"I could get behind a few centuries of staring at you reading, though, if we found a large enough library."

"That would be quite a feat."

"I'll have to arrange mass literacy campaigns and invent easier ways to copy books first. It'll be worth the effort, though."

"Anything for my pretty face, hmm?"

"Two hundred years of books, at four books a day... Works out to a bit under three hundred thousand books. They'd have to be new to you, of course, which implies a much higher background rate of book writing, but I could have librarians continually add to the collection as new books are written."

"It sounds perfectly doable to me, especially for the loveliest face in Creation."

"Oh, well if it's that simple."

"Simple enough." Quick kiss.

Hee. Kiss!

This is perfect.

(She's definitely going to pamper Luthien during their visit to Nargothrond, even if she doesn't take Finrod's advice about telling her about Beren's identity.)

She can certainly achieve a very happy Luthien.

She sets this point in her memory. 

And one day, as winter has set well in - Finrod has advised them not to set out until the spring, for the journey is long and the north will grow too frigid for mortal blood if they set out in late autumn, when they arrived. 

On a peaceful day, when snow blankets the forest outside Nargothrond, Beren lingers with Luthien in their suite and asks, "Do you have the talent of osanwe?"

"I do."

She brushes her hand down Luthien's arm, and, softly, "I'd like to show you my mind," she says, "Though I don't ask you show me yours."

"I love you, and want you to see all of me, see what I feel, and... There's some things I need to tell you about my original fate, and - they feel too heavy to say out loud. And... I want you to know I'm sincere."

She takes Beren's hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. "If that's what you want."

"It is, Ellin."

Soft kiss - and her mind opens to Luthien.

It's not everything. It can't be even if Beren wanted - even though she does want for Luthien to have all of her. Some things are locked where she can't speak of them, for that chain always holds her no matter how many others she slips out of, and she cannot even name it, not even here. Some knowledge is forbidden.

The shape of this is clear to Luthien; if Beren hides things, it's not by choice.

The overwhelming mess of what's spread before her, though -

Beren adores her in a way the Elvish languages fall short of. Her love burns at the center of her being, her driving force. Her mind reflects a thousand small details about Luthien, everything she treasures about her betrothed. Her intelligence. Her wonder at the world. Her voice. Her strength. Her wisdom. Her determination and loyalty. Her self-possession and self-respect. Her restlessness and dissatisfaction with the world given them. 

Beren wants so desperately to be worthy of Luthien's regard. To be hers. She'll do anything for Luthien - though Finrod accurately pointed out she should give the power of deciding what Beren does for Luthien to her betrothed. That thought's satisfying, immensely so - to be at Luthien's command is one very absolute way of belonging to her.

Her history before becoming Beren is shrouded, for now, but only until Luthien feels ready to reach for it. 

She basks in Beren's love for a time, reflecting back her own adoration and desire.

Then she pokes for Beren's history.

Less happy. There's a strong thread of fear wrapped around the thoughts, the memories -

Misery, feeling trapped, of course, but she's terrified Luthien will reject her. 

She refuses to lie to her Ellin longer than necessary. 

She was Melkor, Morgoth, the Enemy - every horrid curse ever flung at her. She loathed her role because it was her role. She fought it constantly, never could break out - she'd take actions against her own will, or else she'd be allowed to behave as she wanted and the timeline would go the same as foretold anyways.

She had some space to wiggle in. She genuinely befriended Finrod, loves him in a calm, platonic way. She's held back Sauron's worst cruelty, is fond of and exasperated by the Maia. 

She slipped out of her chains, inserting herself into the foretold role of Beren. One track for another, but a new track she chose, and one she can now break farther away from. One that can choose its own actions, constrained only by the tendency of the world around it to go a certain way. 

She had to leave something in her place, so the chains wouldn't follow her, drag her back. They have before. She made a simulacrum, a non-sapient thing in the shape of Morgoth that can rotely take every foretold action. It's the opposite of smart, of creative, and she thinks it'll be much easier to beat than a her forced to turn her mind to that role.

She's terrified Luthien will find the weight of that history to be too much to bear.

"Oh, Mygwainor."

Luthien pulls her into a tight hug and presses a kiss to her forehead. "You don't deserve the fate that was forced upon you."

She starts crying. 

(She isn't a good person. She can be cruel and petty and spiteful and callous, she cares about very few of the people she's hurt.)

(She wants to be perfect for Luthien, though.)

(They would've been enemies, meeting only once when Luthien came to steal a Silmaril from her. Morgoth would've loved her, and in that love would've failed to prevent the events leading to her defeat.)

(It was possibly a bit of a questionable move to take Beren's role. She's jealous even of that vision, though.)

((Deep within, as Fate, she knows this isn't strictly true. But it would've been true without the loops, with this arrangement of people, which is truth enough.))

"Shh, shh," pat pat.

"You have me now. And I am glad for it."

Tearful kiss.

"I love you."

"And I love you. No matter what name you take."

Kiss!

"Mygwainor," she says, laughing through her tears. "That's who I am."

The name settles on her like very few have before, carved into her soul, her identity. As Turin Turambar did, as Fate did, as every thought Ellie-as-Sauron had about her collectively have.

"My Mygwainor."

Wiggle! "Yours."