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Even as Hyarmenwë launched into the first part of his tirade, Maika had to gape inwardly. What were you thinking! a know-it-all LGM in her mind scolded her, giving her a particularly sharp slap on the mental forehead. In her rashness she had forgotten about Roggie. He wanted his subjects kept in Mordor, and deporting the banished Gondorians was not a means to that end. What would he think of Maika and her loyalty if he ever got wind of what she suggested, considering there are other Mordorian ambassadors present to let him know?
No, she thought decisively, this would hurt him, but it must be done. Although not in this way.
"I've always liked that cat," she finally said, as Skittles, Hissyfit, and later Igör exited the room. Maika had taken no notice of Smilog, who entered just previously. His presence did not really matter, in her opinion; she could probably take on all four Gondorian ambassadors at once if the need arose.
"Anyways," she continued, "I thought that weird suggestion of mine would get some of you talking. I wondered if I had to propose an all-out war between our lands to break your silence..."
She saw Angawen and Hyarmenwë cringe at those words.
"What I was really thinking is, perhaps we could have some Mordorian goods reformed, repackaged, and exported to Gondor - anakronism-free. For example," she whipped out her cellphone and showed it to the others, who looked worried yet altogether curious at the sight of it, "this thing. We use it for communication. We could melt it and produce something else from it, like, say, a mini-palantír! With a lower range, of course," she added hastily as the Gondorians frowned. Maika placed her cellphone down on the table.
"We could probably do it with cars, terror profs, even mathematics; turn them into something you'll find more agreeable and equally useful. Of course the production would be done here, and the exiled Gondorians - of your choice, if you desire - could be hired to oversee it. Then the goods could be delivered to an agreed-upon place in the Mordor-Gondor border, to be picked up and distributed by your people. You can even have them checked by a quality control team if you're still worried."
Maika looked around; the Gondorians' faces revealed nothing.
"Or something," she ended lamely.
She stared at her hands, clasped together on her lap, vividly white against her black slacks. After a few moments of silence she risked a glance at Hyarmenwë. He was frowning. But then, to Maika's surprise, he suddenly turned to her. We'll talk about it some other time, his eyes seemed to say, but for all she knew he could have been saying You look like Daffy Duck.
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