I don't want Nolofinwë or his hangers-on, they'll be a distraction. 

(Misery, anger, frustration.)

Perhaps. We should see what the scouts find. 

Sure. 

I'd like you and four others, your choice, to be prepared to leave immediately by magic to the Outer Lands, he tells someone else.

Wow, that's a new one. Immediately as in - 

Within the hour. Still bring Huan here first. The interworld visitor offered to help but he needs to check how his magic interacts with Huan.

On our way. Why's he helping -

Not clear. As long as he's sincere about getting us across the ocean, though, it won't matter. 

How long are we going for?

A day. Figure out if the whole coastline is settled and whether they'll have us - or whether there's coast they're not using - and whether the fish are as normal, like Ulmo claims - and bring back a soil sample and a water sample.

Got it. 

He is directing someone to pack up his library, directing someone to leave some place with a shipment of needed supplies, directing a couple of people out of an argument in the street with a meaningless errand that should get them away from anyone they can fight with -

Maitimo?

- a perfect storm of misery and anger and terror which he does his best to push away from conscious awareness, it's probably readable, it's probably very obvious - 

- there's no winning move here, is there. (There never was.) If he doesn't answer that'll reach Nolofinwë, and he'll take it as a worse sign than the death threat, not wrongly. But there's no chance he can manage sixty seconds of conversation without thinking anything - and he can't explain that Leareth is with him and has mindreading magic, the implications of that are obviously terrifying and he can't offer assurances about even a tenth of them - his father already wants to leave them behind and that can'thappencan'thappencan'thappen it's a whole big continent out there Leareth's range can't be infinite - might be less than theirs, actually -

My father knows, stop talking to me, he says, because that'll make him go away without anything reaching Nolofinwë and that makes it the only move that might not destroy anything permanently, just for a very long time, because he promised that he wouldn't lie in private (this isn't in private, that is in fact the whole problem) (less emotions, have some control of yourself) -

- he asks a farmer a hundred miles from here to harvest their crops and make for Tirion, he asks a smith in the mines in Formenos how much work they can finish in the next week, he tells his father that if there are enough gates for it one should be to Formenos, there's no time for the people there to make it to Tirion - and they're loyal -

Yes, good idea - 

He can micromanage all the protestors, if he wants to. These ones can be asked to go copy a scroll from the library and these ones asked to pick up some sandwiches to bring to Aroronto who hasn't left his workshop in three days and these ones asked to patrol the river south of the city and these ones asked to outfit some horses and these ones asked to climb the Tower and relieve the watch posted there and he can split his thoughts into a fine mist over his city and not have any interesting feelings or impressions whatsoever.

The door opens without a knock to a blonde Elf with muddy fancy clothes and a bow slung across his back and an enormous wolfhound at his side. 

"Huan, Leareth, Leareth, Huan," he says. 

"Huan's the dog," the Elf says helpfully.

Leareth is not one of the Quendi, to be able to split his attention ten ways at will, and he's been scattered trying to catch as much as he can of the conversations, without leaving any blatantly obvious pauses in his conversation with Fëanáro. Which, fortunately, can be conducted almost entirely out loud, because Fëanáro is a genius and already speaks Valdemaran almost as well as he does. That, at least, makes it easier not to leak anything in Mindspeech overtones, so he doesn't have to control his thoughts or feelings much, just his face and voice. 

...He's having trouble keeping up. Fëanáro wants him to Gate in an hour? He's - for one thing he isn't sure he even can, even if using Huan to draw on for power works on the first try, he's still kind of drained (reflexively he draws on the ring that he's still holding again) and he hasn't slept and Fëanáro apparently doesn't care about any of his requests. And he hasn't had a chance to explain the information and testing he needs, for example, 'a map' or at least 'a bearing and distance'. Though if he just has to hit the continent itself, it's probably pretty big, he can be imprecise... 

(Something is wrong. Leareth can't spare enough attention to really track whatever in all hells just went on with Nelyafinwë, but the spike of misery was hard to miss. He would really prefer not to end up trying to help these people survive on a hostile new continent when there's some sort of unresolved social drama simmering – not to mention, what if it's downstream of Melkor, upstream of some predicted poor decision that will lead to disaster, he can't trust anything that seems off right now – but also now is the worst time to try to ask Nelyafinwë about it.) 

"My pleasure to meet you, Huan," Leareth says, as well as he can in Quendi. :Do you understand me?: Mindspeaking with a small god is potentially fraught; if it seems iffy he can have one of the others translate. At the same time, he leans into his mage-senses again; what kind of magical is Huan? 

Huan is EXTREMELY MAGICAL. He is made of magic instead of what ordinary dogs are made of, magic holding cells together and magic holding fur together and magic holding the air still around him so it doesn't shiver to announce his presence. 

"He doesn't really like talking," says the blonde Elf, patting him.

Leareth shrugs internally and holds out his hand for the dog-god to sniff. If Huan takes up that offer, Leareth will try petting him next, and test whether coming into incidental contact with that tight nexus of magic is the same thing as actually touching it with his mage-gift. 

The dog-god is happy to sniff him, and happy to be petted. 

It is possible to make contact with Huan without touching the magic with his mage-gift, if he's specifically trying to achieve that.

Leareth leaves it at that for a bit, making sure just being near it isn't harming him, and then glances at Fëanáro. :Does Huan understand it if you speak to him? I wish to ask his permission to draw on some of his magic, which I think ought not cause any harm given how it went with your ring, but I do not wish to startle him: 

He understands you fine.