the House of Fëanor meets Miles Vorkosigan. It's educational.
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"And yet, we travel the stars and continue to slowly rot."

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"Not for much longer, probably. They're thieves and murderers but they're not useless in the forge."

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"I'll be fascinated to see what they come up with."

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"Jewelry, probably. It's always jewelry. Fëanor wore the Silmarils on his forehead."

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Miles laughs. "They're melting down jewelry for electrical wiring, I'm told. Which reminds me again: railguns!"

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"Yes! Let's do that."

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So Miles treks back to shore and returns to the workshop, where Ténië has not yet stopped refining generator designs, and he explains again about railguns.

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And they get started on building one.

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"This is less exciting than generating electricity but I will help with it anyway if it means fewer people get killed by orcs," says Ténië.

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"We can skip projectiles across the lake, if we're not aiming at the cousins," Irissë says.

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"Still less exciting than generating electricity."

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"We could figure out how to get them to plop gently on the cousins' doorstep."

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They both giggle.

Miles finds time while they're working on the railgun to catch Ténië up on the latest electricity-related developments from across the lake, and records notes on their current projects with the aid of his shiny new device-supported alphabet.

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After a while both Elves straighten. "They're coming home."

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Miles looks up from tinkering with a tiny prototype. "Yeah?"

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"Thirty dead," Aredhel says tensely after a minute, and starts listing names that Miles doesn't recognize. "They aren't displeased with the fight, but they didn't get close to the enemy - oh. Rockslide. When they were making progress the mountains folded in on them."

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"Not a capability I saw demonstrated," murmurs Miles. "Not directly, anyway. He shook my shuttle around a lot but didn't collapse any mountains on it."

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"Could he have? I imagine you were moving rather fast. The powers of the Valar mostly work slowly."

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"I was moving fast, yes. Maybe that's why."

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She shakes her head. "Anyway, the Enemy's now buried himself under mountains of rock, which inconveniences him quite a lot; he must have been afraid of us. They're pulling everyone out, lest some of the other mountains collapse also."

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"Makes sense."

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"I should send word to the other host."

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"I do not like war," mutters Ténië. "I like mathematics and electrical generators."

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"I'm not going to send word to the other host."

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"Why not?"

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