"Fingon called my sister a child to her face after she told him our age and you said it would be monstrous to set her up with someone when I told you likewise. I don't doubt that you're treating me as considerably more agentic than an elf my age, but that there was an extent to which that was the case seemed the obvious conclusion."

"We are regarded as of age at a hundred, we're mostly grown by fifty.  I wouldn't arrange a relationship between a friend of mine who is a thousand and an Elf just turned fifty, any more than I'd set such a friend up with your sister."

"Fair enough. I'm willing to admit when I'm wrong."

"Another rare and commendable thing. I'm happy to change my policies if you, knowing what we're nervous about, still find the way we're treating you objectionable."

"You're not going to enchant me into a delighted vassal, but I don't have any particular complaints about your behavior. The reason I'm so resistant to the mental side-effects of Sympathy magic is that I have some very deeply held impulses that are antithetical to that and to pretty vassaldom. You already have me as your de facto military asset, and if you had any other reasonable requests of my magic I don't see why I'd say no, but that's me choosing to help out. And like hell am I going to change my name, for you or anyone."

"Sure, all right. There doesn't seem to be a way to tell in advance who's resistant to the mental side-effects of sympathy magic, which I do expect to be related to how easily one can be enchanted into a delighted vassal, so it seems good to just have a principle against trying. But a lot of not-taking-advantage-of-being-an-ageless-magical-being probably looks like treating you as children."

"Makes sense. I'd probably be more bothered by it in general if I didn't expect it to go away on its own in a few hundred years."

"That it definitely will."

"And meanwhile, I have more important things to concern myself with. Namely, magic."

"Tomorrow. At this minute, bed."

"Yes, yes. Good night, Celegorm."

"Night."

Bed. And remembering that she might never see her parents again, and what right does she have to complain about that when she's not planning to bring Feanor back for his kids anytime soon, and that's probably not a healthy attitude, but it's not exactly something she'd feel comfortable discussing with her impromptu therapist, given the givens, and isn't it a good thing he's not actually her therapist, and holy shit, hormones, shut the hell up and go to sleep, that's massively unhelpful.

She sleeps.

You going to be out all night? he asks Maitimo.

Is Himring going to fall in my absence?

I haven't done anything stupid.

Enough of his admiration for Odette makes it through with that comment that Maitimo does the long-distance equivalent of a raised eyebrow. 

Odette is completely oblivious to this, being asleep and in any case not in the habit of violating anyone else's privacy, no matter how much she might like to learn Maedhros's birth name. Stupid linguistic blackmail.

In the morning he knocks on the door with breakfast. "Shall we go kill things?"

"I am so in favor of this," she says, accepting breakfast.

"Armor's going to have to wait a while, unless you want to fly over to the pass of Aglon and take over its defense from my brother, Curufin, who's the one who will be designing it for you."

"Being magically powerful does not make me competent at commanding anyone. I'll pass. I've gone without this long."

"Well, yes, I'd be doing the commanding and you'd be killing things, but my orders are to keep an eye on you so if you're staying here Curufin can manage it on his own."

"That's much more sensible. I'm still not in any particular hurry."

"Right. We'll head out where we were yesterday, then. Not much has changed. The Enemy's favorite tactic is to just throw orcs at us knowing that eventually even if only one in a hundred gets in a lucky shot he'll have battered us down to the point where we can't fight all day and night anymore."

"Lovely. Well, I do so enjoy jamming up the gears of his plans."

And they ride back into the mess. There are more corpses to maneuver around; the battlefield is not otherwise changed.

"Do your horses last a lot longer than I'm used to horses lasting, or do you just--make sure not to get too attached," it occurs to her to ask.