Nelyafinwë bows. He sighs very quietly in the back of his head. "Father, Leareth. Leareth, Curufinwë Fëanáro, High Prince of the Noldor, the King's heir."

Perhaps he shouldn't explain it, since it'll make the next attempt more intelligent, but the attempts could stand to get a good deal more intelligent before he'd believe one and anyway he doesn't like conversations where he's keeping track of what inferences are downstream of ones he's trying not to share. And Maitimo believes him, and Maitimo's only stupid about politics.

Do you know how many kinds of animals there are in Valinor, Leareth?

Leareth bows as well, not trying to match it exactly since he's not sure how finely-detailed their customs around greetings are. He is confused and he doesn't like it. He's going to be paying very detailed attention to Fëanáro's thoughts for the next bit; Fëanáro, unfortunately, thinks faster than he does. Not many can claim that honour. 

:No: he sends, levelly. :At least ten: He saw that many on the journey. :Likely thousands, if things here work the way I am accustomed to: 

Hundreds of thousands. And all of them are far more different from us than you are, which is interesting. The other races of peoples are more similar to us, because Aulë designed his dwarves from his memory of the intent of creation, and Melkor his orcs from the forcible breeding of Quendi, and Yavanna's just not very imaginative. But still they're more different from us than you are.

Accepting the premise that there are other universes, I would expect that the beings of those universes would be more different from us than the other beings of our own universe, more different even than the animals; the animals are constrained by sharing an ecology and in many cases an ancestry, needing to digest the same things and source light the same way and compete against the same predators, and the beings from another universe wouldn't be. Or, maybe, I would expect them to be identical, if the god who designed us designed you too, or if our design is more overdetermined than it looks from inside it.

I would not expect beings that are almost like Quendi, but with worse vision, and hair that grows on their cheekbones.

His private thoughts: that perhaps he shouldn't have said that bit about the hair, it's got to be a sensitive subject.

:...You know, that is a fascinating and confusing question: Leareth admits. :To which I have given very little consideration, because there were other pressing matters. However, it is in fact very odd, and I would like to understand it myself, since perhaps it holds the answer to some critical question of metaphysics: He looks Fëanáro in the eye. :It seems, however, that you think you have a different explanation?: 

I think someone sent you for these. He gestures at the gems. Or me, but probably these; Mandos could only hold me up for so long. 

He is worried Mandos would in fact think it a bright idea to just keep him dead until everyone calmed down, but he trusts his sons to ensure this wouldn't work. (His thoughts glance on the sons, who are apparently very numerous; Nelyafinwë is one of the ones he trusts least). 

:Someone being who?: Leareth wonders what the other sons are like. Probably fascinating, if that part runs in the family. :And, perhaps I can help you test this theory. Is there anything you might observe, or fail to observe, about me, which would convince you otherwise?: 

My brother, Melkor, conceivably Nelyafinwë but he won't say that, Indis. The second wife.

I was hoping you might have an explanation. In the absence of one, you probably have a language, or do they mysteriously speak Quenya in your world.

Leareth reaches out to Nelyafinwë with carefully-shielded Mindspeech. :How likely is it to convince everybody there has been an assassination attempt, or incite a riot, or otherwise cause havoc, if I cast the barrier again so we can speak without being heard?:

Leave me out of it and I'll explain. Fewer people address him expecting a response than me anyway.

Shield goes up. 

...Leareth sways slightly before catching his balance. That's nearly the end of his reserves; there's what looks like a powerful magic source, right there, but it's not obvious at a glance how to draw on it or whether he can, it's different from his own magic, and also Fëanáro might be able to tell if he tries and it could easily be interpreted as a hostile move. 

He waits to see Fëanáro's response – readying himself, to the extent he can, for a hostile one. 

Huh, how could that be done using things that are known to exist - a Vala could do it in their domain, presumably, which implies a Maia correctly specialized could too, but Leareth is neither - the Silmarils couldn't move someone away from another person but they could slow the world around them, if he spent a Year figuring out how - Nelyafinwë looks normal but illusions are easy -

- there's lots that's not known to exist, of course, but no one else would've thought of it first -

Under most plausible assumptions about what Leareth is, stabbing him would not help. He might try it anyway, of course, but not yet.

He reaches for the Silmarils, pulls them into a pouch that he designed specifically to conceal their light, tucks it into a pocket against his breast. 

What's this demonstrating?

Leareth smiles slightly. Fëanáro is sharp. And has something closer to the right level of paranoia; Leareth can't help but admire that, however inconvenient it is for him right this second. 

:It is not mainly intended as a demonstration: he sends, :merely as a way for us to speak privately. This is magic from my world and hopefully even your gods will not be able to evade it: Yet, at least, and he isn't sure of it but you can't be fully certain of most things and he has to act anyway. :In any case. Within five minutes of hearing about both Melkor and your current political situation, I suspected his involvement. It has the smell of a god's scheme. If I am correct, then matters are likely to deteriorate drastically, and my instincts say you are on the brink of it already. Your world is better than I could have imagined, and I do not wish to see an evil god bring death and destruction to it: 

His smile broadens. :Also, I know many languages – eleven to a basic conversational level, and more if I find a way to transport books in from my world. It would be my pleasure to teach you, if you are curious, but I am not sure it is the most pressing matter: 

I think it is. Languages are hard to fake; I don't think Melkor could do eleven, not from civilizations that interact with each other and are influenced by one another.

:...That is a good point. If you are someone who studies languages in depth, you might ascertain a great deal more from this than most people: Leareth glances over at Nelyafinwë, trying to catch his eye, and mouths the word he thinks means 'down' in Quenya, hoping this will convey that he's planning to lower the barrier. Teaching Fëanáro eleven languages might be strategically useful but it's not sensitive. 

:I am going to lower my shield: he informs Fëanáro. :I am not sure how much paranoia is warranted here, however, I suggest we not discuss Melkor while your gods might in theory be able to listen: 

Shield comes down. :Did anything happen?: Leareth asks Nelyafinwë as soon as he's able to reach him with Mindspeech. 

A lot of things are happening, because of his father's decision to threaten to murder his brother earlier today, but no things happened as a direct result of the shield. You're good.

:Apparently I am going to be teaching your father eleven languages from my world, as he thinks this is hard to fake and it may convince him that Melkor - and presumably the Quendi candidates - could not have sent me. It would be well if you could hold off anything escalating in the meantime: Leareth's lips twitch. :At the very least this ought to keep your father occupied for a good while: 

What is Fëanáro thinking now – is he talking to anyone now that the barrier is down? 

Subjectively a minute twenty-five seconds, he says to Nelyafinwë, who nods. I want to learn the languages. 

I'd like to have something to tell the public -

To tell the traitors, you mean. 

To tell the public in such a fashion that the traitors will hear it from someone they believe and think they've outsmarted us. 

Yes, all right, come up with something. 

"Well?" he says to Leareth. "Eleven languages. Are there eleven peoples in your world?"

:Considerably more than eleven, though it depends how one counts – hmm, I had been lumping modern Tayledras and Shin'a'in together with ancient Kaled'a'in, since they substantially share vocabulary and grammar, but the latter is archaic and was spoken about two thousand years ago in my world – I believe one of our years is a tenth as long as yours, so two hundred Years. For reference, among humans – the race that I am – that period would encompass perhaps eighty generations. In any case, the others are...:

He mentions three related but distinct tribal languages of the north that he found worth learning, as well Valdemaran, Karsite, Rethwellani, Hardornen, the trade-tongue of the region, and both the official state language for government matters and the colloquial day-to-day language of the Eastern Empire. Rethwellani and Hardornen are related; they both share an ancient common root with the Eastern Empire's tongues, to which Valdemaran is more closely related even though it's smack in between the two other countries. The northern languages form their own family, they're not mutually intelligible but they share a lot of grammar conventions. He's not sure where Karsite came from; probably it's related to a language family further south. The Kaled'a'in-descended language family is a third cluster, and trade-creoles in general are their own mess, this one is no exception, it's got a pared-down grammar and is smushed full of random loanwords from all over the place.  

He gradually goes from suspicious to intrigued to wildly uncomplicatedly curious and would like some sample sentences from all of those, and then some more from Rethwellani and Hardornen, and then an explanation (preferably referencing all this history) of every grammatical irregularity. He repeats back everything said to him, perfectly, and then tries steadily unlikelier variants: "I had been eating?"  "I have been eating, but you have not been eating?" "I had been eating when you ate me?" 

And Leareth is mostly just becoming more impressed, and gradually relaxing a little despite himself; he had completely not been expecting this to be fun. Fëanáro in this mood reminds him of Urtho, if you substitute 'languages' for 'gryphons', and honestly the former is much more appealing to him. The unlikely sentences get a chuckle from him. He can give sample sentences easily; he can't explain every grammatical irregularity to Fëanáro's satisfaction, at least not from memory without referencing any of the notes he doesn't have.

Leareth is starting to notice that it's been a long time since he ate, though. Or slept. He can manage for a good bit longer without the latter if he can obtain the former, and better still if he could refill his magic. He doesn't feel comfortable enough with Fëanáro yet to ask about the Silmarils. 

:Nelyafinwë?: he tries instead. :I wished to check what is happening on your side. Also to find out if meals happen on a schedule here: