Okay, now he's a little offended.

"I am not interested in delivering blame, threats, or lectures," he says, with a depth of sincerity no doubt audible to any telepathic elf within range. "I am interested in solving your problems. To do that, I need information. Let there be no doubt that I will do everything in my power to rescue those people without further harm. I would be grateful for your assistance in that enterprise."

"Nolofinwë's people disagreed with our approach to the rescue, and demanded that we give them the plasma rays so they could try. I said I'd be happy to teach them, but preferably in a slightly less time-sensitive situation, and I was not going to hand them weapons they had no idea how to use, they'd accidentally kill someone. Older grievances were at this point expressed at length, though I wasn't really listenning because I am trying to get people out from under a rockslide. Then some of them made a grab for some  of the plasma arcs and we tackled most of them but one of them got one and one of my people said that if he tried to use it while he obviously had no idea what he was doing, he would shoot it out of his hand, at which point Nolofinwë's people drew their weapons on us, at which point I demonstrated that these have a bit of a longer range and told them to stay the fuck away."

"Thank you," he says, still broadcasting his sincerity and the meaning behind his words. "I apologize for being unclear about my intentions earlier. When I said I was going to ask for the return of my plasma arcs, I did not mean I was going to deny you their use in the rescue effort. I meant that I plan to deescalate the hostage situation by politely asking everyone not actively participating in the rescue effort to lay down their weapons and stop threatening one another, while everyone who is actively participating can have a plasma arc if they know how to use it. Your concerns about ignorant handling of plasma weapons are extremely valid."

He glances at Findekáno. "Have you anything to add to my understanding of the situation?"

"Tyelcormo's currently-stated reasons for insisting all the weapons remain in the hands of his people were not communicated at the time, and there might have been less trouble if they had been."

"Noted. For future reference, trying to use a plasma arc when you don't know how to safely use a plasma arc is dangerous to you and everyone else in range."

And he is still very much in the mood of strongly desiring to be understood, so everyone gets to see the thoughts behind this: in his army, training accidents are rare, because his instructors are competent and his students are appropriately humble. But every so often, someone does get cocky and disregard the safety lectures, and then if you're lucky you end up with a big ugly hole in the wall and if you're not you end up with a big ugly hole in one of the other trainees. This ranks high among his least favourite reasons to have to send a condolence letter.

"So they prevented an accident by threatening to murder us on purpose."

"I remain disinterested in assigning blame," says Miles. "You asked for my help. I am helping."

He's close enough now to start doing preliminary scans of the rockslide. He does that. Also gets his first good look at the details of the hostage situation.

There are six angry and bruised Nolofinweans sitting at the base of the rock where Tyelcormo's people are doing rescue work; several plasma arcs are pointed not exactly at them but near them. There are two dozen Nolofinweans armed with longbows a substantial distance away, pointing them at the people who are holding said plasma arcs. There are two people pinned under the rocks. Getting them out looks tricky.

Right.

"Tyelcormo, your assessment of the engineering problem?"

He already suspects that the solution is going to involve him personally holding up large amounts of rock while the remaining rescuees are cut free, but he'd like to find a safer solution if possible, since his power armour isn't actually designed for rescue work and its force tolerances would be somewhat strained by the enterprise. Everyone is still getting all of this. He hasn't quite consciously thought about it, but he wouldn't be surprised to learn how loudly he is broadcasting his thoughts.

"Cut here, this falls. Cut here, this falls. Try both at once, we might be able to drag them out first, but that's a stupid and dangerous plan. Call a Vala, my old standby, is unavailable to us as an avenue of problem-solving."

"I can hold up the precarious parts," he says, internally admitting defeat on the question of whether he'll have to. "Not especially comfortably, but it won't kill me. Now. I request that everyone put down their weapons except for those who are about to use my plasma arcs to help me cut rocks."

He is acutely aware that he has no authority to command these people; however, Findekáno asked for his help and this is the help he has available, and the weapons Tyelcormo's people are holding belong to him. It is blindingly obvious that this is the sort of situation where both sides feel compelled to threaten the other in order to maintain control and protect themselves. The solution to that is for both sides to stop threatening each other. It will work. He has faith in the ability of everyone present to put the rescue work above their grievances, and in Tyelcormo and Findekáno as reasonable people in difficult situations neither of whom is going to turn this into his own personal Solstice Massacre because they are both better than that.

Tyelcormo is listening to this with amusement. "If they put down their weapons, we'll do the same."

He glances back at Findekáno on his way to the precarious rocks, stepping slowly so as not to shake anything up with the weight of his power armour, most of his thoughts now occupied with calculations about where to put himself to maximize the chance of a safe rescue. "Your show, then," he says.

"Likewise," Findekáno says.

Well, now he's mildly disappointed in everyone present, with the exception of the ones who are currently under a rockslide and not contributing to this farce. But if they insist on all standing around glaring at each other like unusually well-armed five-year-olds, he will solve that problem after he gets these people out. He closes his faceplate and steps up to his chosen position.

"Tyelcormo. I'm going to hold it up from here. Someone has to cut the rock, and then someone has to haul them both out. I am being very careful in my choice of where to hold, and you need to be very careful in your choice of where to cut, because I can take the amount of pressure I'm aiming for but not a whole lot more than that. If you cause any more to fall than the two parts you were worried about, I will be in trouble. If everything goes well, then please tell me as soon as everyone's clear and I can drop it and step away, because I won't be able to look over and check without risking something shifting. Ready?"

"Yes."

"Good."

He holds up the rock. The feeling that accompanies solving a problem with the help of someone he can rely on is an intense relief and rightness.

"Clear," Celegorm says a second later.

He pulls back and gets out of the way as a large quantity of rock settles into the place where he was just standing.

"Great," Celegorm says, and nods to his people, who set down the plasma arcs. 

Findekáno's people lower their bows.

"Thank you," says Miles, relieved and vindicated and genuinely proud of everyone. It isn't fair to think of them as a bunch of children and be annoyed when they won't put away their toys at word one; he knows how hard this must be and he shouldn't let his frustration get the better of him.

As his urgency fades, there's more room in his mind to think about details such as the fact that he is surrounded by telepathic elves. He experiences a flash of embarrassment and hopes he hasn't offended anyone; in hindsight, with the mood he was just in, there's no way he wasn't yelling his thoughts in every direction.

Some people do in fact look fairly amused. "Everyone's alive," Tyelcormo says, "I think you have a fair bit of latitude to think uncharitable things." He nods curtly at Findekáno. "We bear you no particular ill will, or we wouldn't be here. Take your injured and go home."

Miles, no longer broadcasting his every thought, checks the joints on his power armour and looks at Findekáno. "Anything else you need from me this morning? If not, I'm likely to head to the other side of the lake for the day."

"You seem to have an astonishing capacity to make my cousins behave reasonably, and my encouragement to exercise it by spending all your time with them."

He laughs. "Thanks."

To the Feanorian encampment, then.