Angband shudders.

(It was never meant to hold up under its own weight. Why should it? It's created from the will of a Vala.)

A low, thrumming, threatening counter-song rises.

(The simulacrum was never meant to run on her own. Her head hurts - )

The dense clouds over the ashen plain crack with lightning.

(Thangorodrim always falls, in the end, at the death of a great ally.) (The timeline's warping a bit. Twisting. But it's not broken yet, and it can strain very far before it shatters.)

(Angband cannot. It's a fragile thing, ultimately.)

The mountains crumble before her rage, and the simulacrum fades - 

The world is silent and still as the rubble settles. Like it's just released a long-held breath.

(There's an odd light, in the image of Melkor before she dissipates. A touch in Luthien's mind - not her wife, but a strange reflection - )

( - The Halls of Mandos and the paths beyond, the doom of all those in a mortal form - )

Luthien turns west, and does not stop until she reaches the halls of Mandos.

Aman is not, really, supposed to be reachable right now.

(The timeline's misplaced this thread a bit, though, and it's being woven back in through strange paths.)

The Halls are - quiet. Dark. Heavy. Tall stone columns, their tops vanishing into the gloom, their bases wound about with mist. No sound, not even her own pulse, her own breath.

Many have died, today, and their souls create a soft flow, almost a rhythm, a current through the Halls -

Luthien's wife stands near the end of the current of mortal man, looking out past where the mist fades and no light penetrates.

"Love?"

(Luthien's voice sounds strange. Flat. Like this place lacks echoes entirely.)

Mygwainor turns and gives her wife a small smile. "I'm here," she says.

Hug?

Hug.

"I'm sorry this all hurt you," she says, softly, into Luthien's hair.

"I'm not the one who- died."

Squeeze!

"I was mostly annoyed, darling," she says. "I'm alright."

"Well. Good."

"I sort of broke Angband. Your simulacrum might have died."

She snorts. "It's a pity this timeline's probably going to unravel, then." She kisses her wife.

Kiss.

"So. What are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you," she says.

"Here I am."

She leans her forehead against her wife's.

"So you are."

"I think in the normal course of things you're supposed to sing very sadly at Mandos, now, until he takes pity on us and returns us to life - though you better have flown here, I'll be very upset if you died of grief."

Soft laugh.

"I was far too angry to die of grief, wife."

"Good." Little nuzzle.

"So should I go sing? Attempt to salvage things?"

...She shakes her head.

"I - "

"Nothing after this point in time is good, and..."

She glances over her shoulder, back out at the darkness.

"...I know this sounds insane, but - I feel like I remembered something I forgot long ago, looking out there."

"Mygwainor..."

"I'll never go somewhere you can't follow," she says, softly, cupping her wife's face.

"But - I walked out of these Halls as Turin, and I was brought back for the Final Battle - and I remember nothing in between."

"This timeline is shot, anyways..."

She's quiet for a moment, then, voice almost inaudible - "And my only remaining idea didn't. Actually work."

Luthien takes her wife's hand. "If you're going, I'm going."

"Thank you."

She squeezes Luthien's hand.

"Are you - really okay with this?"

"More than I am sending you by yourself."