like they're about to sink into the floor. So no letting people ask questions of them, if she panics she has to pass to the woman who speaks twelve languages until she composes herself. Not that she'll be able to tell, since the king probably doesn't speak English and will therefore be using osanwe, but - whatever.

OK. Think Karen. You have seen historical dramas before. What would a vaguely competent person - don't picture yourself, picture, like, Marco Polo or someone - say to the king of the power that you founded your own settlement in the shadow of. Probably he'd introduce himself, give a short summary of events if asked, thank the king for his people's hospitality, and show interest in various things about Tirion. Probably discuss her people's priorities only if asked, since she does not, actually, need any immediate help from the king, and doesn't want to imply that she does. Solid. She can do all of that. It would be less pathetic if everyone weren't going to be reading her entire mind the whole time, but she can't do anything about that, can she.

She waits.

They are invited in to a big bright dazzling hall the length of a football field. The Elves here, too, are singing. The King and the Queen sit at one end of it. She has bright blonde hair. He looks like Fëanor but -- not older, exactly -- steadier, and a bit sadder.

Welcome to Tirion, he says. We are glad to have new neighbors and grateful forever for the role you played in returning our grandson to us safely.

The other humans still mostly look like they're about to sink into the floor, or maybe like they're vaguely expecting to be attacked. Even polyglot lady pauses to look around in something approaching wonder. Zana bounces happily.

Karen bows. (Not deeply - her grandparents probably know how to do a proper bow, but she doesn't.) We thank you for your hospitality. The people of Tirion have been very kind to us.

When we first arrived in this land, we were full of fear and doubt and confusion. But we are happy here, now. I hope that you will find yourselves happy here as well.

Thank you. It'll take time, but we're hopeful. I'm sure it'll go much more easily for us thanks to your assistance.

We are delighted to offer whatever assistance we can.

Annnnd now she's out of words. And very aware of how many people there are in the room and the fact that none of her thoughts are private and that she is, what, two Valinor years old and playing at diplomacy.

She looks sort of helplessly at Maitimo.

With your permission, I'd like to extend to my friends our welcome to come and go whenever they wish, and our encouragement to consider Tirion a second home.

Of course, says Finwë at once. May you want for nothing we have found or created or conceived of.

And I want to show them the rest of the city. Their city wasn't safe, before, see - and I love it the more for having seen another one - and we have just enough time to climb the belltower before the Mingling -

Finwë beams at him. May the Valar and the One bless all your steps, he says. For the belltower you'd want to go that way.

Oh good. There are much worse fates than being saved by tiny children. She can just follow Maitimo that way, then.

Maitimo is so pleased with himself. 

The belltower is, of course, very pretty.

She is totally capable of admiring this belltower.