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no hands of fate
lay of leithian, or, why decima is no longer allowed to propose thread ideas while manic
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Her parents named her Lúthien, after the flowers that grow in their kingdom. Tinúviel she acquired later, after her singing was overheard. Which is... fine. Not what she would have chosen for herself, but fine. Like the flower she blooms for her own sake and like the nightingale she sings because she wishes to. What others get from that is their own business.

Still, when the court becomes boring and fatherly attentions press to heavily, she often wanders alone along the borders of Doriath, tracing sections of the enchantment her mother Melian wove. Sometimes she thinks she might like to pass through one day, to see the world beyond through more than story, feel the weight of the enemy's press herself. To feel something other than gentle shelter, see what she might achieve through her own powers.

She dances alone, expressing the feelings she is unwilling to put to song, to chance that someone might hear.

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There's a soft sound in the woods bordering her current glade. Larger than a fox, more cautious than a deer. Almost intentional.

There's a Man there, one of the Second Born, her features weathered despite her clear youth, her expression stunned and almost...

Not hungry, but lost. Searching.

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She stops, drawing back in on herself.

"Who are you?"

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"My name's Beren."

"Your song sounded... Familiar. Like something I dreamed once. Who're you?"

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"...Lúthien. Called Tinúviel."

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"...You're really pretty." She pauses and blushes a bit. "Uh. It'd be dumb to ask if you live here..."

"I - did you write that song?"

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"All my songs are my own, Beren of the Second Born. How come you to be here?"

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"I walked. I'm from the north - the mountains, in and around Dorthonion. I'd been raiding the orcs up there, but... They've gotten my scent pretty thoroughly, so I decided to head out for a bit. See if I couldn't cause trouble elsewhere. Give them time to stop looking for me."

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"You have passed the Girdle into Doriath. If trouble it is that you seek, best look elsewhere."

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"Doriath's - that elven kingdom? I thought no one could leave or enter."

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"Without effort or invitation, this is so, orc slayer."

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"Pretty sure I wasn't invited, but - I didn't even notice a boundary."

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"Come then, you must sit and speak to me of your travels. I have food if you hunger, water if you thirst."

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"Both, honestly." She steps into the glade.

"And... I don't mind an opportunity to chat with a pretty girl at all, but I'd like to hear something of this land, too. What it's like to live under peace, or just - what people outside my little circle of the world are like."

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"An equal share of tales, then."

She goes over to her basket and spreads a blanket on the ground, takes out a flask of water and a loaf of bread, cheese and a knife.

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"Alright," she says with a smile, stepping over to sit on the blanket. "Thank you."

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Lúthien sits as well, and begins talking of Doriath while Beren eats. The forest and the river, Menegroth which was carved by the dwarves for Elu Thingol's palace. The court and its fineries, the bards and artists and writers, her favorite works and quiet places to be alone in.

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Beren clearly enjoys Luthien's tales, fascinated.

She talks of Dorthonion, then - she was thirteen when the Battle of Sudden Flame happened nine years ago. Her uncle was the chieftain of the House of Bëor at the time, and he and almost all of his men fell defending their homes. Her father regathered their people, rescuing some elven lord in the process. They weren't able to cover a retreat of their own folk, though the elven armies fled - any Man in the highlands died or joined the resistance - and her father convinced those still standing to do what they could to bleed the orcs in the area dry. Their numbers whittled down over time, some fleeing, most dying. Still, they managed to get some of their more vulnerable survivors out.

And then four years ago one of her father's men was tricked by the Enemy and tortured, and the Enemy used that information to kill her father and his people. Beren herself was captured briefly, but she tricked her own captors in turn, escaping and proceeding to deal as much damage as she could - more than her father's men had in the five years of their own resistance, for she had come to care for nothing but revenge. But in time every survivor had been freed, and she'd bled her enemies until there seemed little point, and so she decided to leave and see what else she may make of the world.

(Her gaze is sometimes distant, but her tone's light and her story smoothly and richly woven, and she doesn't seem particularly emotional about recounting the events.)

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What a fascinating account. Lúthien hangs on her every word. This is a far better- and far closer- story of events outside Doriath than she's ever heard before.

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Heee.

Beren goes into detail about the people she's known - especially before the battle, when there were more people living normal lives around - too, and into stories she's heard second or third hand. She covers her own exploits in no small detail, but with a frank manner - she doesn't seem to be bragging.

She's competent. The people who oppose her tend to die. That's all there is to it.

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That seems like enough.

"Will you fight me?" she asks. "As a- spar?"

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"Of course."

"Do you have a weapon?"

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"Only a bow with me. Father had a sword commissioned for me in a moment of weakness, but he doesn't like to be reminded of that. I wasn't able to bring it with me this time."

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" - How would you defend yourself, then?"

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"No one but you has gotten through the border in- well, ever. Any animal I would hear in more than enough time."

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"'It hasn't happened before' doesn't mean 'it will never happen.' Nothing seriously injured my father, ever - until the blow that killed him. Nothing broke the defensive lines of the Noldor - until the Battle of Sudden Flame."

"Everything falls, eventually. You can hold it off. You can't stop it."

"You can prepare yourself so you land on your feet."

"I've gotten through this barrier. You have my stories, but - for all you know, I'm an agent of the Enemy. Perhaps Sauron in a clever enough disguise it fooled even Doriath."

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"Are you?"

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She snorts. "I'm too scruffily handsome to be Sauron. He'd be shinier."

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She laughs.

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Cute.

"The best defense is being the most dangerous one in the area, which is about more than power or fighting. But a weapon's a good place to start."

"So, miss most lovely, if I attacked you right now, how would you defend yourself?"

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"Right now, as in from this position?"

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"Sure."

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"Spring over the basket which I will kick at you while grabbing my bow and retreating further into the trees. Sing a song of confusion and deception while I ready my shot."

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"Good instincts," she says. "That'd have a good chance of getting anyone untrained - recent conscripts, street toughs who're new to threatening people."

"I would like to do some formal spars, but it'd also be fun to do some more informal stuff - like if we were actual opponents. Tracking, ambushing, using the terrain."

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"All that today?"

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"Spending multiple days on it would give us a chance to run the full gamut..."

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"You aren't looking to run off sooner?"

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"I was planning a bit of a vacation, anyways. Sparring with you seems like an excellent one."

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Smile.

"I would like that."

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"First spar should probably just be hand to hand, but you can borrow some of my weapons for later ones."

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"All right." She stands, brushing off her legs.

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She does as well, stretching a bit and stepping to a mostly flat area covered in clover. "Fight until surrender?"

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"Yes," she says, bending in half in nearly every direction as she stretches.

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(Gosh she's pretty.)

Beren only stretches lightly and subtly, taking a ready position and letting Luthien start the match.

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She launches in with a tight flurry of jab-jab-kick.

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Beren is quite possibly the best fighter Luthien's ever faced. She doesn't go easy on her at all, flowing around Luthien's strikes, tanking a few hits, feinting, hitting back hard and fast - she adapts quickly to Luthien's style, trying to leverage any weaknesses in Luthien's fighting to her own benefit.

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Luthien is graceful, flowing into a quicker dance at Beren's prodding, take her hits without complaint. She makes alterations to her style quickly based on what Beren exposes.

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She's grinning rather widely and testing out different approaches - increased aggression, faster and lighter touches... Feinting around Luthien, trying to trip her up...

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Luthien seems to be having the most trouble with the higher aggression.

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She flows into their dance, avoiding blows, trying to dance around Luthien...

And then surges into a full-on attack, swinging herself into Luthien's space, blows hard and fast, uncaring entirely of retaliation.

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She holds up for a bit-

then falls back and calls "Enough!"

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She disengages immediately.

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"You're pretty good."

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"So're you! That's the best challenge I've had in years."

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"I do practice on my own a bit."

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"I'd say more than a bit... You adapted pretty quickly to what I was doing, too."

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"You dance well."

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"Never thought of it as dancing... Which sounds like its own kind of fun to do with you."

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"It's moving your body with the rhythm."

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"A different rhythm than music, then."

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"There's music in everything if you listen for it."

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"I suppose the question then is if it's a kind of music you want to hear."

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"If you don't listen, how will you know?"

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"Suppose I'd have to at least notice it to say... Though I know I don't tend to like music I've heard before. It should be dynamic, ever changing. In tension."

"Though perhaps I just haven't found a favorite song."

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Luthien looks at her for a moment, then starts singing. It's wordless, but clearly about Beren, the cadence rising and falling, at times recalling her story over the meal and at other times the spar they just had.

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...Wow.

She's a bit enraptured.

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She keeps it going for a few minutes, adding other motifs as they occur to her by watching Beren before winding up.

"That's what I'd say your song is like, right now."

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"It's beautiful." Soft smile.

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"So are you."

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She giggles. "I think I have a favorite sort of song, now - anything you're singing." Sly grin. "Though I'd still rather give you new things to sing about."

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"You'll have to keep living, then."

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"Forever if I can manage it."

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"Fair."

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She grins and stretches a bit. "Do you have more food?" she asks.

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"Some, yes. You're hungry again already?"

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"A good fight always makes me a bit hungry."

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"We'll have to hunt sooner than I thought, then. Or visit an outpost to restock."

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"Don't tend to carry provisions for two with you?"

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"Nor provisions for a human either, it seems."

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"I'm used to feeding myself," she says, amused, "And this land seems far more fertile than those I'm accustomed to."

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"No great hardship, then."

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"Not at all, especially not if I get to see you using that bow."

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"That can be arranged."

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"Excellent."

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She smiles and gets more food out.

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Beren eats with a smile.

She doesn't leave in the morning, spending the day sparring and traveling and hunting with Luthien - nor the day after - nor any day after that, as early spring rolls ever on to summer. She teaches Luthien much of war and raiding, cleverness and deceit. She expresses curiosity about Luthien's more fantastic abilities, helps her work through honing them into weapons - proposes sneaking around the border guards with a mischievous grin.

She seems to have a new story every morning, though she quickly ends up declaiming that many of these are in fact fictional. (They have a delightful ring of truth, though, even if it's not a truth of facts but of feelings.)

She never addresses Luthien by either of her names. She seems fond of epithets instead, often inventing new ones - but just as often abandoning them, as if searching for something. They're all flattering, many poetic or sweet - she shows a clear preference for night-related names, and Ellin or Elrien, star-song or star-crowned, seem her favorites. (She jokes about it being a pity that Elbereth, 'star queen,' is taken, and that none of the Sindarin words for might or power or beauty are as lovely as Luthien deserves.)

Summer solstice crests and rides by with Beren apparently entirely disinclined to move on, or even really question the dearth of other elves they've met.

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She adores the spars, and the stories, and singing for Beren under the night sky. The nicknames also are endearing, and she can't help but laugh each time Beren uses one. Her parents would not approve, but they are not here.

Though she will have to return ere the beginning of autumn.

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Beren doesn't want to stop being by Luthien's side.

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Then they'll have to go back to Menegroth together.

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Sounds alright by Beren.

She doesn't think she ever wants to stop being by Luthien's side, though she's - aware, that she won't be happy fenced off from the world for the rest of her life...

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One challenge at a time.

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Staying by Luthien first, of course. 

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Indeed.

They still have a few days clear, but then they should start heading in.

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She nods and spends those days much as she has the last months, though she's perhaps a bit more wistful - maybe more attentive to Luthien, though with how attentive she's already been it's at most a small difference.

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And then it's time to pack up and go home.

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Menegroth is gorgeous. The city's only entrance - the only above ground evidence it even exists - is a gate built into white cliffs rising above where the Esgalduin cuts through a wide, deep gorge, water roaring and frothing white. A single delicate bridge, so narrow most people approaching would need to walk single file, arcs over the chasm. The pillars are carved so cleverly they look like someone painted living beeches white.

Two guards stand where the stone cuts back for the gate, tucked into nooks invisible from the bridge. They welcome Luthien home - and express curiosity about her companion. 

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She is Beren daughter of Barahir, and Luthien's guest.

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She will need to abide by the laws of Doriath, but only King Thingol may gainsay his daughter; the guards step aside and open the carved gates. 

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Here's hoping he doesn't do that.

"Try not to get any fights here," she murmurs after they pass the guards.

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"I'll be on my best behavior. Promise," she murmurs back. 

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Luthien steers them towards her rooms. With luck they'll be able to wash up and relax a bit before her father catches word and summons her.

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Beren admires the architecture and decorations as they walk, especially around Luthien's rooms, expressing some curiosity about the dwarves who crafted the halls. 

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Her father takes long enough to summon her that they've gotten washed and had time to settle into a discussion about the city's creation and history. 

The guard who delivers the summons looks vaguely like she'd really prefer this be someone else's job, and she cautions Luthien that her father's in a poor mood.

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She sighs and thanks the guard. They'll be along presently.


"Really, try not to get in a fight," she says as she stands.

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"I'll leave any fights to you," she says with a grin, standing as well. "Give you some practice."

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"Elu Thingol can be... vindictive. He banned even the language of the kinslayers when we received word of their deeds."

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She rolls her eyes a bit. "A petty kind of vindictiveness, then."

"I'll be polite."

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Nod.

Off they go.

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Luthien's father is on his throne, his court clearly in session. Her mother is physically present as well, though her gaze is distant in a way that suggests she's currently tending to something far off - foresight, or the many magics protecting and aiding Doriath, or the like. 

Elu Thingol does not look at all happy. "Luthien," he says. "It warms my heart to see you again. Who is your guest?"

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"Father," she says, curtsying. "Your welcome is a joy to the spirit."

"This is Beren daughter of Barahir, traveler and orc-slayer, scion of Beor."

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Beren bows. "Your halls are lovely," she says, "And your lands peaceful. A tribute to their king, and a balm for a weary soul."

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He frowns at her. 

And, to Luthien: "No mortal is permitted in these lands."

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She lifts her chin. "It was my understanding Mother had permitted an exception."

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Melian's gaze turns briefly to the physical world. "I did not perceive her crossing, and my Girdle was not disturbed."

There's uneasy murnurs from the court - some remarking under their breath, but not quietly enough, that not even insects can slip beneath Melian's notice. 

And Melian's gaze drifts away again. 

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"She is not a threat."

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"And how can you know this? The Enemy seeks ever to undo us, and her agents are many and subtle."

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"And living only in fear brings her victory that much closer."

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"It is not fear but wisdom that guides me. You have seen nothing of the Enemy."

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"And I still have not."

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"All my efforts are so that you will not."

"She cannot be allowed to wander our lands, nor to bring what she has seen out," he says, voice soft and almost dangerous.

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"She will stay with me."

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"You cannot guarantee she will not escape you," Thingol says. 

And Darion, a minstrel who has sometimes tried to court Luthien, softly suggests Beren should be executed in punishment for trespassing.

Thingol frowns, and - "Imprisoned, certainly."

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"No! You can't."

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"My will is law here."

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She grabs Beren's hand.

"...You can't imprison my fiancee."

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She'd been frowning, eyes focused intently on Thingol -

And her hand clenches around Luthien's, her gaze flicking briefly over, eyes wide. 

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"What."

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"We're getting married."

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"I came here to ask you for her hand, my Lord," Beren says, smoothly. "I am no servant of the Enemy, and I did not intend to intrude where I was not welcome. I apologize for our rough start and for not introducing myself sooner."

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"And who are you, to dare to ask me such a thing?"

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"Nobody," she says, "For none could ever be worthy of one such as her. She is more beautiful than any star, and there are none in this world who could match her wit and inner strength."

"I am merely someone who loves her, as any with a mind would, and I am humbled that she may love me back."

"To wed is her choice and none other's, but you are her father and important in her life - and so we would have your blessing."

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He pauses, considering her. 

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...That was actually really sweet. She squeezes Beren's hand.

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Squeeze.

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Melians turns to Thingol then. And, voice low but clearly audible: "Forgo your pride, my love. No blade nor chain of yours may lay upon her, for love alone may bind her limbs. Their fate does not lie here, though it will be entwined through us."

"That is my counsel, if you will have it."

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"A grim counsel indeed," he says, "For my daughter is the most precious jewel in this world, and naught should lead her astray."

He turns to Beren, gaze heavy. "If you would ask for my daughter's hand, then there is but one task before you - bring in your hand a Silmaril from Morgoth's crown."

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"Father-"

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Beren just laughs, her voice rising harsh and sharp, as mocking as a crow's call, above the snickers and jeers of Thingol's court.

"You would sell your regard for so little, my Lord?" she asks. "I would lay the world at her feet; what is one little jewel?"

"You may have your Silmaril, if that is your wish, though know this, o King - "

"It is by no art of the Enemy that Doriath will fall, but by your word alone. All things in this world have a price. Take heed that you pay it."

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"You have no right to threaten me."

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"Prophecy is no threat, my Lord, merely truth - a more dangerous thing by far."

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"Is that all, then?" She's not especially pleased with Elu Thingol right now.

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"She is to leave this land. No succor will she find in Doriath."

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She sketches the most cursory bow then turn and leaves the hall, tugging Beren with her.

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None follow them out, and Beren keeps a tight grip on Luthien's hand, squeezing reassuringly. "Where to?" she murmurs. 

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"My rooms. We need to pack."

"That wasn't how I wanted that conversation to go."

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"I'm sorry."

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"Mm. Not your fault."

"I do, you know. Want to marry you, that wasn't just me panicking."

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"I want to marry you too. I meant every word I said."

"...Except most of the compliments or honorifics for your father, I didn't mean those."

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Laugh. "He doesn't deserve them at the moment."

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"He should listen to you and your mother more."

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"Neither of us are very interested in most of the actual ruling business, unfortunately. He's lost the habit."

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Small smile. "Well, maybe he can get back into it."

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"That would be difficult, as I am leaving with you."

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"Your mother's staying, at least."

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"She prognosticates more often than she conversates."

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She hums. "Hopefully it won't be your problem for long, then," she says, voice soft.

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"I don't think it will be."

They get to Luthien's rooms. She goes to the mantle and lifts down the sword in the lacquered hanging there, almost as tall as she is and slightly curved with a long handle wrapped in silvery chasing.

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"Anything I can help with?" she asks, glancing around Luthien's rooms with a keen gaze. (She doesn't have anything to pack herself.)

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"There should be a spread of food in the sitting room, if you can collect what of it will travel acceptably." She goes to her wardrobe to get her traveling clothes.

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She does so, moving efficiently, then glances over Luthien's other things - she'd suggest Luthien pack everything practical and some things sentimental, of course, but also any easily carried trade-able items, in case they get a chance to barter, or anything often used as currency.

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There are a handful of small trinkets scattered around, in gold and silver and gemstone. She doesn't consider any of them sentimental enough to want to keep for their own sake. Most of the stringed instruments are not especially portable when moving quickly, but after some consideration she does add a small flute.

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She tucks away some trinkets, then, of a small variety of estimated worth - less valuable things are easier to sell, some places.

"Do you want to talk to anyone before we leave?"

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She shakes her head. "They'll either understand or they won't, after that scene. We don't have time to waste."

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She nods and offers Luthien her hand. "Let's go, then."

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She takes it.

Away they go.

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- And some of her father's guards are waiting at the exit. More than usual, at least. They seem to be blocking the way out.

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"...What is it now?"

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"Your father the King has ordered that you are to stay in Menegroth, my Lady," the braver of the guards says.

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"Has he. And do you think it is reasonable of him to order this, when I have never before been so confined?"

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"He is concerned for your safety, my Lady."

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"Surely I may see my guest, to whom I am affianced, to the border of our lands."

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"Your guest will come to no harm before she leaves our lands, my Lady, and you may say your farewells at the gates of Menegroth."

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She draws back a bit.

"I don't like this," she says to Beren.

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She takes Luthien's hand, squeezing. "The same stars will always shine upon us both," she says, softly, "No matter how dark the path we walk. And I will always come back to you, as swiftly as my feet may carry me." She lifts her other hand to cup Luthien's cheek - and smirks, where the guards can't see. "Will you wait for me, my Ellin?"

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"Come back quickly, Mygwainor."

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She kisses Luthien's cheek. "Always, darling."

And then to the guards, cheerfully taking both their packs, "I understand you have your orders." The guards nod, and gesture for Beren to follow some of them out - though some seem to be staying with Luthien.

Beren winks back at her fiancee, then heads out of Menegroth's gates.

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Luthien watches until she disappears from sight.

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And Luthien is somewhat gently chided toward - not her rooms, but somewhere higher in Menegroth, one of the carefully hidden gardens where a large tree grows. No Man or Elf could use it as an entrance, of course, and even birds would struggle to make their ways through the grates - but it lets in true sunlight. There's a set of rooms perched high in the tree's branches, a place for quiet contemplation or long projects, and Luthien is directed to go up into it. The only entrance or exit is a rope ladder, as the tree is too tall and too far from anything else to jump safely out of it.

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In fact she was rather looking forward to sleeping in her own bed tonight, rather than this tree.

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Her father believes her rooms are not currently well enough secured.

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Perhaps the dungeons would be more appropriate, then. Shall she present her wrists for the manacles?

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That is hardly necessary. The project rooms are much more comfortable and befitting her status.

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Her status as what, a child of twenty? If that is so, then she shall share her parents' rooms again. Surely those are considered quite secure.

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...Please go into the project rooms. The guard would rather not have to bring Luthien's father here.

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Luthien would rather the guard did that, actually. He can do her the courtesy of looking her in the eye before locking the cage.

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The guard stiffly sends another to fetch King Thingol.

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She takes a breath and apologizes for raising her voice. The guard is of course not at fault here.

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The guard sighs. "I understand your frustration," she says, softly. "More than frustration, even. But I cannot gainsay your father."

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"Of course not. I should have requested this from the start."

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She nods. "I apologize, for what it's worth."

And Thingol sweeps in shortly after, his expression thunderous. 

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"Father. Will you explain why you have decided to deny me even the freedom of Menegroth?"

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"That mortal has ensnared you. I will not have you blindly following her to your doom."

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"When have you known me to blindly follow anything?"

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"Exactly. Your behavior is strange of late; I hardly recognized the daughter who stood before me."

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"Consider perhaps that the daughter who stood before you had, with her own stores of wisdom and probity, judged the path she embarked upon and found it to be her true wish."

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"You understand nothing of the world outside. Nothing of where that path leads."

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"And I never will, if you continue to refuse even the possibility that I might capable of learning."

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"It is a terrible knowledge. I would not see you come to such harm."

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"And no thought for the harm that comes of keeping me here."

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"Your infatuation with this mortal will pass, daughter, as she must. She will die in a scant few decades - perhaps one or two hundredths of the entire life you have lived - even if none slay her, for that is the nature of the Second Born. What will come of you then, if you grew to truly love her, if you have bound your soul to her - if you even could, for no immortal has ever wed one such as her."

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"That is my choice to make, and my burden to bear, should it come to pass. But the caged nightingale sings only the sorrow of its bars, until death passes it beyond their claim."

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She's never seen him so incandescently furious. (Nor so struck, though he quickly buries it; in the background, the guards look uncomfortable or unhappy, some outright pale.)

"You will not be imprisoned long, daughter. A blink to ones like us. Now go where you are commanded."

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She curtsies in the most childlike fashion she can muster.

"As you say, papa. Will you ask mama to tell me a bedtime story?" And she turns and scales the tree-ladder before he can respond.

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The tree ladder is removed after she's up, and she's coldly informed that there will be a guard in ear shot at all times, and she can call down if she needs supplies.

Thingol leaves without waiting for a response.

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Not that she had anything left to say to him.

She explores the rooms to see what's been left to her.

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Some clothes - comfortable but entirely impractical, ones she hasn't worn in a long while and so no longer keeps in her rooms. Plenty of materials for projects, weaving or spinning or embroidery or painting or the like. A selection of musical instruments. Some artwork. Food and drink, enough for a week easily.

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Sigh.

She starts on a project to convert the clothes to a style she favors now, humming softly under her breath. (She's going to follow through on her implicit promise to only sing sad songs while up here, but she wants the first one overheard to be... memorable. Needs to get the ideas straight first.)

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The guards shift a bit over time, until there's only one at any given time. The female guard who'd been so uncomfortable at pressuring Luthien into going up into the project rooms - Thorndess - seems to be there the most frequent of them, pulling several long shifts, and she responds rather promptly to any requests.

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She saves her saddest songs for when Thorndess isn't on shift.

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The days wear on rather miserably.

And then one night - while Thorndess is on shift, actually, though she's not looking toward the tree and has been pacing around the room more than usual - there's a soft scrape from just above one of the windows -

And then Luthien's fiancee swings herself within.

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"Beren?"

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"Yes, my Ellin," she says, voice soft, a broad grin on her face. "I did say I'd return very quickly, didn't I?"

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"Not fast enough, Mygwainor." Luthien flows over to sweep her into a kiss.

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Kiss!!!!!!

She giggles a little. "I apologize quite thoroughly, my Lady. I shall endeavor to be much faster next time."

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"Endeavor rather that there is no next time. I trust you have a plan for the pair of us to leave?"

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"Several, though the easiest requires you not be afraid of heights."

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"That's not a problem."

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"Alright. I got in through the grates, so we'll want to follow my ropes up and out - and then up the mountain."

"I'll want to knock your guard out on my way, too, so she doesn't get in too much trouble for 'somehow' not noticing me breaking in - do you have some magical way to do that? Physically knocking elves out can be risky."

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"I can send her to sleep, yes."

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"Convenient. What do you need for that?"

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"Just a bit of time. You should make the climb first, in case the targeting doesn't work."

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"How far is your range? I'd rather have to be carried out than fall asleep on the ropes outside."

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"Up to a few hundred feet on animals."

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"...Let's not risk it. I'll be out of sight before that, and you have no way of knowing when I've actually gotten out of range. I could tie myself to the rope but that'd be more awkward than if I fell asleep here and you had to carry me all the way out."

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"Try to think energetic thoughts."

She goes to the trapdoor and waits for Thorndess to pass by before she starts singing at her, just loud enough for her to hear.

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Thorndess sways, leaning against the tree trunk, before collapsing.

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It worked!

Is Beren still awake?

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She is! She's blinking a little, but she grins at Luthien. "Ready to go?"

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"Ready if you are."

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"I am."

Up and out, then, climbing out the window and up a few branches to the roof, then shimmying up the rope to where Beren had cut a hole in the grates, and up further - the rope extends hundreds of feet down the cliff, tied to a promontory at the top. It's a long climb, though one they're able to do, and Beren seems to think they'll have a good number of hours before an alarm's raised - still, they shouldn't tarry in hiking away from Menegroth, especially since there's another dangerous point where she crossed the river they'll want to be able to focus on.

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No reason for her to want to dawdle. She's been cooped up long enough.

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Getting to see the outside world will be fun, and they can take the shortest path from here to Doriath's border.

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Once they cross, it'll be the furthest away she's ever been.

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Sounds like a cause for celebration.

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Could be.

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It's up to Luthien. Still... There's going to be a lot of tough times ahead. Some joy's always good to mix in.

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Let's see if they get away cleanly first.

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Alright.

It's not a one day hike to the edge, but they're able to get past the river before sunrise - they need to climb down a cliff (Beren lowers a rope for Luthien to use) then cross a rope Beren had left tied spanning the gorge, then climb back up a steep slope (which also has a rope, which dramatically helps with how the soil keeps sliding out from under their feet). Beren starts chatting a bit about her rescue on the path - apparently several guards, Thorndess among them, had quietly sided with Luthien and had told Beren where she was, though Beren figured out breaking in by herself.

She also gave the guards a wealth of information about entries she could've used; Menegroth isn't nearly as secure as it looks, and Doriath's only real defense is currently Melian's Girdle. She approves of the guards, though - they're young and inexperienced, all of them except the highest echelons born after Luthien and many born since the sun rose, and they're creating a culture of security entirely from first principles without even ongoing tests against it, but they know that, and they're painfully aware of how tenuous relying on a single Maia for defense is. Almost all of Beren's delay had been giving them a crash course in how to shore up Menegroth's defenses and hedge against both infiltration and outright invasion.

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...Huh.

She's glad Beren took the time to help. As angry as she is with her father, she does want her people to stay safe.

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Maybe after she throws a Silmaril in Thingol's face she can get a position training the guards.

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If she actually thows a Silmaril in his face, Luthien is pretty sure that she can then do whatever she wants.

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A good argument for doing it, then.

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Indeed.

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They'll need to plan their approach, but... Not right away. It's a long journey by foot even if they set out immediately, and Beren doesn't want to rush off into this.

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She is, at this point, the expert.

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Fair, but - Luthien knows far more of magic and the Ainur, and she likely even knows more of politics and the various kingdoms. They'll need to work together.

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That should be manageable. So which direction first, if not straight for Angband?

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Finding more information or even allies... She thinks there's an elf lord who owes her father a life debt, Finrod Felagund. She has the token he gave her father still.

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He probably won't try to kill Luthien on sight, either.

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Beren wouldn't let anyone try.

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Of course not.

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Kiss!

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Kiss! Is good!

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She giggles.

"Do you want to wait until I've chucked a Silmaril at your father to get actually married?" she asks.

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Hum.

"I want to do it right. Show him how wrong he is."

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"Understandable." She squeezes Luthien's hand. "Main reasons I even want to bring a Silmaril back instead of suggesting eloping are spite and keeping your options open..."

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"And I might ever want to see people in Doriath again."

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"Yes! Options open. Wander where you may."

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That deserves another kiss.

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Kisses are the most excellent thing about being engaged.

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They're certainly up there.

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All the other excellent bits could be gotten from friendship, probably, so kisses stand out as part of engagement.

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That's a fair point.

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Demonstrative kiss.

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Heee.

(Kiss.)

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"We have about a day to the edge I think? Seems unlikely we'll get caught."

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She looks around.

"Seems about right, yeah."

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Smile. "Doing well so far."

And onward?

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Onward.

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They cross the boundary the next day, slipping around the guards -

And past Doriath's border, a small stream, a strange look passes over Beren's face. Surprise, at least. Maybe more.

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"Something the matter?"

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Something seems to be very the matter.

"...I remembered something." She pauses, looking like she's struggling, and: "I'll tell you once we're well away from the border, alright?"

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"Did my mother tell you something?"

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"No."

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"...All right."

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"...Come on. Let's get - to somewhere to rest for the night, at least."

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"Sure." They can keep going

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Beren waits until they're well away from where Melian can spy on the edges of her borders before having them stop to get settled, even though this means pushing past sunset - later than she usually likes to make camp. 

She doesn't seem to be moving to actually make a fire or clear any ground to sleep, though, instead just staring at the ground with a conflicted expression. 

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Well. Luthien will start on that herself then, until she's ready to talk.

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She starts helping once Luthien's moving.

"I... There's a lot to say."

"First - I didn't mean to deceive you. At all. Or... Not. Really."

"...I erased my memory a few years ago, and - leaving Doriath with you - triggered my mind to settle with what memories and knowledge would fit."

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"You seemed remarkably lucid for having done that."

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"I've done this before, and - it's easier if you put a new life in its place. If you take someone else's role, just... Shifted, so it applies to you."

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"So what are you?" She's quietly easing away, one hand on her dagger. "And how much of the last year was real?"

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"It was real, it was, I - "

"I'm mortal right now. But I was one of the Ainur, and... I saw you, before we entered the world. I knew I could love you, but - "

"I wanted to fall in love with you - normally. And."

"...I didn't want to meet you as an enemy."

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"Tell me who you are."

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She looks away.

"...Morgoth."

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She starts, backs up a step-

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-turns on her heel and runs.

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She.

Should have expected that.

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The tale of Luthien and Beren is pivotal to the timeline. That's why she shuffled Ellie into Luthien's place. Why she killed Beren and took his role.

She doesn't want this - her darling's rejection of her - to be what breaks her chains.

Eru's halfway decent to her, sometimes.

The world ends.

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She could shuffle Ellie back into Sauron's place. Take a break.

No loop with that set up has worked. Dagor Dagorath always rolls around. She hates timelines that make it that far the most.

She wants to fix this, loves Ellie as Luthien in a different way, a way she's never experienced before.

She nudges nothing. Sets her simulacrum to follow her behavior precisely as of the last loop, turns her own mind off mostly - moves her own consciousness into being Beren when the simulacrum needs to take over Morgoth's role as she slips into mortal raiment. 

The loop goes identically until the moment they leave Doriath. Similarly after that, even. She smiles at Luthien a bit more, but still says the same words until they reach the campsite. Still helps Luthien start setting up. 

"I'm sorry if I worried you. There's - a lot to say, and I don't entirely know how to say it."

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"It can wait, if you want. I just want to be sure you're okay."

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...That settles a lot of the upset screaming in her head.

She just - revealed too quickly, last time. Mishandled it.

"I am, as long as I'm with you," she says. "The things I remembered were just - startling."

Smile. "But they're nothing as important as you are." Kiss.

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Kiss.

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"One thought I did have..."

"Has anyone mentioned the idea of writing to Doriath since the Noldor came over?"

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"Just before they told us about the Kinslaying, yes. Father banned the alphabet and had the books burned."

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"...Oh no."

"Did you get a chance to learn?"

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"No, I didn't."

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"I can teach you, then - and I bet Finrod has a library."

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"I'd like that."

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She laughs. "I thought you might."

"Books are - stories, and knowledge, and they echo so beautifully... It almost amazes me that elves invented writing. A record that'll outlast you seems like such a Mannish thing."

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"It does, but- It seems the sort of thing you would time and quiet for. Valinor has that in abundance but Men have been embroiled in conflict since their arrival."

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She nods.

"Or great need, which also drives Mannish innovation... Men have adapted the Noldorin writing system a lot already, actually. It was very clearly designed by people with a lot of time on their hands, and isn't ideal for tracking grain or shipments."

"But - I want to create that era of... Not always quiet, but abundance. See how many books people can write, Men especially, if you give them the space to do it in."

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"That would be nice," she agrees.

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Grin.

"Firelight's not the best to learn to read by, but maybe your elven eyes can do a bit better than mine. And I can gather the materials we'd need, anyways - I have no ink nor parchment, but charcoal and wood should suffice for now."

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"For the rough sketches?"

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"I can draw the letters very large so my poor eyes can see them."

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"Or just trace them for me."

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"Might work."

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"Shall we try?"

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"Sure."

She gets the fire up to a good warm crackle, then sets to teaching Luthien the version of tengwar used for Sindarin. She chats some about the history of the system as she does so, and about different styles it can be written in - especially calligraphically, where you see the widest variation.

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She starts to get the hang of the letters over the course of the evening.

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Teaching Luthien is fun.

Beren, naturally, gives mostly flirty example words when writing. Endearments, compliments...

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Makes them easy to remember.

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Oh, good. Wouldn't do to have Luthien forgetting how excellent she is.

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No worries of that.

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Well, Beren likes to make sure.

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Luthien does appreciate that. Compliments from Beren feel more meaningful than when they're from other people.

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Heee. (Small wiggle.)

"Most people get dazzled by your beauty and don't look any deeper at how wholly excellent you are, I bet," she teases.

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"A sadly plausible explanation."

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"I pity them. Your mind is more excellent by far than your body, though both are the loveliest in Creation."

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Happy hum.

Kiss!

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Kiss!

"I think I know now how to say some of what I was thinking, earlier," she murmurs.

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"I'm listening," she says softly.

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Lean.

"I was someone else before I became Beren," she says, softly, "And I'd - forgotten, mostly, though I knew something was odd about my life. Something about leaving Doriath... My memory of my prior life returned, or - at least the broad strokes and the knowledge it existed, since I don't have many detailed memories."

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"You 'became' Beren?"

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"I didn't originally exist as a mortal, but - I figured out how to and then decided to abandon my immortal life. That required giving up everything I'd been so I could be reborn. A new person, but... The same motifs. A song played on a new instrument."

"But with the fate of the Second Born - or the lack thereof. A new chance to define myself."

Her voice is low but passionate. Serious.

(This... Isn't why she chose to become Beren, at least not directly. But it's true. It's everything she wants.)

(If she could break fate by embracing mortality, she would - but even in her zeroth life, before she was shuffled into the role of Melkor, when she was still mortal, she'd been chained more thoroughly than she is now.)

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"...But you're- still you? Still the same person I decided to marry?"

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"Yes. I swear. And I always will be."

"I just - have more context, now, for who I am."

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Pensive hum.

"All right, then. As long as you remain my Mygwainor."

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"My favorite self to be."

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Hug.

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Snuggle.

(She remembers this moment, in case she needs to branch from it. It's a very, very good moment.)

"Some of the knowledge might even be useful, hopefully, though I have only a mortal's magic right now."

"And... This is maybe kind of awkward, but - your Mygwainor is the person I've always wanted to be."

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"I don't think it's awkward. I think it's very sweet of of you." She runs her hand through Beren's hair.

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Kiss!

"We got glimpses of the future when we were singing the world into being, and - "

"I saw you, saw... What our relationship would be."

"We would've been just - ships passing in the night. I would've met you, and loved you, and never seen you again, and - "

"That wasn't the only thing that decided me, but. I couldn't stand the fate laid out for me."

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"You made a good decision."

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She laughs. "I do intend to thoroughly cheat to have everything I want, but - I'd rather be mortal and by your side than the opposite."

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"You do deserve to get what you want. Even me."

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Kiss!

"To be yours forever, then," she murmurs.

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"I like that." Kiss.

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Kiss!

"I should probably sleep before morning," she says, reluctantly. 

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"I'll still be here then."

"Do you need me to sing you to sleep?"

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"I'd love that."

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She makes sure they're both in a comfortable position before starting.

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Beren falls asleep cuddling Luthien.

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Cute little probably-not-actually-girl.

This revelation was a little weird, but Beren still does seem to be Beren and she prefers this to getting stuck staring at each other in the forest for three hundred years.

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Beren gets them moving again in the morning. She keeps teaching Luthien to read, and tells her a whole wealth of new stories supplemented by her new memories - her world had been fairly small as just Beren, even if larger than Luthien's. She shows no signs of having dramatically changed beyond that. 

The hike to Nargothrond, where Finrod rules, is fairly long. Beren's never met Finrod except in passing, and so asks Luthien some about him - though while Finrod had stayed in Menegroth for a time before Thingol learned of the Kinslayings, he hadn't usually been in Luthien's circles. (His sister Galadriel still lives in Menegroth, but rarely strays from Thingol's court, being something of an apprentice to Melian now.)

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She shares what gossip she has.

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Nargothrond was built much in the style of Menegroth, though with more attention to security. The river before it is wide and fast, and there's no bridge - Beren could get across it anyways, of course, but they want to be welcomed as guests. 

A few elven scouts fade out of the trees as Luthien and Beren approach, demanding to know their names and business. 

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"Luthien of Doriath, and Beren daughter of Barahir, who wishes to see Finrod Felagund."

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The scouts trade glances for a long moment. One seems to be focusing on something, then: "We welcome you to Nargothrond, then," he says. "Follow me." And he turns toward the river. 

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If Beren without her memories can get her out of Menegroth, she's confident Beren with her memories can get them both out of Nargothrond, if it proves necessary. They'll follow.

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They're led to a nice receiving room shortly within Nargothrond's gate, and aren't left waiting long before Finrod enters, smiling. "This was strange news to hear," he says. "It's been a short while, my Lady Luthien." And to Beren: "And I haven't forgotten what Barahir did for me, though you're much taller than the last time I saw you."

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"We thank you for your hospitality, Lord Felagund."

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Beren nods. "We've traveled far, and your halls are lovely."

"My father remembered you well, though I'm sad to say he died fighting the Enemy about four years ago."

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"Sad news indeed," he says, softly. "Later, perhaps, you can tell me of him, so I may mourn properly."

"For now - tell me, what brings you both to my halls? I had thought you never traveled outside of Doriath, Lady Luthien."

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"Elu Thingol has set a quest to my betrothed before he will give his blessing to our union. I did not wish her to travel alone."

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"Congratulations," he says after a moment of surprise. "The House of Beor are honorable folk."

He smiles at them. "So you have come to me for a waypoint?"

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"And what aid you may render, though it need not be much. Maps, supplies, information, the like."

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He nods. "Of course."

"What is the quest?"

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"To retrieve a Silmaril from the crown of Morgoth and bear it back to him in her hand."

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He frowns. "An immense task... I'm - surprised, if King Thingol permitted you to accompany your betrothed."

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"It was a point of contention."

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"I'm confident I can see it done, or at least as far as I might - I have spent my life opposing the Enemy, and this seems no great additional burden. But I am honored and delighted than Luthien chose to accompany me."

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"You'll need all the help you can get," he says, solemnly.

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"I can do no less for her."

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He nods.

"Doriath has ever been friends of ours, and I owe Barahir my life - I'll do what I can for you both."

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"You would have our gratitude."

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"Thank you."

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He smiles a little. "We'll get you settled, with proper food and bed, first though."

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Smile. "Thanks."

And off for that; it's late enough that there's not much else in the day before dinner, and Beren's sore and dusty enough she'd like to bathe rather than socialize. 

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A bath sounds like just the thing they need.

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With nice craft soaps and fluffy towels... Nothing they've had bathing in streams.

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The height of luxury.

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Does Luthien want to share? 

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Oh, what a daring question.

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Beren's a daring woman. 

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Clearly.

Though this might be a bit too far. Just for now.

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Fair. 

They'll go as slow as Luthien wants. 

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Quick kiss.

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Gentle kiss. 

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Smile.

And then to wash up?

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And then to wash up. 

Separately.

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And afterwards they can reunite.

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Being properly clean (admittedly for the first time in years) feels extremely nice. Beren should possibly leave before she gets spoiled by how soft their soap is.

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Pack a few cakes in with their things.

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See, but then they'll run out eventually, and she'll have been already even more spoiled. 

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Also even more clean.

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Hm, Luthien does deserve a well groomed fiancee...

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And they might find more soap later! Who knows?

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Alright. Beren will accept the soap. 

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Luthien thinks everyone will work out happier that way.

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Luthien especially. 

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As the most important, naturally.

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Whose opinions matter more than anyone's.

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Hee.

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Kiss!

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Finrod hosts them well over the next few days, making sure they're fully rested. They're mostly able to avoid Nargothrond's politics - he's reluctant to embroil them in it - but it sounds like the politics are being very, very obnoxious, and he cautions them not to tell anyone else what Beren's after, since two of Feanor's sons are currently his guests.

Before they leave, Finrod solemnly informs them he'll be accompanying them - he can't in good conscious let them face Morgoth alone, and he's grown to like them both. Twelve of his guards have agreed to follow him, and he's confident that his city will do well in his nephew Orodreth's hands.

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...If he's quite sure.

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He is.

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Alright.

(Beren keeps her face neutral. It's not a struggle. But. She doesn't like this. This is inevitable, probably, nudging the timeline to prevent Finrod from coming along will cost her flexibility later, risk causing the timeline to collapse and reset instead of holding under just enough tension to break...)

She's ready to leave as soon as Finrod and his men are.

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Has Beren decided the next stop?

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There's not many 'stops' between them and Angband, at least not major ones - homesteads and some small villages, maybe, but those are rare and wouldn't show up on a map. Still, she believes their best path takes them through the vale of Sirion - where Finrod once had a tower, which has since been taken by Sauron. She's heard rumors of enormous wolves in the area.

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Maybe they won't run into any of those.

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Hopefully.

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Well. Off they go.

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Their thirteen companions have packed to travel light, and lead the way out.

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They've gotten past the river and a bit into the trees when a really massive wolfhound jumps clear across the entire chasm, followed by some distant outraged shouts from Nargothrond. The dog lands on their side safely, paws splaying out, and barks before trotting to the group, their tail wagging.

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"This wolf seems to have arrived early."

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"...That's Celegorm's dog - he's Huan, one of the Hounds of Orome. They're smart but not sentient, so I'm not sure why he's following us..."

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Excuse you.

Huan barks at the rude elf, then pants a bit and goes to stare at Beren, their tongue lolling out of their mouth.

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Beren is apparently fully willing to stand here making Intense Eye Contact with the dog.

"Seriously?" she asks them.

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Small huff, and then they trot to the front of the group as another shout comes from Nargothrond, looking back over their shoulder before yanking their head forward.

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"Looks like we just picked up another companion."

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"Celegorm might get... Mad..."

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Beren rolls her eyes. Only a small bit. Very subtly. Finrod probably can't see. "The strangely intelligent dog wants to follow us. It's easier just to let them."

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"All... Right, I guess."

Onward, then?

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Onward.

Luthien agrees with Beren. If the intelligent dog wants to come with them, then they can just let it do so. They'll deal with Celegorm's possible issues with that if and when it comes up. It's not as though any of them solicited the dog's company.

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The dog eventually falls back to walk beside Beren, nudging her hand once.

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Beren proceeds to get into a hushed... Argument? She's the only one talking but the dog is reacting an apparently (going by the elves' reactions) a weird amount.

The argument mostly seems to be that 'Huan' is a dumb name for a dog, and Beren apparently threatens to call them 'Serendipitous Kill' unless... Something muttered too low to hear.

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Amused huff.

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Sigh.

Onward, then. It's a long journey to the Isle of Werewolves, even traveling light.

They tend to camp a bit spread out most nights, since there aren't always large enough clearings for the group of thirteen elves, one human, one elf-Maia, and one 'dog.' This does mean Luthien and Beren can often have their own little area pulled aside, just far away enough from the others to give a bit of privacy if they don't speak loudly. (Though Huan - or, as Beren has followed through on calling them, Serendipitous Kill - often joins them.)

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"Did you know Huan, ah, before?" she asks one night.

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"Yes," she says, nudging the dog with her foot. "They're not actually a 'hound', though I'd buy that they spent some time serving Orome."

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Huff.

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"What's with the name?"

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"You mean them letting anyone call them 'hound,' or what I'm calling them?"

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"I was thinking the latter, but is there also a story to the former?"

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"Not really a story, though it's just not their usual style. Probably though they were pretending to be an actual dog for some reason, or just elves are idiots and never noticed they're sapient."

"For Serendipitous Kill - it's a bit of a joke about some elements of their fate. I was thinking it might annoy them into talking. Sadly, they like it."

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"At least you tried."

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Doggy grin.

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Headpat?

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They lean happily into her hand.

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Pet pet.

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Good person! Nuzzle.

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She's flattered Serendipitous thinks so.

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They lick her hand a little.

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She giggles.

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Beren smiles, softly, and gives Serendipitous Kill an ear scritch.

Maybe the journey won't be quite as tedious as she'd feared.

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Their traveling companions seem to be working out okay.

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So far, yeah.

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Hopefully things stay smooth.

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...Hopefully.

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They reach the outskirts of the Isle of Werewolves a while after. They haven't met any significant resistance yet, though there's been a frequent feeling of being watched. Finrod disguised them as orcs as they passed into what could be considered Enemy territory, and he has them moving carefully.

Unfortunately, they'll have to pass by the tower - the entire vale is in sight of it - but there's a road by that Finrod hopes they won't be challenged on.

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They're challenged, of course. Why wouldn't they be?

The man who stops them - no man, for he flew from the tower in a whirlwind of flame - seems amused. "Who comes through my land so boldly?" he asks, "Wearing false skin, and not even declaring themselves?"

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The illusion over them snaps.

"Those who would seize our own fate," she says. "Let us pass."

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He laughs.

"Fate is not so easily seized."

And he whirls toward Finrod, lashing out with flame and song.

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Finrod's ready, raising his voice in counter-song -

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Beren grabs Luthien's hand, pulling her away from the fight some.

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"Should we not help?"

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"From a little distance. We don't want to trip over them," she says, tone clipped, examining the fight. "Or have everyone injured at the same time."

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Huan has also drawn away from the fight to circle around the edge of the most active effects, clearly trying to flank Sauron, as Finrod's guards fan out, some falling back and stringing their bows as they all raise their voices in a lower song, supporting Finrod.

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"Fine."

Luthien unlimbers her bow and prepares to join the fight.

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Beren does too.

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Sauron seems to be winning anyways; Huan's giving him more trouble than any of the others, and several werewolves and a weaker Maia emerge from the tower in Sauron's wake, occupying the dog, a few circling to harass Finrod's guards.

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Luthien starts singing along to the thrum of her bowstring, a song of victory and resolve.

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Breaking and fear, inevitability - he sings of Finrod's death beneath his tower, long foreseen, of Huan's prophesized fall at the teeth of a wolf. He sings of war, of the great roll of history. He sings that this mighty river might be turned aside, but it will not be Finrod to do it - he is trapped upon the rapids, not at the banks. 

The first of Finrod's guards dies. 

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Fate is breaking, fate is ending. The tide is turning, the sun is rising.

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Fate was sung by a mightier voice than any of theirs. A single little tune will not break it, not in time for this life here, and it is not the servants of the Valar who strive against those chains. It is not obedient, good Finrod's nature to defy the death Eru has created for him, and it is not Sauron's whim to interfere on his behalf. 

(Still, his tone is more solemn.)

(Another guard dies.)

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(Beren flinches a little. Her aim doesn't waver.)

(Another guard dies.)

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She weaves her cry of frustration into her song, a plea to be better than their nature, to rise above circumstances.

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A song of a dark, harsh movement, decried for interfering with the perfect harmony, for trying to challenge what was fordained. Every voice that objected to what they were made to be rose in that disharmony, and it was not enough. Finrod's sort reap what they sow, the fate they worship coming for them like a wolf looking over the offerings of rabbits.

(A fourth guard dies.)

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And so the opponents of fate become its agents, and their failures rise up to bite at their heels.

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He scowls, thunderous, and enraged fire bursts across the field. It's not very strong, song-wise, but it sends Finrod rearing back, hurrying to protect himself, and the guards are all badly burned or outright killed. 

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(Beren falters.)

(Werewolves finish off the downed guards.)

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Serendipitous Kill tears apart the raiment of the Maia they're fighting and lunges for Sauron, snarling. 

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Finrod steadies himself and presses the attack. 

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An arrow for Sauron's heart, a murmured malediction on its tip.

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He spins, mostly avoiding it.

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...Crap.

She should've remembered that Huan and Luthien, no matter who she's shuffled into their roles, always kick Sauron's ass. It'll be inconvenient if he dies here. It'll be disastrous if Finrod survives here; it'll cost her far too much flexibility, throw her carefully built tension into open collapse.

 

That she doesn't have the powers of a Vala anymore isn't strictly true.

Beren begins to hum under her breath, a low song, a deathly song - not the most powerful she could sing, for that would be a double edged blade, and she needs to stay strong and unbroken, even if there's another hundred loops.

She sings of erasing. It's the one truth that defends her and harms her enemies. Nothing they do will survive. There is no victory here, only the slow build of tension by hands not his own. Finrod will die, true, but it will be a more total death than he imagines here. There are no Halls of Mandos, no resurrection as yourself, after the end of the world, and even the memory of him will burn as all things do.

His Enemy, the ultimate Enemy he curses, can suffer, but she cannot fail unless she gives up, and surrender is the one thing not in her nature.

A pitiful thing like him cannot even draw her blood. He does not see her in the shadows.

It is a song none of them can hear, in a language that has not yet been spoken within the bounds of the world, one from the end of days, and to speak it is to invoke those times.

 

Her arrows fly to Sauron still. They are messages.

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And Sauron smirks.

One of Beren's arrows curves in a way no arrow should, redirected for Finrod - piercing through his shields, his songs, his armor, driving straight into his heart.

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And Finrod dies.

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Luthien cries out in shock.

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Serendipitous Kill backs off, growling, unsure.

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"I think the script has me fleeing soon," he says, "Though I admit the players in this act are a bit different than Eru planned."

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...Okay, she's remembering why she doesn't usually stick Ares in roles that overlap with when she's permitted to be active in Arda. He's dead useful, talented, insightful - he was the Melkor before her, and she forgave him for that eventually, but during her tenure he's guessed more than once the true shape of her chains, in a way almost no one ever does. And as horrid as he'd been to her zeroth life, he'd shown some consideration, and he'd prepared her well to succeed him.

He's also incredibly obnoxious.

She does not roll her eyes but the set of her eyebrows communicates that she wants to.

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Luthien looks between the two of them.

"What is going on?"

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"Are you keeping secrets now?" he asks Beren. Then, to Luthien: "I'm being obnoxious out of a desire for petty revenge, because she left a very boring and nearly useless simulacrum to fill her fated role when she quit, and I do not appreciate my work load quadrupling."

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...Sigh. Probably this timeline can't be rescued, though she needs to try at least. Get some data. And really it depends on how Luthien reacts... If Luthien doesn't reject her this might cause the level of tension she needs...

"It is not my problem if you're fundamentally incapable of delegation."

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"You were literally the only actually competent person in our group other than me."

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"Mygwainor... You- with Sauron?" She takes a step back.

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Double crap.

"I quit, as soon as I figured out how to cheat my way out. I hated the role laid out for me. It's - Ainur are physically incapable of defying their fate, and most of us never noticed or cared but I was made to rebel."

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"But not enough not to lead us into this trap."

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"I wouldn't ever let you get hurt."

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She shakes her head and backs away.

"I can't trust you."

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"I'm sorry." Her voice cracks.

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"You killed him because he had to die. You said- you told me you were free. You lied."

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"It's - "

"The tapestry only has so much give. I can't nudge too much without - getting forced back."

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She shakes her head again. "Don't follow me."

She turns and leaves.

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Sobbing will not be useful. Heart break is not useful.

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"You fucked up," the dog says, entirely unnecessarily.

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Fortunately, the world ends before she has to dignify that with a response.

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Okay. So. That was a fuck up.

Can she prevent Finrod from accompanying them at all? Declare that they won't go to Nargothrond? Finrod might die anyways, sure, probably will, but it won't be something Luthien will blame on her.

 

Beren...

Has trouble remembering why people care about others not being harmed. She's obsessively saving all of Ellie's memories from each loop, preserving them, so if she gets even the slightest chance she can remake her darling with all the context she needs - she doesn't want Ellie to remember rejecting her, if Beren even can remake Luthien separately from Sauron, but - it'd be - wrong, to remove some of her darling's life.

She wants the version of Ellie Ares gave her for her first loop back. She'd kept Ellie as Sauron for every single loop, unwilling to not have her by her side, and it'd only been the depressing march of uncounted loops that had her reaching desperately for another solution. Every Melkor before her has given up or somehow gotten themselves removed.

Beren can't. No matter how hard it gets. You can't pass on preserved memories from one Melkor to the next - at least Ares didn't know how to, the entire reason Ellie hadn't been present in Beren's zeroth life because Ares can be weirdly nice sometimes, and Beren refuses to experiment with Ellie's continued existence.

She doesn't even know she'll have the opportunity to remake Ellie at the end of all things. But.

She needs to hope. Otherwise, what's the point?

 

She probably can't stop Finrod from joining them. The timeline usually just (sometimes aggressively) corrects itself. This density of full collapses is honestly weird. He'll get a message from Doriath asking if Luthien's come by and then go looking and somehow actually find them or something equally contrived.

So -

So she needs a cooperative Finrod, because the usual Finrod absolutely would not tolerate 'hey so by the way I'm actually Morgoth, sorry about all the murder except I'm not actually sorry and will demonstrably still do it even if given another chance.'

She needs a template who'll forgive her.

 

She wants to take a break from being Beren. Have her Ellie again. Be loved as she is, no matter how many jagged edges she has.

If she stops trying to be Beren, she'll never start again, and she can't see any other way forward. Can't ask for help. Even if Ares somehow independently divines the existence of the loops in time to advise her - he ran out of ideas as Melkor, too.

 

There's a relatively small handful of templates active in the First Age, in the grand arc of history. Only a few great heroes tend to get highlighted, but everyone is played by some actor or another. Many of them minor, many of the mortal roles played by the same actors changing parts as their old one dies. But there've been billions of humans alive at a time before, and the world needs just as many actors to sustain that.

No Melkor has ever extended their direct influence past the First Age. Their defeat is hard, fixed. The Melkor before Ares discovered how to avoid being flung entirely out of Arda, though, and instead linger as a spirit incapable of influencing the world but capable of observing. He'd gathered a massive wealth of data, a huge bulk of the information Ares passed to her.

Ares had kept it up, even though he found it abhorrent. He was the first Melkor to notice her template - apparently always a revolutionary and a clever one at that, no matter while role he shuffled her into. Beren's kept it up some (she's Fate outside of time, here, but she doesn't like thinking of herself like that when playing odd roles like this, and Fate was the bitter name of a girl who'd been made the slave of the doom she spent her life fighting). She finds it hard, but -

There's some bizarrely forgiving people out there, if you look at the twelve thousand years of mortal existence. Most of them won't instantiate as elves. Some will.

She plucks one of those usually active in the Third Age, and shuffles them into Finrod's place.

 

She lets the song start again.

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There's tens of thousands of years before she needs to really worry about the elves. She lets her simulacrum handle a lot of it, though she makes a point of interacting with Sauron a lot, trying to nudge him, lead his thoughts and investigations in useful directions.

She cries a lot, as much as a Vala can be said to shed tears.

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She befriends the Finrod of this loop, after her release, before the Darkening. Lets him see her uncertainty, her vulnerability.

It's easier than it should be. She actually genuinely likes him. Would name him a friend, probably, except having people she likes kinda sucks when she's the only one who'll remember.

He's odd, energetic, noisy. Often rubs elves the wrong way. He'll be better suited to mortal friends, but -

That time hasn't come, yet, and in Aman she becomes his only true friend.

She betrays him, betrays all of Aman, as she must, and turns her attention to recreating the past loop with Luthien up until their approach to Nargothrond. Luthien might have some different memories of Finrod now, but - hopefully not too many, and Beren can honestly state she knew him before she became mortal.

 

She adores Luthien.

She doesn't want to be rejected a third time. It's hard to keep her attention appropriate. Not desperately in love and yearning and pain.

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"So will he recognize you?"

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"I'm unsure. My face is different than the one I usually wore back then. But... Some people have the talent of seeing into others' hearts. He would have that, if any of the Noldor do."

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"So we've just got to get past the gate, then."

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And not get immediately thrown back out by a Finrod who's temperamentally inclined to be ridiculously forgiving but also is aware that Morgoth is an extreme threat to his city. Sure. They can work with this.

"Pretty much, and my father's ring - or your name - should be enough for that..."

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Quick kiss.

"No problem, then." Onward?

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Kiss and a smile.

Onward.

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They're stopped by scouts again, though the arrangement and identities are a bit different.

Still, one steps forward and says, "This realm is claimed by Nargothrond in the name of Lord Finrod Felagund. Who trespasses here, and what is your business in our lands?"

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"Luthien of Doriath, and Beren daughter of Barahir. We wish an audience with Finrod Felagund."

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The scout inclines his head, gaze going briefly distant.

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And Beren takes a steadying breath -

And reaches out.

Osanwe's difficult, and most people don't have the talent of it. It's even harder to get someone to listen to you; a person's mind is closed, their thoughts wrapped securely within their soul, without them making a significant effort to the contrary. Beren had been one of the few mortals to master it in her zeroth life, and she'd adored every aspect of it.

It feels too intimate now, with a long march of deaths and forgettings behind her. She usually only lets Ellie into her mind, increasingly sparingly as the loops have gone on.

This is important, though.

Her mind brushes politely against Finrod's. He'll recognize her. You can't lie here.

'I come as an old friend,' she says. 'Regardless of what has laid before, and I swear I have no ill intention to you or any you protect.'

'Figured you might want to freak out about my presence before letting me into your city.'

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Finrod's always been an open book. It's one of the things that makes immortals uneasy around him.

His surprise flashes clearly across the distance between them - and then an unsure, almost hopeful question.

'Why?'

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'Falling in love complicates things.'

'She doesn't know who I was. She wouldn't accept it.'

'And we need your help.'

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A pause, a heartbeat long -

And the scout tells them, looking faintly confused, "Lord Finrod will come out to greet you himself."

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"...Very well."

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"Thank you."

That could be good or bad.

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Finrod moves rather quickly to their side of the bank, approaching them - wearing only his daily light armor, sword at his waist. He examines them, expression even...

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Then smiles.

"It's been a long time since I've seen either of you."

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"So it has, Lord Finrod."

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"You seem - happier," he tells her, then turns to Beren. "And you've grown."

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...They'll be okay.

"Mortal children tend to do that," is all she says.

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"A very excellent quality of theirs."

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"Among others. You know Beren, but I would like to introduce my betrothed."

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She gives Luthien an adoring smile and squeezes her hand. "And my betrothed, the most amazing woman in all of Creation."

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She laughs.

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"A happy turn, then," he says, smiling. "Come, you must be weary from the road - let's get you settled."

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"That would be most welcome, thank you."

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Inside, then. He shows them their suite first, and makes clear that he won't bother them if they want to rest - though if they'd like the tour, he can show them around the city. There's a library, even - he doesn't get much use out of it, he'll admit, but he saw how many people wanted books and couldn't afford them, so funded a public one.

(The Nargothrond of this loop is enormous compared to that of previous loops, satellite settlements spreading out around it. It's as secure as possible, of course, but Finrod's sacrificed security in favor of kindness more than once. It's yet to turn around and bite them.)

(There's more than just elves, here. A huge portion of the population are human, and even several dwarven families have moved in entirely, and Finrod's given shelter to the only surviving group of petty dwarves even if that means getting into very polite arguments with those who disapprove. Beleriand is dwindling, its people dying off - except in this realm.)

(This Finrod did not abandon Dorthonion to burn, did not leave Barahir's men to defend their land alone. Far more people who would call him Lord have survived.)

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(But this is, of course, the only Nargothrond Luthien has ever seen.)

She compliments Finrod on how well his people seem to be flourishing. Though she would like a bath before the complete tour, she thinks.

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Alright, he'll leave them to it - Beren can just send for him when they're ready.

('I want to talk to you,' he sends to Beren, 'But it can be later.')

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'Okay.'

'I'd like Luthien - not involved, I suspect.'

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And he heads out.

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"This is a nice place."

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"It is. He's done really well."

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Happy smile.

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Kiss. "And you get to read books!"

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"A whole library's worth."

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"We'll have to come back here after we're married, though we can certainly afford to spend some time here. Rest, and prepare, and actually think our approach through."

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"It'll be a little more complicated than escaping Menegroth."

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"And we have time."

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Nod. "I doubt the siege will break any time soon, after lasting so long."

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"It's very unlikely. And honestly most changes out there will make our job easier or won't affect us - the Enemy is already entrenched in the north - and they'd need more time to start bringing down Nargothrond. Either to build up for a rush like they did before the Battle of Sudden Flame, or to start whittling away at the realm's edges."

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"Before that though..." Stretch. "I do want a proper bath."

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"Warm water does sound nice after all those streams."

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"And soap."

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"No idea what that is," she says, voice teasing.

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"Oh dear, Men are even more backwards than I had thought."

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She giggles.

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Hum.

"I think a demonstration might be just a little too far, unfortunately."

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"I'm sure I can figure it out on my own somehow."

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"You are reasonably clever."

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"Practically a genius."

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Kiss.

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Kiss!

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Hee.

Then: bathtime.

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Beren leaves her to it and settles in to osanwe at Finrod.

(Talking out loud could be overheard. Could leave uncertainty between them. This is the most secure means of communication in Creation.)

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He gets the story of what happened out of her, at least as far as she's telling anyone.

'...You know, I'm actually - saddest, that I didn't bring you back. Even though that's a ridiculous thing to feel, and I'm glad someone did.'

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'You never gave up on me, did you? Even if everyone said what we had was a lie.'

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'No.'

'Everything was so terrible and chaotic that it didn't lose me many companions I wouldn't have lost otherwise, at least. Learned pretty quickly not to keep expressing what I - felt.'

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'You're an idiot.'

She can't help the wave of affection that spills over the link, though. A glimpse of her loneliness, her vulnerability, her fear.

She fears Luthien will give up on believing.

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'She loves you, though.'

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That hurts.

(Love hasn't stopped the last two rejections. She doesn't have to worry about holding that thought in, since she literally can't transmit it. Can't let anyone suspect what's going on.)

'Love isn't always enough. Not against fear.'

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'You've given up everything for her, though.'

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'She'd need to trust that.'

'We haven't known each other long, in the life of an elf, and - '

'There's things I can't change. Rivers I can't divert.'

'I don't - know that she'll understand that. Accept it.'

'I left a simulacrum as Melkor so I could slip out of the role. I don't want it to succeed, not at anything. But some things that would hinder it would cost me. Cost my ability to protect her.'

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'Have you considered just telling her? Not just who you were, but - all the constraints you're operating under. The trade offs you have to make, and let her decide if her safety's worth it.'

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'Who I was might be too big a truth to swallow as it is.'

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'Better to reveal it on your own terms.'

'And you can't hide it from her forever. She'll find out, eventually, and - I get why you wouldn't tell her immediately, you want more comfort, but if you take too long she'll feel lied to. More than she already might.'

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'The thought's occurred to me that the life of a mortal's a lot less time than 'forever.''

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'It'd be hard to hide it even that long, Beren, and you know that.'

'And she'll grieve.'

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'I know.'

'I don't want to exist in a world where she's rejected me.'

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'Then figure out the best way to tell her.'

'I'd suggest starting with 'not impulsively, not after it's become suddenly relevant, not after she's already begun to suspect.''

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'...You know, being dumber than you makes me feel incredibly stupid.'

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'I love you too.'

'Platonically' and 'sarcastically' are both very clear from the wash of his emotions.

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'Brat.'

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'Of course I am. Felagund is really a terrible after-name. They should've called me Prestachen.'

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She takes a moment to parse that as 'troubling child,' then loses her composure and actually laughs out loud.

'It'd be extremely accurate.'

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Another wave of amused fondness.

'For talking to her... You should probably also make sure she feels really loved and safe and relaxed first? Honestly while you guys are staying here might be a good time - it's definitely before anything relevant could happen, since this quest kind of makes the Melkor stuff very, very relevant.'

'And she's safe here. She has friends. You can fairly easily pamper her right before telling her. Make sure she's feeling okay and all.'

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'...That might be the best option, yeah.'

'Thank you.'

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'You're welcome.'

'Look after your own happiness too, alright?'

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'I will.'

She's smiling when Luthien's done with her bath, then goes to spend her own time luxuriating in warm water and soft soap.

She's... Not in the mood to do the same teasing routine about getting spoiled about soaps as last time. It's too raw.

So she just says, "I'm going to have to make pleading eyes at Finrod until he gives me a few cakes of this stuff. It's better quality than anything we had in Dorthonion."

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"It's got a nice smell, too."

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"It does."

"Any favorite scents?"

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"Lilac is nice."

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"I'll make sure to favor that, then."

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"You always smell nice."

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"I'd like to smell very nice, though."

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"I suppose I can't begrudge you that."

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Kiss!

"So, rest, or library?"

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"I think I'm refreshed enough for the library."

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"Alright."

She gets them directions and a tour from Finrod. It's late enough there's not a lot of people in the library. It's large and well lit, with high ceilings and many comfortable seats - and many, many books. 

(For a library of this age. It's tiny compared to later mortal libraries, especially after the invention of mass printing.)

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More books than Luthien's ever seen before. (Or at all. Shh.)

She wants to know what all of them are about!

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Treatsies on engineering and math and physics, medical texts, botanical and zoological records... Books of maps... Histories... Instruction manuals for crafts... Manuscripts on music and linguistic theory... Mannish folktales and oral histories, too, with notes about which history-keeper relayed the tale. 

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Plenty of material to practice her newly-acquired reading skills on.

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Beren's happy to sit with her to help decipher difficult words or handwritings.

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That would be excellent.

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Reading!

Beren lets Luthien work on her own a lot, and is helpful when she does offer her aid - pointing out which element of handwriting helped her decipher it, though some are just "This word is honestly illegible on its own but there aren't very many words that length that make any sense at all in context."

She mostly stares at Luthien though, a soft, adoring expression on her face. 

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Luthien decides that if she's spending more time staring back than reading, that means it's time to switch books.

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A reasonable heuristic.

Beren has a new favorite activity. Watching Luthien read is...

She wants to remember this moment forever.

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It's a very good series of moments.

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"I love you," she says, softly.

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Awww!

"I love you too."

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"I've never been happier than when I'm with you," she murmurs, smiling. "Just - watching you."

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"Good. I like making you happy." Hug.

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Hug! "It's convenient I like making you happy, then."

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"A happiness loop."

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"We'll just have to avoid getting stuck staring sappily at each other for hundreds of years."

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She laughs. "I might understand my father a little better now."

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

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"That would be quite a feat."

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

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"Anything for my pretty face, hmm?"

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"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."

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

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"Simple enough." Quick kiss.

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Hee. Kiss!

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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.)

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She can certainly achieve a very happy Luthien.

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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?"

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"I do."

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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."

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

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"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. 

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


Then she pokes for Beren's history.

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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.

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"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."

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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.))

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"Shh, shh," pat pat.

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

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Tearful kiss.

"I love you."

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

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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.

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"My Mygwainor."

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Wiggle! "Yours."

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Kiss!

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Happy kiss! "My lovely wonderful Ellin."

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Giggle. "All yours."

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She rests her head on Luthien's shoulder, sighing happily.

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This is nice.

"Thank you for telling me."

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Snuggle.

"You're welcome."

"I didn't want to never tell you - I don't want to lie to you - but. I didn't know if - there was a good time before now."

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"...Maybe not," she agrees. "I think I did need to know who you are, first, before who you were."

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"Yeah."

"Just..."

"I know it's big. And that I have a reputation for deceit."

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Nuzzle. "I trust you."


"But my father is going to be unbearable."

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Nuzzle.

"We can maybe not tell him?"

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"Maybe. Are you still fetching a Silmaril for him?"

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"We did want to do our courtship properly. And it should be relatively easy with my knowledge of Angband - my simulacrum's an obstacle, but an easily outsmarted one. Sauron might be an issue, depending on his mood and opinion on getting stuck with the simulacrum. But, still, I know him, and he's more likely to try to talk me into coming back."

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"...I'd go with you, if you wanted. To go back."

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"I don't."

"I - "

"Thank you. I love you."

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"Anything for you."

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Kiss!

"It's the same for me. Anything you want, I'll do, if it's at all within my power - and if it's not, I'll cheat until it is."

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"I love you."

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"Most wonderful Ellin." Kiss. "I love you too."

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Kiss.

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They should just lie here and snuggle until their bodies make them get up, clearly.

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That's fine by Luthien.

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Wonderful.

They need to start getting serious about planning their approach to Angband after that, of course. Mygwainor's knowledge should be useful, but there are actually only so many approaches... The Vale of Sirion is still the most effective, and while it's guarded by Sauron she may be able to talk him down or convince him this is actually a plot of hers. Still, there's a strong risk he'll try to kill Finrod at least...

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He's willing to take that risk. This is important.

(There's a lot of politics about his decision to accompany Luthien and Beren, and even more about his refusal to bring a single guard. He handles them himself with good cheer, setting up his nephew as his regent, getting the two Feanorians more firmly settled into positions that'll keep them busy - and that are legitimately important and well-suited to their talents. He charms Celegorm, who's a good friend of his anyways - Curufin's more reluctant - with a promise to bring the Silmaril from Doriath to the Feanorians once Beren's dangled it in Thingol's face long enough to get married.)

(...Somehow his friendship with Celegorm results in a demand that he at least bring Huan along, if he won't bring a single elven or mortal guard, which, okay, Huan seems chill with Beren...)

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(...This timeline is doing some very weird things.)

Angband's layout is such, good approaches are like this, the patrols won't have been changed unless they really annoy Sauron, their windows of opportunity are here and here... Angband is technically not capable of holding up under its own weight absent magic, which the simulacrum doesn't have. The simulacrum won't be able to track them through the fortress or turn it against them, but, also, Mygwainor is a mortal with some limited control but not much. The fortress is avoiding collapsing mostly through momentum and lingering intent/ claim, right now - she doesn't think she'd be able to collapse it as they're fleeing, actually, though they'll want to make a point of rescuing prisoners on their way out (here, here, and here) in case she can.

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Tricky, if there's only three (or four) of them. There'll be guards to consider as well.

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How many people can Luthien make fall asleep? 

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She's never had the chance to test.

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"I should be able to project your voice through the whole mountain, though I'm unsure if waking up some people will wake up everyone affected if the prisoners fall asleep too..."

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"I should be able to arrange a test - Angband probably has more people, but Nargothrond still has a lot, and everyone here will understand the value of making the entire enemy fortress fall asleep."

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"As long as orcs and whatever else are close enough to elves and men."

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"They are. The biggest issues will be the Ainur, probably moreso the dragon, though that's one creature... Huan could be a bit of a test at least, and everything that participates in Arda is vulnerable to the Song."

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"Mm," she agrees.

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"We'd need to make sure you had time to get the song to work, though."

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"And the things that are harder to fight will likely require more time."

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She nods.

...So there's the option the timeline usually steers toward of getting captured and Luthien tricking Morgoth but Mygwainor is finding she doesn't want Luthien dancing for other people. Okay brain. 

"We might be able to confuse them about your location - I can probably weave that into the same effect that'll project your voice everywhere. Make it impossible to determine where in the mountain you are, and that lack of a true location lets your voice ring out from every possible path."

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"That seems like it would help."

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"We should make back up plans, but that seems a decent first option for now."

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Nod.

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Some time on those, then - there's a lot of moving parts here, but fortunately also a lot of time to plan before the snow melts. A lot of time for Luthien to test her songs against crowds and learn new, more war-focused songs from the Noldor. Experienced generals too - none of them a fraction as experienced as Mygwainor, and none of them aware of her history, but they're able to suggest a wider variety of creative options and things to consider than the group can come up with alone.

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Time to sharpen the rest of their arsenal as well. All their skills will need to be at peak.

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She spends a lot of time drilling both Luthien and Finrod, has them practice fighting her alongside Huan. Going all out she saves for private spars - her Song is stronger than most would think a mortal's should be - but just fighting she's fine doing in public, and quickly attracts watchers who often then volunteer to help practice, providing groups to fight. Mygwainor also takes to ambushing Luthien outside of their spars - that at least is more light hearted, since she 'demands' a kiss every time she wins. 

(She is a better fighter by far than anyone else in Nargothrond, even just limited to mortal weapons. It makes her an odd number of friends, since she isn't hesitant about offering help.)

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Everyone should see her Mygwainor's best qualities.

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Snicker.

"You can ambush me too, you know."

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"Hmm, maybe..."

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"See if you can't hold me down."

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"I'm sure I could find a way."

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"I'll keep an eye out for it."

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"You'll never see me coming."

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Smirk. "If anyone can sneak up on me..."

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"Or distract you."

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"Ambushing me while distracting me is certainly its own set of advanced skills."

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"Possibly not directly applicable to the quest at hand."

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"I'd hope not."

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Grin.

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Kiss!

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Luthien waits by the door to the bath one evening and tackles Mygwainor when she emerges.

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She rolls with the tackle, trying to throw Luthien off her.

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She's not quite so easy to shake, having spent some time working out what Mygwainor's likely responses will look like.

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She's stronger than Luthien, usually - she starts trying to get the leverage to wrestle properly, though Luthien does have an opening advantage here.

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And she uses that to get her small dagger positioned neatly.

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She stills at the press of Luthien's blade.

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"Hello, darling."

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Swallow.

"Hello, lovely," she says, voice almost breathless.

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"Point to me, I think," she says, pressing just a little harder with the blade, drawing forth a drop of blood.

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Soft whine.

"Yes."

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She smiles and puts the knife away, kissing the pinprick she left.

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Wiggle!

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"Was that exciting for you?"

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"Quite."

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Luthien hums happily.

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Kiss! "You're beautiful, and really excitingly so when you have a knife in your hand," she murmurs.

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"Good."

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Giggle.

"You're still quite a few points behind me, though."

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"Now I've found a weak point, though."

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"I'll shore up my defenses."

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"Good luck with that."

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"I don't need luck; I have skill. You'll just have to become more terrifying."

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"I'll warn you not to underestimate me."

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"Oh, I know you're intelligent, talented, powerful, a quick learner..."

"Which is why I have every confidence you can become the most terrifying person in Creation, given the right motivation."

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"Making my Mygwainor excited is excellent motivation."

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"You're going to have to work very hard to dethrone me, though," she murmurs. 

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"It's a good thing we have time for me to continue to work on it."

Kiss.

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Kiss!

"Mm, you'd look very good in a crown you know..."

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"I look good in anything."

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"And in everything." Nuzzle. "But a crown, a throne, a loyal vassal at your feet... Seems rather appropriate for you."

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"Mmm, it does..."

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"We can put it on the list of things to get you after our quest," she teases.

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"We could persuade my father to get the Silmaril set as a wedding gift."

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She laughs. "Finrod might pout; he wants to make nice with the Feanorians by returning their property."

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"This would clearly be a better use of it."

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Nuzzle.

"...If you want, but - I honestly really hate the stupid things and would be happier if someone took them and fucked off. Maybe to Aman, Aman can have all the terrible glowy things."

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Soft kiss. "All right. I'm not especially attached to the idea."

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Kiss!

"Good. They're very overhyped and also burn me and not in the fun way, and people will absolutely keep spontaneously trying to kill you for them in very annoying ways."

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"More trouble than the shiny is worth."

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Nuzzle. 

"...Also it literally just occurred to me I should not be the one carrying the Silmaril out, this body is less resistant to being set on magic fire."

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"We don't want that."

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"We can make Finrod carry it. His baffling aura of friendship will confuse any curses."

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"It definitely would."

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"Nobody would be able to figure out if the strangely fascinating shiny thing was the gem or him smiling!"

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She laughs.

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Kiss.

"I can't wait until our quest is done..."

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"Me neither."

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Sounds like they should finish up their planning, then. 

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And once the snows melt, they can set out.

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Of course. 

(She still nicknames Huan 'Serendipitous Kill,' though this time her tone's more fondly teasing.)

(This group has a nice dynamic. She likes it.)

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Different than when it was just the two of them. But Serendipitous is agreeable and Finrod is tolerable.

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Better than if Nargothrond had gotten Finrod to take guards along. 

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True.

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Lean.

The Vale of Sirion is a good hike away. It's a treeless valley, cold rocky cliffs dropping down to a grassland on the border between scrub and tundra. There's a single road running north to south through it, winding among destroyed farms and charred buildings, cutting through stone walls that stretch across the valley. The gates in those walls were broken by the Enemy and never replaced, but the stonework stands strong. 

A large, cold river pours through the center, splitting around an island in the middle - the Isle of Werewolves, as it's called now, and Sauron's beasts roam far and wide from it to harass those still trying to scrape out a living in their reach. A tower that's never been broken rises from the center, and it is there that Sauron rules.

Mygwainor shoots down Finrod's first idea of using the Song to disguise themselves as some of the many orcs that walk these lands. Sauron will see through mere illusion very easily.

There's no path nearby through the mountains - they could climb into the highlands of Dorthonion and then back down, but that will take them tremendously out of their way, and it's guarded by creatures other - and sometimes more dangerous - than Sauron.

(Still, it's an option for another loop, if Sauron proves tricky.)

 

Mygwainor actually suggests they walk up and knock on the front door. No subterfuge.

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...Everyone here does know who Mygwainor is already. So it depends if Sauron is likely to respond helpfully to that.

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"More that he's likely to respond violently to us sneaking by. He's proud and competitive, and he won't back down from a challenge. Sneaking by makes this a challenge of war. Even if he's mad at me - starting this as diplomacy puts it as a challenge that's less likely to get anyone killed, since he thinks switching game types when you start losing is... Approximately unsporting."

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"What would we tell him?"

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"I do plan to tell him I'm after the Silmaril. I don't think he'll care very much, and guarding Angband isn't his job. I'm unsure what, if anything, he'll demand in exchange for passage through... Or if he'd cast it as something other than an exchange."

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"A contest of some kind?"

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"Everything's a contest with him. But, yes, likely so - especially since I doubt he'll go along with 'I have a plan, do as I say'..."

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"Would it be the sort of thing we can prepare for?"

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"I'm unsure... He likes games of skill, but for a really large definition of skill... He'll probably insist on proposing something, though, and I don't know what he'll choose."

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"But you think we still have a better chance at that than a straight fight or an ambush."

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"I'm fairly sure we'd ultimately win a straight fight, but not without fatalities."

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"And we can't afford any, really. All right."

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"Worse comes to worse we attack him anyways; I don't think trying nonviolent resolution first will significantly hurt our chances in a fight."

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Nod.

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She sighs.

"...Having enemies is annoying."

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"You've got friends, too." Bump.

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Bump! "You're worth a million enemies."

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"Maybe not all at once."

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"Well, if they were standing between us..."

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"That would be a different story."

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Kiss!

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Hee.

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"How many enemies is my friendship worth?" Finrod asks with a little laugh.

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Thoughtful hum.

And, completely deadpan: "Negative three."

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"Meaning he'd convert them to allies?"

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She snorts. "Sure, let's go with that."

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She winks at Finrod.

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He's laughing.

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It is pretty funny.

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The good mood's nice. 

Though Mygwainor's cheer fades a bit as they draw into the area of gloom around the Isle of Werewolves.

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It is a bit of a downer.

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They're committed now, though.

She takes Luthien's hand briefly, squeezing, as they approach the bridge, though she lets go once they're close enough it might make a difference in reaction time. 

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And presumably if they manage to get all the way up to the door they should... knock?

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They don't get attacked, so. 

Knock knock.

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And a swirl of flame pours out of one of the upper windows, resolving to Sauron - dressed casually, no pretense at armor - standing a bit out of easy reach from them. 

"I must say, I don't get many visitors out here," he says, lightly. "Fewer with manners."

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"We were passing through and thought it would be politest to introduce ourselves."

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"Polite indeed. May I know who's calling?"

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"Luthien of Doriath, Finrod Felagund, and Beren daughter of Barahir."

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Huff!

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"...And Serendipitous Kill."

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"Someone finally bullied you into taking an actually interesting name?" he asks the dog. 

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Unimpressed huff.

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"Speaking of manners..."

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"I am horribly deficient in them," he agrees. "Welcome to my tower," he says, "Newly cleaned of pests and rennovated." The wooden door swings open. 

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Well then the polite thing to do is enter.

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Mygwainor's tense, though she's trying not to show it. 

There's a sitting room they can awkwardly stand in. 

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They weren't really looking to stay for too long.

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He follows them in, an intense, burning presence in the back of their minds.

"What brings you to these lands?"

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"It's the fastest route from Nargothrond to Angband."

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"Few people go to Angband, lately, who aren't orcs."

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"We're not intending to stay long."

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"Why go at all?"

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"My father demanded a Silmaril from my betrothed in exchange for giving his blessing to our wedding."

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"...Does he know who she is, because if he does Thingol has weirder standards than I was expecting."

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"No. He does not."

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"And you do? I'm surprised she was that honest."

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She takes Mygwainor's hand. "I trust her."

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She squeezes Luthien's hand, examining Ares, but not talking yet.

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Sauron turns to her.

"The Silmarils are yours, though the simulacrum won't hand them over - that thing is incredibly annoying and stupid, by the way, my workload has quadrupled."

"But you could have anything of Angband you want, if you just took your crown back."

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"Your workload is truly the greatest tragedy of this Age," she says, voice drier than any desert. "I'm not coming back to those chains. All's fair in war, and I cheat."

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He inclines his head a little.

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"She has another life to live, now."

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"With you?"

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"Yes. With me."

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He hums.

"I'll trade you passage, then," he says after a few moments, "If you step the simulacrum back and let me run the show."

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"...After we've passed back this way."

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"Fair."

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"And you won't come after us, afterward."

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"Well, depends on how you define 'come after you.' I certainly intend to keep trying to win this war. But, no, I won't stop you from taking the Silmaril wherever. It's utterly useless sitting on the crown."

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"Not targeting us specifically, outside of direct battlefield participation."

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"...All of the planet is a battlefield right now," she tells Luthien. "Two armies trying to beat each other up in a field is a very small part of war."

To Sauron: "How about this instead: if you kill, cripple, injure, psychologically torture, curse, or otherwise arrange to significantly or lastingly harm Luthien physically, emotionally, or spiritually, or cause any of those to happen directly or indirectly, I will feed you to Ungoliant, regardless of the outcomes of this negotiation."

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"Duly noted!"

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That works.

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"Do we have a deal, then?" he asks. 

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"I think we do."

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She nods. "We do."

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"Excellent."

"I won't interfere with this Quest, then."

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Nod.

"We had best continue on, then."

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She nods.

And: "Goodbye, Sauron."

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"Until we meet again, old friend."

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...She shouldn't be smiling at that. 

Eh, if this goes disastrously, she can always reset.

"Until then."

And -

Out, and onward north. 

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Onward.

"That wasn't... as bad as it could have been."

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"No, though giving him the rule of Angband might come back to bite us in the ass..."

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Kiss.

"We'll deal with that if it does."

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Kiss. "Together."

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"Always."

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North to Angband, then? 

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All the way.

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The plains south of Angband are nearly uninhabitable, waters choked with harsh ash, rain acidic, sunlight thin and rare, ground frozen even in the heat of summer. Game once roamed here, large animals feeding off woody shrubs, but now even lichens struggle to thrive. Food and drink often mean stealing from the orcish caravans and outposts - which at least are easier to hide from than Sauron.

Angband itself is massive, three unnaturally jagged peaks thrusting above the already sharp and high mountain range. The rock is black and bare with a dull sheen of iron, and the front gates are solid, dark metal.

There's other entrances though, not all of them so well guarded as the obvious one. Mygwainor leads them along narrow, precarious paths, to the hidden northern roads she'd used to render the elvish siege entirely a piece of theater. 

Things are riskier, here, but -

She can get them into a good position for Luthien to project song through the mountain, if that's still the plan. 

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She hasn't had any better ones on the way here, and putting everyone in the mountain to sleep still seems like the best way of avoiding actual fighting.

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Okay.

She's ready when Luthien is. (She starts humming the song that'll hide their location and project Luthien's voice.)

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She begins singing, starting softly and gradually building.

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Her song wraps around Luthien's, subtly, bolstering her, falling into harmony - Luthien's voice wends through the halls and caves of the mountains, echoing from the stone, sourceless, unerring. 

(She believes so, so strongly in Luthien, and that belief, that inevitability, weaves into her song.)

It'll take a while to gauge the true effects, but - no one seems to be tracking them down just yet.

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They know roughly how long it should take from Nargothrond. Luthien pushes a bit harder than she ever did there, just to be sure.

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She has some sense of what is going on elsewhere, at least, especially this close, especially around her simulacrum - 

Eventually, she murmurs in that the song has succeeded and the fortress sleeps - though she thinks Luthien should keep up at least a low hum until they're all the way out.

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She drops her voice to a quiet murmur, and gestures ahead.

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Through the halls, then. 

Angband is enormous, a labyrinth that could defeat enemies even if it was entirely empty of defenders. She knows the way, fortunately, and leads their party winding to the throne room. The largest concentration of worrying enemies are here, several Maiar currently in attendance to the simulacrum.

But they, like every orc the party has passed, are deep asleep. The simulacrum's crown has even fallen to the stone floor, as it always does. 

Mygwainor warns them not to touch anyone, not to harm anyone - and to not try to take more than a single Silmaril.

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Finrod's able to follow directions.

His knife is dwarf-made and sufficient to pry loose one of the gems. He wraps it in a thick cloth and secures it as firmly as he can in his pack.

And then - the dungeons next.

Finrod has a better touch with the prisoners than Mygwainor or Serendipitous Kill, and Luthien's still singing, so he takes care of shaking people awake.

Some recognize him. Many of the elves here followed him or his brothers, once, and they're incredulous he's made it all the way here -

But he assauges their worries enough to get them on their feet, his own song weaving in with Mygwainor and Luthien's hum to offer healing and strength. There are a lot of slaves here, though few too injured to move - anyone who can't work doesn't survive long, and Angband hasn't captured anyone for information recently. Still, Finrod organizes them into groups to look out for each other.

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Carcharoth, the greatest wolf to ever live, is lying across the threshold of the Gates of Angband -

So they simply don't go that way.

There are far more doors that open out than open in, and Mygwainor leads them to freedom well away from any gate guards. 

Traveling south with the prisoners is hard - escaping from Angband is prevented by the fact that you'll likely starve if you leave as much as it is by guards and chains. They took some food and water with them, as much as they could carry, but it won't last long. 

Mygwainor's proposed solution is for some subset of herself, Luthien, and Serendipitous Kill to range ahead, leaving at least Finrod to protect the group and hunting down an orcish caravan to raid. 

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Luthien will go with her. Might be better to have Serendipitous Kill's help as well, if Finrod can keep everyone calm and together by himself.

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He thinks so; the big issue will be if they're attacked, and so far they've evaded and confused pursuit.

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In that case, they'll take Serendipitous Kill with them. Better to be sure of disposing of the caravan quickly, that will help to keep them hidden.

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Mygwainor agrees, and Serendipitous Kill is likely a better scout than either Luthien or her.

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They should start before it becomes a truly pressing issue, then.

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As soon as they're confident they won't be imminently attacked as a group - and preferably scouting along their path going forward, since their group won't be able to hide as trivially as just four people. Three birds, one stone - get wagons and supplies, scout the road ahead, and remove obstacles in their path.

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Nice and efficient.

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It'll be a good test of Luthien's combat abilities under live fire, too, if she wants to take point.

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Sure, she can do that.

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They do find an orcish caravan a bit ahead of their group, moving slowly toward Angband. It's large - more wagons and beasts of burden than they'll need, more guards than they usually handle with raiding camps - but the orcs seem to be at a very low level of alertness.

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An ambush seems like it would be best, then. Take them by surprise and cut the numbers down as much as possible before they start fighting back.

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She nods.

At range, then? Or using traps? And should they stick together or split up at all?

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Traps if they can get some constructed in time, then start picking off orcs at range. They should split up at least a little, to make sure none escape in a direction they don't want. Serendipitous Kill might be best at that.

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The dog seems to agree with this assessment!

(They've been having to reduce their speed to match the others. It's sometimes a bit frustrating.)

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Hm... Major traps might not be fast, though they can manage traps to restrict the orcs' ability to respond to provocation in time most likely. She thinks the caravan's close to settling for the day, and certainly won't reach their larger group tonight - major traps would mean setting something along the road for tomorrow night, and also most would risk damaging the wagons and beasts of burden, which they want to take whole here.

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If they can take them before they dig in to camp, that would be ideal.

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Yes, which does mean they should move quickly...

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Then let's set to work.

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The work goes quickly enough, Mygwainor nearest Luthien - though not in sprinting range of her - and Serendipitous Kill planning to harass the orcs from close range on the other side after the women's attacks put the caravan into enough disarray.

Mygwainor's arrows drop several of the most well positioned guards all along the caravan before their enemies have time to more than flinch, and the battle is on, beasts panicking, orcs drawing weapons - trying to use the wagons for shelter, some going for bows, some for blades or spears -

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Luthien sings in time to her arrows, confusion and clumsiness and the fear that locks legs in place.

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Mygwainor sings of death, wounds that won't staunch, pains that distract, a great lurking beast that will seize their throats.

And yet several of the orcs push through, rushing toward Luthien.

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She drops her bow and draws her sword, meeting the first with a silver arc that cleaves limbs from body.

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He falls with a harsh shout, but more are pressing toward her.

Mygwainor turns her bow to killing those not too near Luthien, though she's also continually working to prevent any from making a run for it, slowly working herself over closer to her betrothed.

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She begins dancing with her sword through her opponents, keeping the blade always moving to use its great length to best advantage.

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A group of orcs have noticed Luthien's betrothed too, sadly, and Serendipitous Kill is having the somewhat unanticipated side effect of flushing the orcs towards the two women.

Mygwainor switches for her blade, too. It's shorter than Luthien's, and she strikes faster, more viciously, keeping on her feet as blood sprays around her.

A few orcs do come close to injuring either woman, but none succeed.

The horizon's turning a bit less of a murky grey by the time they down their last opponent, and Mygwainor picks up a spear and sets to making sure all the downed orcs are actually dead.

She's covered in splatters of dark blood, breathing heavily, pupils wide in the low light.

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There's a faint sheen of sweat on Luthien's brow and she's breathing harder than usual. A streak of blood paints the left side of her face down onto her shoulder.

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"Are you alright?" her betrothed asks, stepping over to her.

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"Yeah."

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She cups Luthien's cheek, thumb brushing through the blood smear. "You made a bit of a mess of yourself..." 

There's a weird feeling in her chest, looking at Luthien like this.

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"You're not much better," she says, raising an eyebrow.

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"A bit messier, even," she murmurs, and then kisses her betrothed.

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Kiss!

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"My wonderful, dangerous Ellin..."

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"My fierce little kitten."

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Small wiggle!

"I love you."

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"I love you too."

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Softer kiss. "How about we send Serendipitous Kill back to let Finrod know everything's gone smoothly, while we get the supplies and everything ready?"

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"That sounds like an intelligent plan."

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Smile.

On to do that, then, and, as they're working: "I liked watching you fight."

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"Oh?"

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"Very much. Focused, deadly, talented... Makes my heart race."

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"Maybe we should do this more often."

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"Find enemy forces to slaughter?"

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"If that's what it takes."

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"It'd be practically useful, too. At least somewhat."

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"Less so as we get further south."

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"We might have to just seize opportunities when we see them."

...She is quite tempted to do a mass murder run if she ends up stuck repeating a section for several dozen loops and needs a break like sometimes happens. Dark Lady Luthien...

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She grins.

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Small shiver.

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She laughs, pleased, and continues working.

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They get everything ready by the time Finrod and the released prisoners catch up to them. Mygwainor ranges ahead with Luthien a lot, scouting and taking whatever opportunities they can go be absolute terrors to the local orcs.

The Isle of Werewolves is ominously quiet as they pass, and Mygwainor gets a distant look once they're through, mentally nudging the tangle around Angband - the edges of her claim extending even here - to give Sauron rights over it, her simulacrum to let Sauron take more political power within Angband.

The road splits not long after. Finrod will by necessity continue on with the released prisoners into his territory; Mygwainor and Luthien can accompany him, or take the Silmaril and head straight to Doriath's nearest border. 

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They'll be continuing on.

Luthien is ready to be done with this Quest.

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Mygwainor is too.

They get the Silmaril secured in Luthien's pack, say goodbye to Finrod and Serendipitous Kill and the people they rescued, and then -

To Doriath.

It's a good hike, though shorter than the distance they've crossed since Angband, and faster since they're moving alone in more hospitable lands. It's getting to early winter, the cold bite of the wind threatening snow, by the time they reach the border. 

The guards seem rather surprised and relieved to see Luthien.

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She was always coming back.

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They're very glad to have her back! 

One splits off to offer them an escort back to Menegroth, informing them in low tones than King Thingol has been in a mood. 

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Somehow that's not very surprising. Perhaps she can cheer him up.

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He'll certainly be gladdened that she's safe.

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They had best make haste, then.

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The guard nods.

Onward, then, moving swiftly through the forests of Doriath until they reach the gates - and from there to the throne room, as court is in session right now. 

Thingol appears wan, stressed, and he rises from his throne in a sharp motion when Luthien is announced. "My daughter," he says, voice tight. "You are returned to me."

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She does not bow. "We have, Father."

She takes the still-wrapped Silmaril from an inside pocket.

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"You asked that I retrieve a Silmaril, if you were to bless our union. We have, my Lord, though the journey was long."

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He - and the rest of the court - is clearly shocked at that. "...A mighty accomplishment," he says after a long moment. 

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She pulls the cloth away to let the gem sparkle.

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It catches his gaze. 

"I am glad you came through uninjured," he says at length, then dismisses his court and gestures to a side withdrawing room. "Come, tell me of your journey."

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She covers the Silmaril back up and goes to join him in the room.

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Mygwainor sits by Luthien and gives a - fairly inaccurate, but not provably so - account of their quest, praising Luthien often throughout. 

(Notably, she leaves off everything related to her identity, including the deal they struck with Sauron - instead claiming they snuck past him.)

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Thingol listens with a troubled expression. 

Then, to Luthien: "I was made aware that I have been... Remiss, in much of my behavior to you, and that I brought you harm. I... apologize."

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Wonder if that was the guards or Mother.

"Thank you, Father. I accept your apology."

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Slow nod.

"...I give my blessing to your marriage."

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"Thank you, Father." Her smile is genuine and her tone much warmer.

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"Thank you," Mygwainor says, sincerely. "I love your daughter, and I want only to have what time we may together."

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"I'm worried about her when that time ends, but - I have realized it isn't for me to try and control her happiness," he says, sounding tired. "But for now - we have a wedding party to plan, it seems."

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"So we do."

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Mygwainor grins. "I look forward to it."

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Elvish wedding parties are rarely planned quickly, of course, but he can direct them toward the usual people who plan events at court for however large a celebration they want to be involved in.

Before they part, though - he wants to keep the Silmaril with him, and he's at best lukewarm on the idea of letting it leave Doriath, worse than lukewarm on the idea of returning it to the Feanorians.

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(...Not surprising. It always goes like this.)

(Not very good, though.)

(Mygwainor should really try to end the loops before this inevitably gets everyone killed.)

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That was never part of the Quest. Nor is it a wise idea; the Feanorians are already or will shortly be aware that they were successful in retrieving it.

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Doriath will stand strong against them, and he won't deal with Kinslayers.

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There is no dealing required. A Silmaril was requested, a Silmaril was brought. She has returned, safe and whole and happy.

Let that be enough.

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It is, for him, but he will not see the Kinslayers get their way so easily. 

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Even to the point of compounding their sin, at the cost of his own people?

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It will not cost his people, nor compound their sin. 

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She hopes he remembers those words.

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He does not often forget. 

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...She and Luthien have had a long journey. They should go rest. 

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Yeah.

They'll see about starting the planning process in the morning.

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She gets them detangled from the argument with Thingol and gets Luthien to their rooms, embracing her.

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Hug.

"I tried, I suppose."

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Squeeze. "You did."

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"Let's have the wedding as soon as possible."

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Kiss. "Let's."

"I don't think anyone would object if we married before the parties; I understand that's normal at least among the Noldor... Especially with anyone highly placed socially."

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"Father would frown. ...But I suppose he doesn't strictly need to know."

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"I've heard some people can see whether you're married in another's eyes." Nuzzle. "But as long as we don't draw attention to it..." Kiss. "But we can wait, too."

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Kiss.

"I've waited long enough."

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"Then I won't be the one to make you wait longer."

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She laughs.

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Giggle. "Do you want to marry now?" she asks.

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"Yes."

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Kiss!!!

Then that sounds like time to move toward Luthien's bed, then.

 

(...Mygwainor was married, once, millions of years ago in her zeroth life, long enough to get pregnant, though not for very long after. She barely remembers it, and... It wouldn't apply much here, anyways.)

(She knows the theory well enough, at least, enough to make Luthien happy, to make them wed.)

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Her mind opens to Luthien, a warm happy glow, wrapping around her wife.

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She glows right back at her lovely, beautiful, brilliant wife.

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Kisses, so many kisses, she loves Luthien so much. 

(She doesn't think about how it's going to suck when this loop resets. That's secret knowledge, though, and can't be shared anyways.)

Fortunately, elves are rarely impatient. They have all the time they could possibly want before anyone expects them to seriously work on the wedding parties. 

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She would like to get it in before the consequences of Thingol's decisions inevitably come calling. Midsummer next, perhaps.

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Kiss. 

Alright. 

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The wedding preparations start after the winter solstice, at least in terms of what people who aren't either of the brides are doing, but Luthien and Beren's input is intentionally kept minimal - everyone feels the brides shouldn't have to worry too much at all. 

Beren and Luthien are encouraged to spend their days out in the forest once it warms, in fact, largely by Luthien's friends among the guards. (Thingol's mood has been mercurial, of late.)

News always takes a while to travel, messengers longer, so they haven't actually heard anything from the Feanorians as midsummer begins its quick approach. (The rumors of increased orcish raids brought in by dwarvish traders might have something to do with that.)

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In fact, the first they hear of anything that might be termed consequences is an eerie, chilling shriek that echoes throughout the entire kingdom. The sunlight goes grey and dim, the trees lashing about in an immense, dangerous gale, and -

Something snaps in the Song of the world around them. The soft lullaby that had made Doriath feel safe, jagged edges smoothed over, comes to a jangling and harsh end.

It's replaced by a scream of rage and grief that shakes the world like a mighty drum.

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Mother-

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Welp.

This is early.

She rushes to her wife's side, says, "Ellin - do you think Menegroth is in danger - "

This timeline's probably a wash, things happening this dramatically out of order means it has a high chance of destabilizing, but.

She has to try. She doesn't want to be ripped away from her wife, she doesn't want this loop to end, she doesn't want to let Luthien down -

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"We need to check."

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She nods, takes Luthien's hand, and squeezes. "I'll be with you."

And off, as fast as they safely can through the trees.

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She doesn't want anything bad to have happened but-

She has a bad feeling.

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Her bad feeling seems justified.

There's faint sounds of combat, shouts, audible even before Menegroth's gates come into view.

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An attack? But how did they get so far so quickly?

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They round a last bend -

It doesn't seem to be an attack, at least not from without. No signs of invasion, no signs of sieges or infiltrators.

A lot of signs of internal conflict, though, people - dwarves and grey elves both - doing their best to flee, the elves having more success getting out than the dwarves. There seems to be some fighting between the elves and the dwarves, but - it's difficult to tell in the chaos, if it's organized or a few individuals at conflict points.

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They have to get further in-

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Her wife grabs her arm, tugs her back a bit. "We should use another entrance," she says, soft, urgent. "If there's a press, it'll be for this one."

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"...Fine. Quickly."

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Quickly, then, to a side entrance, slipping in -

"To the throne room?"

(There's fighting within, too, it sounds like.)

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"Yeah."

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She nods and leads Luthien there, deftly navigating her wife around any fights.

(She doesn't want Luthien to have to see this. Any of this.)

The throne room is in disarray when they get there.

Thingol's dead, body sprawled in front of the throne, blood splattered around him. There's several others dead, as well - two dwarves, a handful of elves, mostly guards. (Luthien recognizes them, of course, though she'd never been as close to her father's guards as to the border guards.)

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Oh no.

She moves closer, trying to figure out what happened.

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Thingol appears to have been killed by a blow from someone shorter than him, though the exact weapon is hard to determine at a glance. The elves also seem to have mostly been killed by dwarves, though one of them might've been killed by another elf - the only dead court elf who isn't one of the guards, someone Luthien recognizes from time's he's tried to reconcile arguments.

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Mygwainor's a step behind Luthien, though she's looking at the scene more tiredly than analytically.

Still, she nudges aside one of the dwarven bodies to reveal a complicatedly and gorgeously wrought necklace he'd dropped and then fallen over, apparently dying while scrambling for a weapon. 

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"Oh, that- stupid, stubborn idiot!"

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Hug.

"...We should try to stop the fighting."

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"Rally the guards or something." Deep breath.

She turns decisively away from the corpse. "Let's go."

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"I can try to project your voice here," she says, "If we get everyone to stop, we can sort out and rally people before we get attacked externally; this interior fight will only weaken our position."

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"Do you- know the layout well enough?"

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"Yes."

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Luthien starts singing. Calm and sadness, peace and regret. The laying-down of arms and forgiveness. It's an elegy for her father as much as anything else.

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She makes sure it reaches every corner of the city, spreads beyond to any knots of fighting, anyone who's already left. 

The distant sounds of fighting cease. 

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She lets the song trail off slowly, ending on a long sustained high note.

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She takes Luthien's hand. 

"Let's get defense and medical response organized," she says, softly. "Sauron's unlikely to attack immediately; I'd say our largest priority right now is actually avoiding a war with the dwarves..."

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"Yeah."

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To that, then. 

There are more injured than dead, at least. Everyone's still upset, but... They can prevent further violence for now. 

Mygwainor takes the lead on a lot of discussions with and medical care to the dwarves who survived, though Luthien's needed for some of it. 

She locks the Silmaril in a metal chest. 

She gets shaken apologies, the start of peace, of deescalation.

 

She hasn't slept in over twenty four hours, too busy on damage control, on peace, on preventing the twisting, shuddering timeline from destroying Doriath early, when the world buckles and gives. 

It was inevitable with events happening this far out of order. 

 

Fate finds Luthien as the world is unraveling (she's the only one who can see it doing so) and takes one final, grieving look at her wife's face before she's dumped back into the silence between Songs.

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The first thing Luthien recognizes is her father's face.

She starts crying.

It's hard to tell apart sadness from anger or other upset in a baby. Her parents must think she's much fussier this time around.


She eventually learns to stop prodding at the tender soreness where the marriage bond almost isn't. She lived without it for much longer than she lived with it but-

It helps when she relearns to walk on her own. To take back that bit of autonomy. She grows into a serious, solemn child. She practices singing, and gets stuck with the after-name Tinuviel. When she's able to get away on her own, she works on her swordcraft. That was the way of fighting her Mygwainor liked most.

She pushes her father to treat with the dwarves as an equal state, when they're discovered. Maybe that will help.

 

It's when she's out in the forest alone one day that she feels the marriage bond blossom again. She grabs her bag and begins heading west immediately. (She's always packed as if she were leaving, on these excursions, ever since Beren.)

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She can get a ship all the way to Aman, if she wants.

By the time she's reached the shore - well, marriage bonds are dim if there's any great distance, so she can't really feel much detail about her wife. 

But Mygwainor doesn't seem to have moved closer on her own. 

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That's all right. Luthien is going to her.

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Aman is pretty! It's also brighter than Beleriand, much more so. The people have an odd, fierce light in their eyes, and they're all quite nice.

Everyone knows Melkor was recently released from bondage. It's on everyone's tongue. 

That does mean she can fairly easily learn exactly where in Aman Melkor is, though, rather than having to use the bond to triangulate - she's living outside of Tirion, among the Noldor.

(The language here is different, of course, but a few people have trickled over since Sindarin came into use and can be her interpreters - or people react fairly well to her using osanwe to communicate.)

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That's convenient.

Not that she won't make an effort to learn Quenya as she goes, but. She has other things on her mind. She moves steadily towards Tirion and her beloved.

(She doesn't try to contact her over osanwe. It's... maybe superstitious of her, but she wants to see her wife with her own eyes.)

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She's able to find her wife very easily, especially this close. 

But -

The woman her bond insists is her wife, whose very presence announces Vala, wears a different raiment than Beren had.

That's not too unusual for a Vala, of course. 

She's alone in a small estate separated from any others - she makes people nervous, apparently - and she answers the door for Luthien with a frown and a furrow in her brow.

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"Mygwainor."

"Do you- remember me?"

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"No. Nor that name."

"Who are you?"

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"Your Ellin."

"Can I come in?"

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She steps aside.

"That doesn't answer many real questions," she says, but gestures Luthien in all the same. There's a parlor visible at the end of the hall.

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She walks inside and starts gently pressing on their bond, the accumulated grief-loss-love of their years of separation.

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She narrows her eyes (hides a flinch). (Her mind's... Resistant, to letting Luthien in. Trying to pull away. But the bond can slip under her barriers fairly well.)

"How did you make this bond?"

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"You married me. You came to me and took me away and showed me a life beyond the one I had, and you married me. You said you had fallen in love with me before the world began, Mygwainor."

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Her expression's twisting oddly. "I don't - "

"I wouldn't. I stand alone."

She sounds unsure, and she presses a hand to her forehead, looking suddenly pained.

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"You don- You remember, don't you? Tell me you remember. I can't do this alone."

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"I - "

Her expression twists, her side of the bond rips open with a whirlwind of grief and loss and pain and desperate hope and lancing terror -

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And she reforms her raiment into Beren's face, collapsing with a sob.

(She still feels like a Vala, of course, not quite like Beren had.)

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Luthien catches her, hugs her tight.

"Mygwainor..."

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"Ellin."

"How - "

"You've - never, before - "

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"I'm here now, darling."

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That doesn't seem to be making her cry any less, actually.

"How much do you remember?"

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"Everything. Meeting you in the forest, getting rescued from my captivity, Finrod and Nargothrond, stealing a Silmaril from your simulacrum. Our wedding. ...Up to the fight at Menegroth and the aftermath then- I woke up as a newborn."

"...Have you been through this more?"

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Small, broken laugh in between her tears.

"Yes."

"You never remembered."

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"Well."

"Did you marry me, before?"

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"No."

"It - didn't get that far, or we decided not to."

(...Ellie as Luthien isn't Ellie as Sauron but there's a roaring grief in her head that says she could've married Sauron - her Sauron, her Ellie, the one she had from the start - and she wouldn't have been alone - )

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Soft pats.

"I'm here now. And you don't have to be alone again."

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She snuggles into Luthien.

"...I'm - terrified it won't last, next loop - terrified I'll screw up and - it was okay if I screwed up because I'm the only one who ever gets hurt lastingly but now you might get hurt - "

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"I would suffer anything rather than be parted from you again."

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Nuzzle.

"...I preserved your memories each loop. Or - I thought I did. I couldn't - I've never succeeded in giving preserved memories to people, but also I couldn't tell anyone the loops exist. Not verbally, not through osanwe, I couldn't even try to manipulate them into concluding time travel might have happened."

"I - your past loops are complicated. So there's only two for - you proper."

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"...It's enough for me that I'm here with you."

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She curls into Luthien, relief and vague guilt washing through her mind. "Okay."

"...I. Messed up a lot. In the other two."

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Gentle kiss. "No complaints about the end result."

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She smiles, for the first time since Luthien's seen her - possibly the first time this loop - and kisses her wife.

"I love you. You're worth - everything. All the millions of years in between."

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Snugglekiss. "I love you too, Mygwainor."

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Cuddle!

"I should - tell you what I know..." she murmurs, leaning into her wife. 

...She's very, very tired, though. Of - everything. 

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"We have all the time we need."

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"Yeah."

"Timelines can destabilize and reset, but... If that happens, I can try to get the simulacrum imprisoned in my place, spend the time bought from that with you. And - this era has more slack than the First Age does."

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"Is that what happened at Menegroth? The timeline destabilized?"

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"Yes. Mostly leading up to it. Your father always gets himself killed, but - usually a few decades later. Events happening out of order like that are the timeline trying to correct itself, but... That severe means it'll have a hard time correcting fully."

A quiet pause, then: "I destabilized it further by pushing for peace and diplomacy, but... It was going to end anyways. I didn't - "

"I didn't want you to see your home destroyed."

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Hug.

"I appreciate that."

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Snug.

"Let's go lay down," she says, tugging her wife over to a couch in the parlor.

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Good idea.

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Perfect couch for cuddles, really. 

"I don't want to hide you," she says, softly. "It'll destabilize the timeline, but... Not quickly, I don't think, and - there aren't any tightly scripted events for another ninety years of the Trees... I'm not even supposed to cause background problems for another fifty."

Squeeze. "I want - a nice life with you. A pause. Just... Live here in peace. Ignore the timeline trying to set everything on fire."

"Next loop we should go back to the - rails. To what I was planning with that era. But."

"I want a honeymoon."

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"I'd like that."

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Kiss. "We'll tell everyone it was love at first sight. We couldn't wait for an engagement. Got immediately married."

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"That's not too far away from the truth."

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"Not a proper bone in our bodies."

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Kiss.

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Extremely improper kiss.

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Seems like a good time to reaffirm their marriage...

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Absolutely. They should be married in this time, too. Be able to accurately say they got married within (she checks the clock) an hour of meeting. 

(She kisses Luthien's neck.)

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Mmmm she's really been away from her wife far too long. Lots to make up for.

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So, so much.

They have a long time here, though. Mygwainor isn't expecting visitors anytime soon. Eventually Luthien's going to need food - more than the little bit of fruit Melkor kept, or what's in her pack - but that'll take a bit, too.

She's going to become thoroughly reacquainted with her wife in the meantime.

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A need just as important as food, obviously.

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Mygwainor likes keeping her wife fed, though. But, yes. For now it's what matters.

They don't leave the house for quite a while.

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The first sign of the world outside the house is, in fact, a knock on the door.

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...Mrrrmph.

Suppose they'll have to answer that...

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Mmmmrph. But pretty wife...

But anyone bold enough to knock on her door - she's really not talking to a lot of her elven neighbors yet - is probably a Maia or Vala and is about to get insistent...

Mygwainor reluctantly detangles from her wife and manifests clothes onto her body.

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Luthien waves desultorily in the vague direction of her own.

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She giggles and picks Luthien's clothes up, handing them over. "I'll shut the parlor door, Ellin," she says, as another knock comes from the front door. 

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She flops over. "Kay. Be out in a bit."

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She kisses her wife's forehead and leaves the room, sliding the door shut behind her and going to open her front door before whoever - by the feel of the air definitely a Vala - can keep knocking.

She's in an exceptionally good mood when she opens in. Not even her worst enemies interrupting her cuddle time with her wife can significantly dim her high.

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The very rude interruption lowers her hand from another attempt to knock.

(Orome, of course. Who else would track down Melkor after a long but not that long time spent locked in her house.)

She raises an eyebrow, glancing not so much at Melkor's new face - the Ainur change raiments like the elves change clothes - but at her altered Song. 

"Something changed," she observes.

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Happy, almost smug hum.

"It did. To what do I owe this visit?"

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"You've been absent from public appearances for longer than usual."

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She raises an eyebrow, leaning languidly against the door frame. "Did the others make you my parole officer? Doesn't seem Manwe's speed," she says, voice light.

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Long suffering sigh.

"I don't need orders to keep an eye on you, Melkor."

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Luthien emerges from behind and rests her chin on Mygwainor's shoulder.

"My wife prefers Mygwainor."

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Orome looks somewhat like her brain just broke.

"...Wife."

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"Wife!" she says with a happy giggle, turning to kiss Luthien's cheek. "A very lovely one, too."

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Grin.

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Long pause. 

"What should I call you?" she asks Luthien, voice a bit carefully polite.

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"You can call me Luthien."

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Nod.

"...Do you know of her history?"

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Better than you do.

"Yes."

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"I told her everything before we wed," she says. "My Ellin has seen my mind."

Pause. "I would love to stand here and gossip, but we are newly wed... Perhaps we could have a couples dinner with you and your wife in a while," she says with an aggressive cheerfulness. "Or even a double date hunt. Catch up on socialization."

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Orome looks very dubious about that idea. 

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"I'll talk to Nessa to schedule," she says. "I know you're not the socialite of the pair."

She reaches forward to clap Orome on the shoulder. "In the meantime, could you be a dear and get us some elf-appropriate food?" Pause. "And probably other supplies. Like soap - my darling enjoys lilac. My house is rather dreadfully understocked."

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"...Um."

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"Consider it an urban hunt."

"Thank you for the help, but I really need to get back to celebrating with my wife. Just leave the supplies on the doorstep," she says, then shuts the door in Orome's face. 

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Hee. Kiss!

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Kiss!

"I'm going to have a lot of fun annoying the Valar when they can't do anything about it or even feel justified being annoyed," she says with a giggle.

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"Just a little bit of payback."

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"Entirely innocent revenge."

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Kiss!

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Giggle kiss!

And back to (by now somewhat lazy) celebrations of their marriage. 

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Eventually there's a soft sound from outside the front door like something being set down, a sharp, single knock, and then a very deliberate noise of someone walking away. 

A bit fortunately timed. They're low on supplies.

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Mmmm they should go check.

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Maybe feed Luthien. See if Orome left bath supplies, too, a bubble bath with Luthien sounds excellent. 

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It does. Her Mygwainor would look very good in bubbles, she thinks.

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Giggle kiss. 

And up to get clothes on and check the door?

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Up!

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And clothed.

Mygwainor opens the door to reveal...

One: a very tall tree in a very large pot, bearing enormous green, spiky fruits.

Two: a very confused living dinosaur a bit larger than an elf (some kind of raptor? Mygwainor doesn't know much about dinosaurs. It looks carnivorous).

Three: a very large dead dinosaur (...Mygwainor thinks that isn't a triceratops proper but it looks like one).

Four: a lilac bush, also potted.

Five: a basket of soaps, other toiletries, fine cloths, knives, assorted utensils, a very nice bow, and shiny rocks.

Mygwainor starts snickering madly. "Did Orome not ask for advice..."

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"Unless Aman has some very different ideas about appropriate gifts for newlyweds..."

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"Generally it doesn't! Other than a slightly higher focus on jewelry, I suppose - maybe that's what the rocks are about, I'm not sure Orome knows the difference between precious gems and shiny stones."

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"They are, to be fair, very shiny rocks."

"I have no idea whatsoever what we should do about," she waves at the dinosaur, "that."

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"Train it to menace unwanted guests, clearly. It'd need a bit of a magic nudge to be large enough to ride..."

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Kiss.

"People might think you're relapsing if we do that, Mygwainor."

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Kiss. "Maybe just very gently herd unwanted guests away. And I bet it can do tricks. Play fetch."

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"Carnivores are usually reasonably intelligent..."

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"I heard at some point that raptors especially are."

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Does it seem friendly if she approaches it?

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Very wary, but not particularly aggressive.

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She starts humming a soft, relaxing song.

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It blinks at her, then relaxes and trills curiously.

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Nosepet?

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It nudges her hand and chirps.

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Hee.

"We're definitely keeping it," she announces.

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"Alright," she says, laughing a bit.

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"You'll have to do a little landscaping and renovation."

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"Not too hard with my full powers."

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"Work the other living presents into the arrangement."

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"I will. Plants aren't my specialty, but they can't be that easy to mess up..."

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"I believe in you."

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Kiss! "I'm flattered. And I promise to ask for help before anything wilts."

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She clucks at the raptor. "Come on, you. Let's get out of the way a bit."

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The raptor follows agreeably.

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Luthien offers it pets and contemplates names while Mygwainor works.

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She reforms the landscape like putty, making space - and soil to match what's in its pot - for the jackfruit tree, arranging the walls and other plants and pathways around it. The lilac bush is planted next to their house, the window it's under reforming a bit, so they'll have the scent in their sunroom. The dead not-a-triceratops is swept gently toward the kitchen to be processed later, and the assorted gifts are moved to Mygwainor's feet.

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"Somehow I expected more volcanoes," Luthien teases.

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"Zoning regulations don't allow that this close to the city. I'm behaving now."

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"What a good girl you are."

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Small wiggle. "Only for you."

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Grin.

"I think Aegneth needs somewhere to sleep, too. Doesn't really seem like she'd be comfortable in the house."

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Kiss. "I'll make her a little cave and nest."

A gesture, and some raptor appropriate shelters meld out of the landscape, and, after a moment, some preliminary toys as well. Mostly large balls or interesting things hanging from ropes.

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Looks good.

"Go on, then," she tells the raptor.

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The raptor trills, then runs off to start investigating the changed landscape.

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She smiles fondly.

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"Not such a bad wedding gift at all."

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"It would have been harder to deal with if you weren't who you are."

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"True. These powers are really convenient, sometimes."

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"If there's one word for the ability to casually scrape geography around like butter on toast, it's 'convenient'."

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She laughs. "I am, admittedly, thoroughly cheating with several thousand times more experience with manipulating geography than anyone else. Most of us can do rough changes quickly or fine changes extremely slowly."

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"Just another reason why my Mygwainor is the best."

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Kiss!

"Mm, now that we've got some supplies we can stay for quite a while... Though we should possibly emerge ever. I do want to get you books - though they are all in Quenya - and assorted nice things."

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"You can start teaching me, then, and we can go out once I've learned."

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"That'll help you navigate, too."

Back inside, then. Luthien can have kisses for every correct sentence she produces. 

(Mygwainor also after some thought translates her own name into Quenya as Mëovanyanarë. Inconveniently long, but Quenya is like that.)

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Pretty.

With incentives like that, she'll be fluent in no time.

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Her Ellin is exceptionally intelligent, after all. 

Fluency obviously calls for a trip into the city to find the best place to buy books.

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That seems like an appropriate celebration.

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Kiss!

They get curious looks as they walk into the city - Mygwainor's changed her face, and it seems that's enough to prevent most elves from recognizing her. They get a few friendly questions about things like if they're new to the area, especially from the food stall Mygwainor gets a treat (that isn't jackfruit or roast dinosaur) for Luthien from, and more as they're looking for books.

Mygwainor's humming as they do so, and - "I'm going to invent the printing press, mechanical paper making, and all sorts of fun things," she says, looking at the books available - more even than were in Nargothrond, but, well.

Nowhere near enough for her Ellin.

"I need to start somewhere on getting this civilization up to minimum acceptable book production standards, even if we'll have to wait for the Second Born to come into their own for real volume... Though the dwarves at their height might get close to 'barely sufficient'..."

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"I love you."

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Hee!!!

"Anything for my Ellin."

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"Though at least for now I do have things to do other than read..."

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"Gives us time to build up the amount of books around."

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"Give them a running start."

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"Only fair."

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"It'll be me against the authors, and I intend to win."

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"I'm sure you'll always win."

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"With your help, how could I not?"

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Kiss!

"It's true. We're unstoppable together."

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"Let the world tremble."

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Such a lovely, wonderful wife. 

"I'll start on blueprints and operation manuals while you read, then." Which means she should also get appropriate paper and a handful of thin, blank (but pretty) books while they're out... Writing supplies, too... She should invent the typewriter, actually, that doesn't require a significant industrial base and will make creating initial drafts easier, but she should still get the books, inks, and pens since it's good to have something to start with while some smith is working on that... So she needs a smith to convince to make her fancy new inventions... 

Preferably one who isn't very... The way Certain Noldor are. Though annoying Fëanáro is almost always worth being annoyed by him in turn, and she is doing a maximally obnoxious but entirely above criticism run this time. 

(Oh, also invent ball point gel ink pens, those are very convenient...)

(Luthien's wife is definitely lost in thought.)

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Fortunately, Luthien is competent enough to shepherd them around buying the things they need.

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She keeps additional impulse items within their ability to carry stuff, at least, as long as one of them is a Vala with arbitrary strength. Still, eventually there's physical space issues. 

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Maybe they should make another trip later, then.

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Seems reasonable. Maybe combine it with a date to a nice restaurant.

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That would be nice. They haven't gone out as a couple very much.

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They should make up for lost time. 

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While they have the chance to.

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Soft kiss.

They have the chance now, and will again. 

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Kiss.

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Lean.

Back home to read and plot, then? 

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Sounds like a fine course of action.

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Lots of room for snuggling, too, while Luthien reads and Mygwainor starts organizing how she wants to explain typewriters and printing presses and who she wants to approach. 

(Does Luthien have opinions? Obviously she only knows a few Noldor, but Mygwainor has a sense of most of their personalities, advantages, and disadvantages if Luthien wants to suggest criteria.)

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That Feanor seems the obvious choice, doesn't he?

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Hm... He can be proud and difficult to work with, and this isn't the sort of thing that needs a dramatic amount of talent... Or embellishment, honestly... But he's also very well known, and him doing something will get it attention faster.

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A running start, right?

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Possibly... And she can always go find someone else if he's annoying about it...

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Luthien has not ever met Feanor, herself.

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Well, maybe they can rectify that.

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They could.

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She doesn't have much to finish up with her drafts, fortunately, though she thinks she's going to take both the typewriter and printing press blueprints and manuals with her.

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Provide a spread of enticing options.

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Also hopefully get some parallel work done.

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Worth a shot.

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Soft kiss.

Anything else to plan before that, then?

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It's a mostly-social visit. It's not like they're infiltrating Angband.

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True. The possibility of getting stabbed by Feanor doesn't exist until after the invention of swords.

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At least a typewriter's a blunt instrument.

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Harder to aim, too!

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Try to avoid prodding him into inventing the first aerodynamic typewriter.

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On the other hand... Might be fun. Enable very exciting academic debates.

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It would certainly drive demand.

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Or cause a larger controversy...

Though getting people to attack each other is not her goal this loop. Sadly.

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Just leave the possibility gently unstated.

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Might take a while to occur to people without help. 

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It's up to chance.

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Definitely won't be her fault if anything happens.

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Exactly. And she has a wife to vouch for the purity of her intentions.

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And Luthien is entirely above reproach.

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The most reliable of character witnesses.

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No biases whatsoever.

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Absolutely. (Kiss.)

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Heeeee.

...They should probably actually go talk to Feanor ever...

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Mmm yeah.

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Sigh.

"Should I do the talking?"

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"Would it be less confrontational if I did?"

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"...Hm. Unsure."

"Past experience says he often dislikes or refuses to talk to me, but also I usually approach things differently..."

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"I'll try first, and if it goes really bad, then we'll escalate to you."

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"A good order of things."

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Kiss.

"Shall we go, then?"

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Kiss!

"Alright. He's a bit of a walk away, but he's as much a recluse as me, so it's those nice forest trails..."

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"A bit of a palate cleanser before and after."

Off they go.

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His estate is large, even by the standards of a people with a low population, no rush to be near services, and more space to spread out into than they can use. There's a sprawl of buildings, each beautifully and exactly designed to a different purpose, many of them dedicated workshops, a good number spaces apparently turned more toward his children's interests. Stables and pasture for horses take up a good bit of the actual open ground, and there are trees and hedges planted as sound baffles between some of the buildings. What grounds aren't given to horses are mostly carefully designed and maintained gardens with many plants Luthien has never seen before.

Finding him in this isn't trivial, though Mygwainor can get a sense of which building he's currently in - apparently a library, connected by a covered walkway to the main house.

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She leads Luthien over. 

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"Hello the house!" she calls.

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The door opens after a minute.

Feanor doesn't look like most of the other aristocratic Noldor they've passed in Tirion - his hair's a hastily braided mess, his clothes look slept in, and he has a mark on his cheek like he fell asleep on a book recently, with small ink smudges near his hairline and on his nose (though his hands are very carefully cleaned, fingernails trimmed short). His expression - or perhaps something about the way his gaze focuses - is odd and intent, eyes narrow, fingers tapping against each other.

"What do you want?"

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"We'd like a second opinion on a design for a writing machine."

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"What sort of writing?"

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"...As in what alphabet? Or the topic?"

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He waves a hand, movement a bit sharp. "The central use case. Notes, drafts, calligraphic art, dictating things to be written when your hands are busy, creating a formal paper, writing a book. Utilitarian or decorated writing. Is the machine portable or fixed." Quick pause to reorient, and his gaze flicks to the case Mygwainor is carrying. " - Do you have a draft?" He speaks quickly, sentences tumbling into each other, only stopping for breath toward the end.

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"Maybe we could go inside and sort through things?"

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"Sure."

He turns sharply on his heel, striding into the library. Presumably that's an invitation to follow him? The door isn't swinging shut too quickly behind him, at least.

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...In they go, she guesses. He's a little brusque, but at least he hasn't started throwing things.

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He leads them through the foyer - light, with glittering tree-light flowing through stained glass windows - and through a corner of a library full of books and unbound manuscripts and stacks of notes, lit by grand and ornate windows high in the wall - and into a large, rather dark office, not much better lit than the starlight that shines over the forests of Beleriand right now. There's two drafting tables, a few extinguished lamps, boards on the wall for attaching papers to (currently a bit crowded), and a few somewhat precarious stacks of paper. A desk shoved into a corner has nearly two dozen books of varying thickness stacked on it, only a small bit clear, enough for a single open book, with a few boards that can be slid out to the side of the desk, one currently curled around the chair to hold a scattering of notebooks, a tray for ink and brush on a lowered piece past it. There's a very faint light over the desk, shielded so it can only really be seen in how it shines on whatever book is being read.

Feanor stops squinting and relaxes a bit once they're in the office, his posture and tone's annoyed brusqueness fading notably, replaced by an agitated curiosity.

"What notes do you have already?"

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"Concept drawings and intended operations." She takes the first set of prints from Mygwainor. "Ah- where is good?"

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He turns to look at his drafting tables, then picks up the papers on one and dumps them on the other. "Here."

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She spreads the plans out. "Printing press. Arrange a page of letter block stamps, coat in ink, and multiple pages can be copied in quick succession."

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He scans through them, gaze moving quickly.

Then, almost to himself: "Ideal for producing a large number of copies of the same book - useful, we don't have many books yet, in terms of content written or copies of each book, and many of them are in high demand - the moving parts and stamps should be simple to create, the easiest is cast metal... Though you'll want a metal with good tolerance for stamping - this would put the bottleneck on creating the page block in the first place and on creating the paper and binding the book, though that problem reduces with unbound writing... It's not ideal as presented for any text requiring illustrations, which is many, unless you left some pages blank for whole-page illustrations, or..."

He pulls some blank paper and a brush to him. "Wood block printing isn't very popular, but if you're printing the letters anyways it doesn't matter if you also print the illustrations - you could create standard illustration sizes, either have specialized page blocks for each of several common ways of integrating illustrations with text, and then fit a wood block stamp in with the letter stamps, or create blocks that can slot into multiple letter slots... The first is likely much easier. The problem then would be the durability of the wood blocks - though how much of an issue that is will vary with how much fine detail each illustration includes and how many copies you would want for each book..."

He flips through some of Mygwainor's notes. "The inks described here will need some work to get produced widely, but shouldn't be hard - I'll need to develop a standard typeface for the tengwar that's ideally suited to printing, too, the current one is best for hand writing..."

"The largest issue I see is in convincing people to read printed books, if there's perceived imperfections - wood block printing has issues sometimes with stray ink marks - or out of a general dislike of purely utilitarian items... Some of that can be alleviated, especially if the first printed books are ones that are currently in high enough demand to overcome hesitancy..."

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"We might also produce new treatises and only distribute those via printing."

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He hums. "The exact nature of those will shape some of the technology's early reputation... But, yes, that might work... Might stop people from bothering me to ask if I can tell them something I already published, because they can't easily get a copy of the book and think repeating myself is somehow a valuable use of my time..." His voice is a low grumble by the end. "Also could shift exchange of new information away from being centered on presentations at society meetings..." That perks him up a bit.

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"So you like the idea?"

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"Yes."

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"Excellent."

"Next, the typewriter."

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He makes a curious noise and collects the printing press documents into one pile and - not finding a place to put them - absent mindedly hands them to Mygwainor.

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Luthien smoothly intercepts them. "How about you two just swap?"

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"...Hm?"

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"The other things she's carrying are the typewriter designs."

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Mygwainor sets them down on the table with a smiles, then accepts the printing press papers from Feanor.

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"...Ah." He turns to the typewriter designs, focusing on them more intently, a furrow in his brow.

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"A mechanical aid for writing. Like the printing press, it uses letterblocks to stamp the page, though in sequence instead of all at once."

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He flips through a few explanatory pages. "Not as useful for notes or sketches, but it would simplify creating drafts for manuscripts, as long as it was machined well enough to not catch on itself... The exact spread of keys for each letter and mark would also need some thought..."

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"Of course."

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He goes through the designs in detail, asking the rare question but mostly muttering comments. He seems perfectly happy to make this one, too.

"What do you want for giving me these blueprints?" he asks abruptly in the middle of a discussion with Mygwainor about optimal typing speed.

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"For you to work out any kinks in their design, draw attention by using them yourself, and either arrange for the wider-scale manufacture or give the completed plans back so that we can do that."

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"I can do all those," he says. "Though if wider-scale manufacture requires talking to too many sensitive people I'd need to outsource that."

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"Fair enough."

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"Do you have any other documentation for them?"

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"This is all we have written down."

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He hums, turning to focus again on the writings. "This will be enough, though you can write me a letter if you think of more."

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"All right."

"We'll let you work then, if you don't have any more questions."

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He shakes his head. "I don't."  He goes to clear the second drafting table of papers, dumping both projects on it onto one of the many piles around the room.

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And Mygwainor sets the printing press notes on the second table. "Where should I leave our contact information, if you want to talk to us?"

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He waves a hand negligently, pauses, squints around at his office, then digs out a blank piece of paper and a metal pin from a drawer. "Write it down and stick it to the board on the door," he says, gesturing over to the door into the library.

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She does so, and mentally nudges Luthien to check if she wants to ask for permission to poke around his library. He probably has interesting books.

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"Would it be all right if we took a look at your collection, while we're here?"

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"The books? Sure." He doesn't stop sorting papers or look over at her. "Two of my sons get annoyed if the pages get bent or stained or if you leave a book lying open with the pages down, so don't do that. Put them back where you found them after. Don't move any bookmarks in them. Red, gold, or blue bookmarks mean a book's being used by someone; don't wander off with those. If you wander off with a different one tell one of my children I guess, they're probably around somewhere."

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"All right. Thank you."

Into the the library.

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The library is larger than any others they've seen in Aman, about the size of the public library of Nargothrond in the last loop, though all of the books are on technical subjects, with histories and fiction and poetry and the like presumably elsewhere. They're grouped fairly strictly by topic and then sub-topic, with sub-topics arranged to be nearby related sub-topics. (Books on crafting musical instruments are, for instance, on the border between the music theory and collections of sheet music and the craft books, next to the wood-working sub-topic.) The grouping is a bit complicated, with notable horizontal bands - most of the shelves have a split where books on natural sciences or theories are on top and books on crafts or activities are on bottom, with a fairly close correspondence between topics of the top and bottom band.

(There's also a sign, not in Feanor's handwriting, describing the sorting system, and a less firmly affixed sign next to that with 'FOR THE LAST TIME, PUT BOOKS BACK WHERE THEY BELONG' written in a very large, eye catching font on it in the same handwriting. Someone's scribbled under that 'He knows where you sleep after all' in a different, sloppier handwriting with a sketch of a comically angry face, and then under that, in a third handwriting, 'Congrats on entering the library Tyelko, try not to have an allergic reaction to all the paper.' (There are patches elsewhere on the sign that look like someone scraped away or covered over ink.))

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"I think perhaps I do not wish to read any of these books strongly enough to interact with the personalities on display here," Luthien says of the notes.

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"Maybe you can request they be copied with the printing press," she says, sounding a bit entertained.

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"I'll put that in a letter."

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"Sure."

And, over osanwe:

'You might not find all of them annoying - I shuffled templates I like as two of Feanor's kids - but the sorts of people I like might be different from your favorites...'

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'Invite them for dinner sometime, maybe.'

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'Might work better.'

Head out, then? 

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Back home.

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Everything's moving right along.

(They've started getting a few relayed - and currently politely worded - requests from assorted people who knew Luthien's father to meet here, especially his brother Olwe and his old friend Finwe, though Mygwainor thinks they can ignore those for a while... And of course there's a bit more settling into their home to do, Finrod to re-befriend...)

(They can keep themselves as busy as they'd like, really.)

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One new person every two weeks or so seems like a good pace for making acquaintances, at least to begin. Still leaves lots of time for just Luthien and Mygwainor, and they can adjust for friends as warranted.

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Fair.

Plenty of time with her wife is no small thing.

(She does warn Luthien about some of the people she's introducing, explaining her connection to them - Mygwainor wasn't the first Melkor, nor even the tenth. Presumably whoever was the first Melkor figured out that every person in the tapestry of Arda represents a 'role' played by an 'actor,' and that in the space between Songs - after one loop ends and before the next begins - the current Melkor can shuffle actors into new roles. They can do this to their own role, too, but they'll stop remembering loops once they're no longer Melkor. The Melkor eight before her was, as far as she can tell, the first to start taking the idea of breaking the loops seriously, and the first to go through more than a handful of loops. He started a tradition of handing the role to someone you've chosen to continue the fight once you grow weary or realize you can't go any farther, and of passing down information - and eventually they discovered that the actors who were once Melkors of their line, regardless of which role they're placed in, tend to be unusually inclined to cooperate with future Melkors, even though they weren't prior to their tenure. She's set four of the previous eight Melkors in Aman this loop - as Aredhel, Celegorm, Huan, and Maglor - and the Melkor before her is Sauron right now. Celegorm, Huan, and Sauron all are the same actors as last loop, though, of those Luthien's already met.)

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Should they prioritize those people?

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Hm... This is a throwaway loop. No one but them will remember it (unless they change their minds on pushing forward with the loop past the Darkening), so - it's not necessary, unless Luthien wants to try and get a sense of people's personalities.

It's just -

Luthien should spend this loop around people she likes.

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Kiss.

She does want to meet them this loop, even if they don't end up clicking. She wants Mygwainor to be able to be free.

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Kiss.

"Best wife."

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"I love you."

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"I love you too."

"We should ever discuss what we're doing next loop, but... We have so, so long. - I want to say centuries, it's funny how counting in sun years has stuck with me for all it's been millions of years since I was mortal... But even by the count of the Noldor, we have decades before this loop's likely to collapse."

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"Then we'll take it slow."

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"Alright." Small nuzzle. 

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Cuddle.

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A nice break. 

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The years and decades slide by. Mygwainor loves the time spent by her wife's side, loves the taste of - peace, of just being Luthien's wife so openly, of no shadow hanging over their heads. She makes friends. Taunts the Valar some, but... Not a lot, really, in the grand scheme of things. Feanor gets the printing press and typewriter perfected and in production fairly quickly, and the writing output of the Noldor explodes after a short lag. (Feanor is responsible directly or indirectly for a lot of that.) The elves relax around Mygwainor over time, and she settles more fully into their house than she has...

Anywhere, really.

She takes her wife on trips too, of course, travels Aman alongside her. Tells her stories about all the wondrous things she's seen over the course of the loops - she tells Luthien the strategic parts, obviously, the default arc of history and at what points it can bend, where does it break, but most of her stories are about things Luthien's never experienced. The time before the Awakening of the Elves. The millennia of history of the Years of the Sun. The rise and fall of empires, the tragedies and triumphs, the advances and discoveries. (It's pretty clear over time that Mygwainor fundamentally considers herself aligned with humanity, finds their stories the most interesting, but of course she knows plenty about the other peoples of Arda.)

She mentions here and there whenever someone familiar to Luthien was in a different role in any given story.

It becomes apparent over the course of these that she's dancing around some things. She's never spoken more than in passing about her zeroth life, of course, except that she was a mortal and that she hated the Melkor before her, but more than that...

Sauron is on the edges of a tremendous number of her stories in some capacity or another. It's clear that a different actor, a woman, filled that role before Ares.

It's clear, also, that a different actor filled Luthien's role until recently.

Mygwainor avoids talking directly about either of those facts. She speaks in distant tones about the usual script Luthien's life follows. Avoids discussing the Sauron before Ares directly, something sad and pained in her voice when she does come up.

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"What was your first life as Melkor like?" she asks, many years after they've settled.

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She pauses what she's doing and shrugs, glancing away.

"I was unhappy. Melkor - Ares, the one before me - I loathed him, more than I've ever loathed anyone else. I hadn't wanted to listen to him, during the silence between Songs, but... He told me everything I needed to know and it engraved itself in my head anyways, and then he dumped me into the role."

Quiet pause. "I hated it. I raged against everything. I felt like he was manipulating me. I felt the chains of fate far more keenly than I had even in my zeroth life. I - nearly went insane, at being forced through the actions that'd destroyed me."

"...Especially since he successfully manipulated me to keep going with the loops and not just - hand off immediately at the end of my first one."

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"I'm sorry."

"How did he do that?"

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Longer pause.

She seems unhappy.

"One of the things he told me was how to preserve people's memories from each loop, accumulating across all loops. You can't hand them off to the next Melkor. You can't reinstate them in someone's head in the next loop - the Melkor before Ares, Ouroboros, guessed this was for the same reason we can't tell people about the loops. You can't give the next Melkor all their memories of the loops under you. You can't even preserve the memories of the Melkor before you."

"But we're - "

"Ares and Ouroboros both thought it'd really only be useful to whoever's in the last loop. That after the loops end, the rules around them - the rails on the world - will end too, and we could transfer the memories to someone."

"And Ares thought none of us had been motivated enough. That we all gave up after a few hundred or a few thousand loops. That we played it safe too much for immortals in a time loop that will only end when we surrender. That we needed to be desperate."

"He recognized he didn't care that much. He couldn't even bring himself to throw fights or lose wars on purpose. So he - picked me up, full of pain and grief and loneliness, full of loathing for the tapestry that had dictated my life, and he dropped me down next to someone he knew I wouldn't let die."

"I could've handed off to her the end of that first loop, obviously, which was where the real trap closed, because - she couldn't let me die, either. And I couldn't do that to her."

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"Oh, my poor love." Tight hug.

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She leans into Luthien, hugging back, and starts crying.

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Pat pat.


"...Was it me? Before I was Luthien?"

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Softly: "Yes."

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Hug hug.

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Snuggle. 

"I didn't know you in my zeroth life. Ares did that on purpose, so - I wouldn't mourn you. And then you were Sauron, and - "

"I kept you in that role every single loop until - you were you." Pause.

"I know now you aren't - the same person as her."

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"You want to bring her back."

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Quiet pause.

"I do."

"I - miss her."

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Snugs.

"You should. When we win."

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Lean.

"You don't - mind?"

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"Can't be jealous of myself, can I?"

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She smiles a little and kisses her wife. "You're wonderful."

"She's - the only one I really want back. - There was my husband my zeroth life, but... I've never felt the need to - remake his memories as they were, even in the early years of my first loop, and I don't miss him anymore."

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"Any me absolutely deserves to have you."

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Another kiss! "Introducing us might be the only thing I'll ever thank Ares for..."

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"Mm, I don't know that he needs that satisfaction."

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"I won't tell him, then."

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Smirk.

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That expression is absolutely irresistible. (She communicates this in a burst of emotion over osanwe and also in thoroughly kissing her wife's very lovely smirk.)

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Luthien likes that very much.

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That's rather the point. 

Life slides on. They pass the point where Feanor makes the Silmarils - far later than normal, Mygwainor keeps distracting him with future patents - and no one starts scheming against each other or forging swords. The Ainur relax around Mygwainor, gradually coming to trust she's reformed (even if some of them, like Orome, would word that as 'reformed into a pest'). Mygwainor makes friends, more than she does in... Any loops, really. 

She writes poetry, the first fiction novels. She 'invents' speculative fiction. Her books get rather popular. 

She never knows what to feel about that.

The timeline here is loose, forgiving. The clock only really grows accurate at the first sunrise, and that's not until the Darkening. They have longer than the hundred years of the Trees that Mygwainor had feared.

They don't have long enough. 

Unrest stirs in the south of Aman. Dark things. Hungry things. The various subtle factions of the Noldor discover reasons to distrust each other, escalating slowly but unerringly past their old pettiness. Slights are never really forgiven, even as Mygwainor turns some attention to manipulating peace instead of war. 

This Age will end, with or without Melkor's help. 

They need to decide what to do next loop.

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"Should I come to fetch you again?"

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She sighs. 

" - I don't know. Or... It'll depend."

"I want to try having my simulacrum imprisoned instead of me. That way, I can lurk in Middle Earth until you're born, and come join you immediately. It might not work - in which case the timeline will probably collapse before you're born, and you won't notice anything different."

"But I'd like more time with you, for one, and... Having you stay in Beleriand is easier for keeping the timeline on track to give us more wiggle room. I'll program my simulacrum carefully, and pop over into its slot when needed - I want to befriend Finrod again, for one, and I need to do that as myself."

"But I still think the best time to force tension but not breakage on the timeline is the Quest for the Silmaril. So we'll need to set that up, as closely as possible to the standard course - we might need to not diverge so much during the actual Quest, too..."

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"So I can't be known to be married before Beren would show up?"

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"One implication of that, yes."

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"Mm. If that's what it takes."

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Small kiss.

"The hardest part. Though being in Beleriand we can simply wander off into the shadows a lot."

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"True..."

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Lean. "Though we should consider what we want to do about other hard parts."

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"Sauron first, I suppose."

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"It - ties into everything. The whole timeline."

She pauses, clearly thinking. 

"The timeline has slack in different places. Too many changes, too quickly, will make a loop collapse. Changes that can only happen with my foreknowledge seem to collapse the timeline faster. Ones that seem internally consistent collapse it slower. Small changes also stress it less, but the timeline is constantly correcting itself..."

"There's a lot of points the timeline is very picky about around the Quest, so my hope had been creating a very subtly different timeline - that then, in an internally consistent way, forces the timeline to contradict its usual self. I - don't know that that'll break the loops, but it should give good information if nothing else..."

"But that means the more we change, the less slack we have elsewhere."

"The essential points are the Battle of Sudden Flame, then the Quest for the Silmaril, then the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, then the destruction of Nargothrond, then the death of Thingol and the Sacking of Doriath - leading into the Second and Third Kinslayings. The Third Kinslaying leads to the Silmaril coming to Aman and the host of the Valar marching to war - the destruction of Beleriand after that, then me being thrust from the world."

"There's... Other points within that, which put pressure on the timeline if they happen when they shouldn't or don't happen, but that can be steered around. The Quest usually includes the capture of Beren and Finrod by Sauron, the death of Finrod, then the defeat of Sauron and the destruction of his tower by Luthien. The death of Finrod is more optional, but it's hard to prevent. The capture of Beren and the defeat of Sauron by Luthien tends to overstress the timeline if it doesn't happen."

"Luthien becoming mortal is a set point, too, and usually she and Beren die but are then resurrected at the end of the Quest, then dying permanently around the Sack of Doriath - they never survive to the Second Kinslaying."

"The Battle of Unnumbered Tears is fairly strongly fixed, as well. It's always a slaughter for the Free Peoples, no matter how thoroughly I try to throw the fight. The level of slaughter can be reduced, but - I once resolved that peacefully and then the elven army got hit by a large meteor. The loop collapsed very soon after."

"We might be able to path around the end of the Quest - the first deaths of Luthien and Beren, and then the outcome of the Battle of Unnumbered Tears... I've never been able to get fine control over the elven armies, and it's possible that if 'Melkor' pushes as hard as the timeline expects but my opponents win anyways that'll be enough to alter that part..."

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"I'd prefer not dying, if we can manage it."

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"I'd prefer you not die, too."

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"So how can we work around that?"

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"I'm hoping we can end the loops first... The initial deaths aren't mandatory and can be pushed back, and quite frankly by the point the timeline insists on final deaths everything in Beleriand will have gone to shit anyways. I'm willing to push through that, even over and over, if it'll end the loops, but it's better to aim before that."

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"Hm. Okay."

"So really the lever we should try first is the Battle of Unnumbered Tears. If Finrod survives the Quest and is disposed kindly towards us, we may be able to use that to get into the planning. The Feanorians won't like that, assuming Elu Thingol keeps the Silmaril- but I could have a falling-out with him over that decision?"

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She nods. "Doriath also usually refuses to join the battle - in part because of Celegorm and Curufin being dicks to Luthien, but the actor I've put in Celegorm role can be diverted more easily than normal... She'll be more controllable if we get Aredhel in the area, though - and that'll give us two past Melkors active in planning... The issue with Aredhel - she usually goes to Gondolin a bit before the Battle of Sudden Flame, then she default is murdered by her husband but the ex-Melkor who goes well in her role will kill her husband first... I might be able to nudge her to leave Gondolin again after that."

"And if you're pushing for Doriath to join the alliance, that'll help us - and I can put another ex-Melkor as Maglor. She's the most reasonable of us, and she'll have influence on her siblings."

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"I can try to focus more on getting support in the younger generations."

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She nods.

"...It'll be easiest to get us some slack on the timeline if I'm captured by Sauron and then rescued by you - and Ares won't throw a fight..."

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"Could you replace him?"

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"I don't have many other people who are loyal and go well - I really need someone who'll cooperate even when I'm behaving oddly or counter to our supposed goals."

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"What about a simulacrum?"

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"Only works for the Melkor role, sadly."

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"Too bad."

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"We can find somewhere else to get slack if you don't want to risk the fight."

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"I don't think there are any other really easy places."

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She nods. "Most of the other possibilities have bad outcomes we want to avoid built into them."

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"If it's to save you, I can fight him."

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Kiss.

"You're more terrifying than him anyways. It's best he learn that."

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"A valuable lesson."

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"One everyone should be aware of."

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"At the proper time. Don't want to give them too much time to prepare."

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"And the revelation should be arranged to have an appropriate emotional impact, of course."

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"Of course."

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Small kiss.

"I'm not sure if we should switch out any other roles..."

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"I think we can keep things as they are? And note places that could be improved as we go."

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"Okay. I'm sure you'll notice things I never have..."

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"We'll see." Kiss.

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Gentle kiss.

"Someday this'll be over," she says, softly, "And I'll make a beautiful world for you."

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"Any world where I'm with you is already beautiful."

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Awwww.

Kiss!

"Then I'll make it gorgeous."

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"I know you will, Mygwainor."

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Snuggle.

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But all things end, in time, and so does the Light of Aman, the gold and silver age of the elves.

It starts, of course, when a giant spider decides the Two Trees look tasty.

It doesn't end there.

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Mygwainor hovers on the threshold of their home, gaze distant, as Aman goes utterly, entirely, impossibly dark.

The shadows want them to be afraid. There's a predator out there. Something old. Something dangerous.

Mygwainor is older and more dangerous than it by far.

Still, she stands in their doorway, expression torn.

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"Heavy thoughts, love," Luthien says, hugging her.

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She turns to kiss Luthien's cheek. "I don't know if I should help."

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"What's stopping you?"

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"I could help," she says, "And minimize any damage, and make sure nothing escalates into fights, and reassure people - fix things, and the timeline would destabilize faster."

Pause. 

"I should help. Our friends are out there."

Pause.

"I don't..."

"I don't want this to end with - "

"Trying to fix things that will never last."

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Kiss.

"It's not an end, Mygwainor. This is our beginning."

"I'll go with you. Always."

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Proper kiss.

"I know. I love you, so much." She squeezes Luthien's hand.

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"I love you too."

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Lean.

"What do you want to do? About..." She gestures out at the darkness.

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"...Let's help."

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Kiss.

"Alright."

Out, then, to see what of Aman's peace they can save.

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However temporary it might prove.

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And as with Doriath -

They get things settled. They get things peaceful. Resolved. There's still tension, still arguments, but Mygwainor is powerful in every way that matters here -

 

The world dissolves.

 

From Luthien's perspective, the next thing that happens is being a baby again.

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It's easier the third time. She's knows what to expect.

She tries some new things, makes more friends... But really, she's just waiting for her wife to come back.

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Luthien very often has a sense of being watched as a child - by more than her keen-eyed father, her perceptive mother. There's a brush of her wife's mind even in her earliest memories this loop, an, 'I'm okay. I love you.'

Getting away from her parents and assorted other watchful, suspicious elves long enough to meet up with her wife might be a bit of a challenge, though.

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Fortunately, she has more practice slipping away than they do watching her.

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Her wife meets her in the starlit woods, a good ways away from the current camp.

"Ellin," she says, voice soft, dropping to her knees on the forest floor.

(She's a bit awkwardly taller than Luthien right now, otherwise...)

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"Mygwainor."

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She smiles, kissing her wife's forehead.

"...You're cute."

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"Enjoy it while it lasts. I'll be taller than you again some day."

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"I'm a Vala, you know. I can be as tall as I want."

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"And yet somehow you've always wanted to be shorter than me. Funny how that works."

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"It's because I have excellent taste."

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She giggles.

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Cute.

She bops Luthien's nose. "Sadly, making out will have to wait until you are taller than me again..."

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She snuggles into Mygwainor's side.

"Alas."

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She settles to sit snuggling her wife. "So tragic. However will we deal with not making out for... It's fifty years of the Sun, right?"

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"Something like that. I never kept close track."

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"I'm sure the years will fly by."

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"Since you're here they will."

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Nuzzle. "I'll have to be gone sometimes after my simulacrum's release from prison... But not for very long, and that's a while off yet."

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"And we should figure out how we can introduce you so we don't have to meet in the woods all the time."

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"To the elves here?"

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"Yeah."

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Thoughtful frown. "There's a very high chance one of them would recognize me as Beren in the First Age, though... And a rather unpleasantly high chance your mother will recognize me as Melkor if I'm not wearing someone else's fate at the time."

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"Could you wear a difference face? Though that wouldn't help with the fate, I suppose."

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She waves a hand. "Someone like Finrod would see through that, and Finrod's sadly not unique - the same trick that should shield Beren being Melkor from your mother might shield Beren being me, though, especially if I tweak it... It would become more obvious after I regain my memories, but..."

Frown.

"I might be able to do something. Especially since by then they won't be looking - and I can fake this persona's death in one of the battles before the rising of the Sun, perhaps... Before the Girdle is formed."

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"I'd like it if you could."

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Soft kiss.

"I'll do my best, then."

"Any preferences on my face and name as your mysterious elven friend?"

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"Surprise me."

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She hums, tapping her chin...

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And her face morphs, skin lightening, hair becoming wavier, longer.

"I'll be Elvŷr," she says, teasingly. (The name means 'star's vassal.')

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Poke. "Tease."

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She adopts an entirely innocent expression. "It's a perfectly normal name! Stars are very admirable. Swearing yourself to one is quite understandable."

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"You're just lucky no one else knows which one you're swearing to."

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She kisses the side of her wife's head. "I'll just say 'the prettiest one' if anyone asks."

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"That is true, I am the prettiest."

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She giggles. "Perfect, then."

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"Just like you."

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"I think you mean just like you."

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"It can be both."

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"Hm... True."

"A perfect plan for two perfect women, then."

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"That's us." Snuggle.

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"I just need a backstory for this persona, then, and I'm golden."

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"Hmm... People only really travel to Aman, they don't come back..."

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"I could be Avari."

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"Probably best for no one expecting to know of you."

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She nods. "Or my family, even, if I claim to be from the host that mostly stayed back..."

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"Right."

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"Anything else we can think of before I introduce myself?"

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"I don't think so."

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"Okay. You wanna be the one who found me wandering around the woods?"

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"That'd give us the best reason to be friends."

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"Your charming personality isn't enough?"

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"Don't want to give my father a chance to stifle it."

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Squeeze. "Very true. I'll head back with you, then."

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"Okay. Shall we, then?"

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One last little kiss, and - "Let's."

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Then back home it is.

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Elvŷr doesn't fully charm everyone, but she's able to keep Thingol from outright forbidding any association with his daughter. She keeps their relationship apparently platonic and appropriate when in full view of everyone else - but slips away with Luthien into the woods quite frequently, especially as her wife grows into her full height and body.

They have a wonderfully long time together in the woods of Beleriand. Elvŷr takes Luthien with her to meet with her lieutenants in short bursts, acquainting her with Sauron, setting the seeds for her followers to view Luthien as their Queen, any opposition of Luthien to them as part of some grand trick upon the Free Peoples.

(She, admittedly, mostly enjoys time to be Mygwainor, to act as Luthien's wife around others. Though seeing Maiar and orcs, trolls and young dragons and monsters galore, all prostrating themselves at Luthien's feet is... Certainly something.)

(She makes Luthien a dark and beautiful throne, for all that they almost never use it. It's not too much work, and seeing Luthien on it leaves her quite star-struck. Which, admittedly, makes holding court here awkward.)

Elvŷr is away more often once her simulacrum is released in Aman, leaving her elven body sleeping near Luthien while her consciousness jumps to her divine form whenever she needs to make friends or more cleverly manipulate something. She befriends Finrod again, of course, sometimes complaining about him to Luthien. (Unmentioned, but running like a current through it - she finds being in Aman without her wife, without the joy of their 'good timeline,' very, very stressful, and she takes to having the simulacrum do everything except talk to Finrod.)

But the time for Melkor's plots in Aman to be discovered - the time for the war in Beleriand to start - is approaching, now.

(If Luthien wants... She thinks she can steer the war to be less devastating to the people of Beleriand before Melian raises the Girdle, and before the Noldor arrive and begin their siege, without significant timeline stress - the exact casualties are mostly unimportant, as long as the war disrupts politics and trade which the Girdle will do regardless, and the timeline has a lot of room to correct any small bumps, here.)

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That... would be good, she thinks.

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Okay. (Gentle kiss.)

She can't minimize all the way - it's a war, and the Girdle won't form absent a threat, and the timeline does want an aura of fear... But she'll do her best. Stick to scare tactics as much as she can, and try to worsen the perceived impact of what things she does do. 

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Luthien appreciates it. She does, after all, have to live here.

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Fair.

If there's anywhere particular Luthien wants her to steer away from - especially that contains anyone particular - she can try for that, too.

(She has been training many of the elves who will eventually join Doriath's guard, so they might hold their own better - but it's a game to them, right now, and war is a chaotic, hungry beast.)

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A few names, yeah.

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She spends some time figuring out where they're likely to be, creating plans of battle that don't go near there... Distracts Sauron from deciding to do an actually efficient invasion...

And across the sea, her simulacrum plunges Aman into darkness, and the Years of the Trees begin tumbling to their violent end. 

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It was always coming to this.

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She's gotten a small reputation for competence in a fight. For a sense of what lurks in the shadow. 

She talks Melian into raising the Girdle a bit early, despite a lower death toll. She knows the right arguments, knows the right fears. 

(Melian looks a bit suspcious, but, well.)

Elvŷr won't be inside Doriath when the Girdle rises. She's going to help her people with this war, she claims. 

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"Good fortune," she wishes her friend at their farewell.

'I'll miss you,' she tells her wife.

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'I'll miss you too. It won't be long, though, before you see Beren.'

"Thanks," she says out loud. "And to you - stay safe."

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"I will."

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She takes Luthien's hands, squeezes them once -

And she leaves.

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Ah... Back to her old life.

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(The war rages. The Noldor come. Thingol bans Quenya. Finrod and Galadriel come to Doriath, and Finrod leaves, and the world spins on outside.)

And, exactly like the world is scripted...

Just about five hundred Years of the Sun later, Luthien is dancing in a glade, singing, and a sound on the edge, and a Second Born with a worn face and a stunned, yearning expression -

(The expression Beren wore, so many lifetimes ago, when Luthien first met her. More raw, more rough, more unsure than the glances and adoring stares her wife sends her.)

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She swirls to a stop.

"Hello."

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"Hello," she says, almost warily.

"Who are you?"

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"My name is Luthien, called Tinuviel. What is yours?"

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"You're really pretty."

Stop.

Blush.

"Uh, that's not my name, my name's Beren - "

Deeper blush.

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She laughs.

"It's lovely to meet you, Beren."

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She giggles. "It's lovely to meet you, too."

"Did you write that song? It's really - nice."

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"I was extemporizing."

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"Wow."

" - It's probably pretty dumb to ask if you live here..."

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"The Girdle of Melian does not permit much casual immigration."

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"I don't think I passed anything though..."

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"Then our meeting must be fate," she teases.

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"I prefer making my own destiny."

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"Such is your privilege, as Second Born."

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"Everyone should get to make their own fate," she says, immediately. "Especially you."

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"It's sweet of you to say so."

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She ducks her head, grinning. "You're pretty, and you've been nice so far, and - nothing feels foul about you. More like... I met you once in a dream. A very pleasant one."

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"A dream with you would be pleasant, I think."

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She laughs. "I've had plenty of nightmares. It'd be you who'd make it pleasant."

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She smiles.

"Are you hungry? I have food and drink, if you would like."

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"I am, and I'd like both." She comes to stand next to Luthien, smiling. "I'd like to hear some of this land while we eat, if that's okay." Small grin. "And of you as well."

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"I would be happy to share."

And so she does, while they eat some of Beren's favorites, which she happens to have packed by complete coincidence.

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She's complimentary about Luthien's tastes, unwinding fairly quickly, laughing at anecdotes - sharing her own story (not much different from what Beren said in Luthien's first life, though Luthien's able to draw more personal things out of her faster). She's clearly fascinated by everything Luthien talks about, leaning in close to her to listen.

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This is nice. Nostalgic.

Luthien is much flirtier than she was the first time.

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Beren is too, testing the waters a bit for Luthien's comfort levels with flirting before really settling into it. (She seems very delighted and incredibly flattered about Luthien's attention.)

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Good.

Luthien is fully enjoying this chance to be the older one.

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Beren seems to appreciate it, too.

She doesn't make any attempt to move on as the days roll on, apparently perfectly happy to stay by Luthien's side. (She does challenge Luthien to a lot of spars. She's amazingly good, but, well. Luthien's been trained rather thoroughly by Mygwainor for several thousand years by now.)

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"I would like very much to kiss you," she says after one particularly good match.

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"I thought you'd never ask," she teases.

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Kiss!

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Kiss!!! (Beren is currently very inexperienced at kissing!)

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Luthien is more than happy to fix that.

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Mmm, good. Beren is an attentive student.

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The lesson can get quite... involved, if Beren is willing.

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Mmm, yes. As advanced as Luthien feels like teaching. 

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Wonderful.

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Delightful, wonderful girl. 

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...Probably she should have a conversation with her about marriage, since Beren doesn't remember that they are.

Later, before they get all the way there.

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They have an entire half the year to mosey.

Beren, though, might need the marriage talk sooner rather than later, going by how eagerly she's throwing herself at Luthien. Just maybe.

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She broaches the topic over breakfast one day.

"So I'm not sure how much you know about elf marriages..."

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"...Elves don't get divorced? That's about it."

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"Marriage is, ah, a physical act, not just a promise."

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"So - you can't get divorced?"

"...Are you telling me this because you want to ask me to marry you?"

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"That, and also if we keep going as we have been, a marriage seems inevitable."

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Heeee!

" - Wait you can get accidentally married?"

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"Only if you're very irresponsible."

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She giggles. "How do we get married?"

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Luthien explains, giggling.

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More giggles, and - "That doesn't sound onerous at all."

Pause. 

"...I'm doing this all wrong."

Pause, and she kneels at Luthien's feet, taking her hand. 

"Luthien of Doriath, my lovely Ellin, light of my life, song of my heart, I have no title to give you, no land nor worldly possession, just the strength of my arms and the truth of my love. Will you make me the happiest person in the world and give me the honor of being your wife?"

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"Of course I will, my darling Mygwainor."

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She laughs and stands, kissing her betrothed. 

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Engagement kisses!!

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The best kind so far! 

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They are very good.

But married kisses might be better.

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Well, there's nothing in Beren's culture saying you need a long engagement period...

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That sounds like an excellent tradition.

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Kiss!

She's ready as soon as Luthien is. 

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Now seems good.

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No sense in waiting to find out what married kisses are like. 

(Intense kiss.)

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Mmm that's as good a lead-in as any.

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Wedding kisses are amazing, she decides, giggling - 

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And freezes as their marriage bond settles in. 

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"Mygwainor?"

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" - Ah."

"Yes."

She kisses her wife. 

"I just - "

"Remembered everything."

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"Welcome back, then."

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Nuzzle. "I hope you're not disappointed you're no longer the elder, experienced one."

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"It was fun while it lasted... But I'll never complain about having you."

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Kiss!!

"Me either," she murmurs. 

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"I love you."

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Snuggle.

"I love you so much."

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Snugs!

"Does this change our plans at all?"

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Hum. "Maybe? I can steer a lot better now, if nothing else... Though if this makes the timeline collapse you'll need to restrain yourself longer next loop." She gives Luthien a teasing kiss. "But it might be better to go with a course of events a lot closer to the default, if you're alright with me leaving to be 'captured' without you."

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Kiss.

"I think I can trust you to take care of yourself for a while."

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Kiss.

"I've only been doing it for... Oh, a couple million years."

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"So a couple months should be no problem. I'll just have to get myself out of Doriath."

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"Should be trivial for a woman of your talents."

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"And I have your example to guide me, after all."

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She giggles. "I appear to have turned you into a downright scoundrel," she teases.

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"You don't sound too upset by that."

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"You're always wonderful, but I have to admit, rules breaking is a good look on you."

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"I'll make a note of it."

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Kiss! "You should be creating the rules, really," she murmurs.

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"Eventually."

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"You don't have to wait for 'eventually' for some rules at least. You're already my queen."

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"First rule, you have to kiss me whenever I want."

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"As you will, my Lady."

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"So kiss me now."

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She obeys, kissing her wife.

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Good!!

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"Any other commands, my Lady?" she asks, teasingly.

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Oh, Luthien can think of a few...

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Mygwainor is delighted to oblige.

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Wonderful.

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Pretending not to be married already when they get to Menegroth might be difficult...

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Maybe Luthien should make a rule about that...

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Hm... A very clever solution. 

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She is prone to those, on occasion.

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More often than that, Mygwainor would say. 

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Fair enough.

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Onward to Menegroth, then? (Perhaps not with any particular haste...)

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They can mosey along.

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Getting to Menegroth by the autumn equinox, at least.

The guards welcome Luthien home with good cheer, and ask who her companion is.

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Luthien introduces her as Beren.

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She will need to abide by the laws of Doriath, but only King Thingol may gainsay his daughter; the guards step aside and open the carved gates. 

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In they go.

Hopefully they have time to refresh themselves before Thingol gets bothered about it.

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They have time to get settled a little and wash up, though not to get very distracted, by the time Thingol sends a guard for Luthien - Thorndess, actually, who is more fond of Luthien this loop than she was the first loop for some reason.

Thorndess smiles at Luthien and says, "My Lady, it's good to see you again. Your father the King would like to speak to you and your guest, though I warn you he's in a bit of a foul mood."

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"Thank you, Thorndess. We'll be along presently."

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She bows. "I will let your father the King know, my Lady."

And she turns to walk off.

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"Well," she says to Mygwainor. "Here we go again."

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"Hopefully a bit more smoothly this time." (Quick kiss, before they're back in public and must behave.)

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Then off to see Thingol.

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Luthien's father is on his throne, his court clearly in session. Her mother is physically present as well, though her gaze is distant in a way that suggests she's currently tending to something far off - foresight, or the many magics protecting and aiding Doriath, or the like. 

Elu Thingol does not look at all happy. "Luthien," he says. "It warms my heart to see you again. Who is your guest?"

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"Father." She bows formally. "This is Beren daughter of Barahir, who I intend to make my wife."

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She bows, deeply and equally formally -

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But she doesn't have time to say anything flattering before Thingol's icy, "What."

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"My future," and current, "wife, Beren daughter of Barahir."

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"We would ask your blessing, my Lord," Mygwainor says, voice smooth and polite. "I love your daughter, for she is more beautiful than any star, and there are none in this world who could match her wit and inner strength. I am honored and humbled that she would have be beside her. I am no one great, with no title nor dowry to bring, but in truth none in this world could be worthy of one like her."

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She seems to have paused him in the middle of a building anger, and he considers her, expression grave.

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Luthien takes her hand.

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She squeezes Luthien's hand, reassuringly.

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Melians turns to Thingol then. And, voice low but clearly audible: "Forgo your pride, my love. No blade nor chain of yours may lay upon her, for love alone may bind her limbs. Their fate does not lie here, though it will be entwined through us."

"That is my counsel, if you will have it."

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"A grim counsel indeed," he says, "For my daughter is the most precious jewel in this world, and naught should lead her astray."

He turns to Beren, gaze heavy. "If you would ask for my daughter's hand, then there is but one task before you - bring in your hand a Silmaril from Morgoth's crown."

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"If that is the price you will sell me for, then so be it."

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She squeezes Luthien's hand, smirking at Thingol. "I would lay the world at her feet; what is one little jewel?"

"You may have your Silmaril, if that is your wish."

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She gets a little flutter at hearing that.

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She smiles at her wife.

"Is that all, my Lord?"

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"You are to leave this land. No succor will you find in Doriath."

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"Of course."

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She bows. "I will be gone shortly, then, my Lord." And she turns, glancing at Luthien with a raised eyebrow.

('Say goodbye to me at the gates?' she asks over osanwe.)

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'Always, love.'

And off they go.

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She collects a few things from Luthien's rooms - mostly supplies that'll be useful - and then kisses her wife at the gate, murmuring a goodbye. 

And she turns, and she walks into the forest.

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Luthien watches until she's gone.

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She isn't confined, this time. No need to, if she isn't trying to leave. 

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It's almost worse, knowing that it'd be easier for her just leave. But she's older and wiser than the first time around, and it's only a few months in any case. She spends most of her time making better friends with the guards, Thorndess and the others, chatting, practicing, sparring.

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The guards like her already, and Luthien's attention here deepens their friendship. They're supportive of Luthien's relationship, especially once they've solicited a few stories about Beren - especially the younger ones, the impatient ones, who want to take the fight to Morgoth.

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And after a time - long enough for Beren to have reached Sauron's tower - Luthien gets a whisper in her mind,

'Now's a good time, darling. Your mother should see that I'm in trouble if she looks afar, though I don't think you need to be imprisoned first for this to work.'

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Luthien spends two days quietly accumulating the last supplies she needs.

She heads out the gates while Thorndess is on duty.

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"Have a good trip, my Lady," Thorndess says, voice soft and serious.

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"Thank you."

And she's off.

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The walk to Sauron's tower is long - longer, if she intends to go by Nargothrond first.

Still, nothing hinders her in leaving Doriath.

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She already knows where to go, so she doesn't see the need to detour to Nargothrond. Direct to the tower it is.

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It's almost like Mygwainor suspected she'd do that and made sure the right pieces were in place for the timeline's stability.

A certain excellent dog is waiting along the most obvious road.

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"Hello, Huan."

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Woof!

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"Are you here to travel with me?"

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Agreeable woof.

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Smile.

"Well. Let's go, then."

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They wag their tail and fall in beside Luthien, leading the way a little bit.

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A bit of company is nice for the road. Especially some that won't ask too many questions.

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Huan seems to appreciate this, too.

They draw near Sauron's Isle of Werewolves soon enough. Huan slinks along on their belly as they approach, ears and gaze intent. 

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"Hear anything?" she asks quietly.

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Grrr...

There's movement from the Isle - shapes emerging, slinking along. Werewolves, it looks like, stalking the perimeter.

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"Need any help with them?"

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They woof, shaking their head and wagging their tail a bit.

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"All right. I'll head straight for the tower then, if you can keep them distracted."

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Woof!

They dart forward through the grass, low to the ground and moving quickly. 

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And Luthien moves for the tower, humming a song of stealth.

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Huan pounces on a werewolf and procedes to steadily kick all their asses!

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Then she just has to figure out how to get inside the tower.

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Sauron ends up emerging to fight Huan at one point; the landscape quickly starts shaking as Sauron flits between forms, favoring the shape of a massive wolf.

There doesn't seem to be a rear entrance. It's a very well designed fort.

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What about going in from above?

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She can't see any roof entrances (but she also can't see the roof), nor a single window that's larger than the size of an arrow slit, or really any way to easily climb the tower.

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Guess she will be doing this the hard way.


She turns back to where Sauron is fighting Huan.

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He's definitely tracking her location at least a little, but his attention is overall very consumed by the murder dog at his throat.

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Then he will have a hard time reacting to the song of hers that swells over the battlefield, help and comfort to her allies that twists into pain and confusion to her enemies, and vice versa.

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He spins up a counter-song - Huan is fundamentally a thing-that-rips-out-throats, not a thing-that-sings, so this part of his mind is less preoccupied.

Fear. Doubt. Can any really challenge him? Can she ever truly succeed, here? Her song is weak, he sings, and her voice will never shake the world.

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Luthien doesn't fear, doesn't doubt. Her love is the ground on which she stands and nothing will dislodge her. From this rock she will move the world, and Sauron is but a pebble to be flicked aside.

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Between them, she and Huan are forcing him on his back foot, and Huan's preventing him from lashing out physically at her. He attacks her with endings, with failing, with confusion and uncertainty, with his own past success, but - he's not landing on new cracks very easily. 

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It helps that she's not completely improvising, she and Mygwainor have developed some approaches that are likely to work here...

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He falters, losing ground - 

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And Huan lunges and seizes his throat, pinning him. 

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She closes to speaking distance.

"Here's how this will work. If you pass control of the tower to me, Huan will rip out your throat and your body will die quickly. If you don't, I kill you slow, and do the same again next time we meet."

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He raises an eyebrow at her, apparently at worst mildly annoyed about the teeth pressing against his jugular. Then, tone almost flirty: "I see why she likes you."

And the control of the tower flips to her.

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She stabs him in the gut and twists.

"I don't actually tell Huan what to do. Ask them nicely and maybe they'll make this faster."

She turns to the tower and begins deconstructing it.

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The tower crumbles and drifts apart.

"Definitely see it!" he says, despite Huan's jaws clamping on his throat enough he shouldn't be able to talk. He's maybe cheating. "Do you have any sisters?"

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She ignores him, and goes to the tower, where the prisoners would be.

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He successfully annoys Huan into killing him before she gets very far (and before he can really hit on her again, at least).

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Mygwainor is so imprisoned. Extremely. Very. There's bars and everything, and she's pretty sure 'being locked in a dungeon with Finrod' counts as torture (or did until he annoyed Sauron into drugging him).

She has a book set to the side and is looking up and over at Luthien, smiling. "My hero," she says.

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"I've come to rescue you, my love."

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"I've been pining away."

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"Clearly." The cell bars bend out of the way. "You may be interested to know that your lieutenant attempted to hit on me, before Huan killed him."

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She laughs and kisses her wife. "He does that! A few early loops I stuck him as Maedhros - who always gets captured by us - and he would not stop flirting."

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"Sounds annoying."

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"Actually convinced me to like him, eventually..." She shrugs. "I'd had nothing but pain and hatred and fear for him - or anyone other than your past self - back then, though, so it was - odd, the first time he made me laugh." Small kiss. "Though you'd beaten him to the honor a thousand times over."

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Kiss. "Good."

"We should wake Finrod up and get out of here."

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"Fine. As long as Huan's in charge of entertaining him."

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"After the werewolves, I don't think one elf will be a problem for them."

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"Finrod," she says, voice solemn despite her smile, "Was so bored he started singing off-key."

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"How terrible."

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"The worst torture imaginable."

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"Should subject Sauron to it."

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"Why do you think Finrod's drugged?"

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"Again, I mean, where he can't drug him."

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"Sounds fun sometime." Kiss. "C'mon, let's wake him."

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Kiss!

All right Finrod, time to get up. Poke poke.

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Ugh he doesn't wanna wake up. (Mumble grumble.) His head's fuzzy...

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She sings some focus and clarity for him.

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He wakes up properly.

"What happened?"

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"It seems the house of Finwe cannot be trusted with my beloved's safety. Up you get, Finrod Felagund, I am here to rescue you as well."

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He grumbles and drags himself to his feet. "This was her idea, you know."

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"But obviously she could never do anything wrong, so I will chastise you instead."

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He sticks his tongue out at her. "I think you might be biased."

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Mygwainor kisses her wife's cheek. "The truth is never biased, though."

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"I'm right, and she agrees with me. You're outnumbered. It's hopeless."

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Dramatic sigh. "Can't be helped at all?"

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"Best to surrender to the invevitable."

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"I'm usually not one for surrender... But I'll take that as advice."

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"Come on," she says. "Let's get going."

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"North, then," she says, heading up and out of the excavated dungeons.

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"I hope you have a better plan for Angband," she says, following.

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"I'd hope so too... I think - especially with Sauron's body disrupted - we can take the form of some of his servants and slip in through the front. Once within... The throne room is the locus of Morgoth's power, and so any spell cast there will be mighty indeed throughout all of Angband, but getting a spell off would need time and most likely a distraction. Other places are possible - but we have a good chance of getting caught, or not catching the entire fortress."

'That Luthien dances in front of Morgoth, sending the entire fortress into a slumber, is extremely scripted,' she sends her wife privately. 'Especially with the simulacrum programmed as it is, and Sauron's body disrupted, it's likely to go nearly exactly as it usually does. Which means safely, for us.'

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"Sounds workable. I think we can use the werewolves pelts to help the disguise."

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She nods. "That'll help even against Morgoth's more perceptive servants..." She waves to Huan, then - on to sort through likely werewolves?

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As distasteful a task as it is, yes.

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She and Huan can handle much of it.

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That would be helpful.

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Small kiss.

And she goes to sort through the werewolves for ones who look to be loners. Smaller, lankier. Less likely to have anyone who knows them, more likely to be employed as scouts. She picks out four wolves in total, skinning them cleanly with a soft song.

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That will do for a basis. She'll work on the disguises as they get closer.

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(Huan's a bit grouchy about pretending to be a werewolf, but they'll put up with it with some coaxing.)

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She rubs Huan's ears, and sets to helping Luthien with the disguises over their trek north. As last time, it's a long way across the wastes - but orcs only see them from a distance, and the wolf-forms seem to work.

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There's been enough excitement for a little while.

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Yeah. The travel north gives them some breathing time, at least.

Still, there's more excitement to come.

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By the time they get to Angband, they'll be prepared for it.

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The land before Angband is a desolate, scarred wasteland, mixed ash and dry, cracked earth. The rain that falls here is sparse and acidic, the few rivers toxic, and sunlight is rare and weak. The gates are enormous, guarded by an enormous wolf and several smaller deputies - but Mygwainor doesn't think it'll harm them to take one of the nearby side entrances (again), so long as they keep to the script in other ways.

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No reason to poke that particular dog just yet.

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Yeah.

In through a side entrance, and - where does Luthien want to go from here?

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Best that she and Mygwainor at least head right for the throne room.

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She agrees - though she's not sure where it's smartest to put Finrod.

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If he can be stealthy, he could look for the prisoners?

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"I can do that," he says, "And it sounds like the best place for me, honestly."

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"All right. Once the guards fall asleep, start work on getting people out."

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He nods. "Got it."

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Time to split up, then?

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Seems like it.

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Good luck.

Away to the throne room.

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Sneak sneak sneak...

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The simulacrum is on the throne, of course.

"What do we have here?" she calls out, gaze piercing through the wolf-hames. "Two guilty puppies slinking around?"

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"We wished only not to be interrupted before our audience."

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"And what petition do you bring before me?"

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"Not a petition, as much as a demonstration."

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"Oh? Do tell."

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Luthien steps into the middle of the room and begins dancing.

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She watches, entranced.

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(Mygwainor's no less enchanted.)

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She starts singing the lullaby, slowly weaving it into her dance, pushing the effects at the Melkor simulacrum that is entwining her senses with Luthien so.

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Her eyelids drift half closed, though she stays awake for quite some time, watching Luthien with a lazy smile. Her followers - scattered around the edges of the throne room, quiet in her presence - fall asleep before her, apparently without her noticing.

She falls asleep, eventually, a smile on her face, and her jeweled crown slips off her head, falling to the floor with a loud clang - fortunately, none of their enemies stir.

The crown's immense, to fit the simulacrum's large stature. Given its solid construction, it's likely too heavy to move, but the Silmarils seem somewhat firm in their settings.

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She slowly lets her dance drift to a halt, though she keeps singing.

Over to the crown and she pulls out a knife to pry one of the gems loose.

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Mygwainor had provided her with a fine knife of dwarven make (courtesy of Finrod, courtesy of a long rambling tale about some improbable friendship he struck up with a master smith...).

It's strong enough to remove the gem from its setting without too much difficulty - though Mygwainor had warned her against trying for two.

Luthien's wife is standing near the entrance to the throne room, a soft look on her face as she watches Luthien.

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She smiles back as she wraps the Silmaril up.

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In a soft murmur: "I think you should consider casting spells on me more often, Ellin."

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"It could be good practice."

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"The real reason I suggested it, of course," she teases.

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"Doing things for only one reason seems a bit of a waste."

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"True."

Quick kiss. 

"Come on, let's rescue the poor prisoners from Finrod."

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"Before he decides to start singing as well."

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"We better hurry."

Onwards, then. 

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Luthien makes sure the gem is tucked safely away before they meet the others.

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Finrod's gotten everyone unchained and most everyone sorted - they can probably get moving, given a clear path out.

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They have that for now. They should move quickly.

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Mygwainor leads them out a side door and into the wastes - and south, as she did last time, until they come to where Finrod will be breaking from their party.

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"You'll be all right from here?"

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"I think so. You two take care, alright?"

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"We will."

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"Take care yourself," she says with a small smile.

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"I will."

And he - and his group of refugees - are off.

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"Just the two of us for a while again, love."

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"Whatever shall we do with ourselves."

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"I think we can afford to take a little time for ourselves on the way back to Doriath."

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"Sounds lovely." Kiss!

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Kiss!

She really can't kiss her wife enough.

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Seems quite impossible.

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Not that she'll let that deter her from trying.

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It's an excellent boundary to push at.

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Mmmmgood.

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You know, in the default timeline, the Quest actually takes a year longer than it did here...

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Then surely there will be no fault in dawdling. It's all for the good of the timeline.

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Exactly! 

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They should find somewhere nice to stay for a while, then.

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She has a few ideas...

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Most wonderful wife.

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Then it'll be a rather relaxed Luthien and 'Beren' who return to Doriath at about the actual proper place in the timeline.

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Totally prepared for whatever her father might want to throw at them.

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Her friends among the guards are very relieved at her return - and warn her her father's been in a mood.

And then they lead her into Doriath, moving swiftly through its forests until they reach the gates - and from there to the throne room, as court is in session right now. 

Thingol appears wan, stressed, and he rises from his throne in a sharp motion when Luthien is announced. "My daughter," he says, voice tight. "You are returned to me."

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"We have, Father." She takes out the wrapped Silmaril. "My betrothed comes to present the bride-price you set to her."

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He - and the rest of the court - is clearly shocked at that. "...A mighty accomplishment," he says after a long moment. And then: "I am glad you came through uninjured," he says, then dismisses his court and gestures to a side withdrawing room. "Come, tell me of your journey."

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She holds Mygwainor's hand as they go to the side room.

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Squeeze.

And she summarizes their adventure to Thingol.

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He looks troubled.

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As well he should.

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"...I was very, very worried, my daughter," he says. 

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"You would have stopped me from leaving had I informed you of my intentions."

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"Yes," he says, voice tight. "You could have died. Or much worse."

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"But that was my choice to make, Father. You cannot swaddle me forever, and nor will I permit it."

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"I - "

"Do you understand, what the Enemy could have done to you?"

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"No less than what she could have done to my beloved."

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"Mortals do not live as long as elves in her captivity."

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"That makes her no less worthy of my sacrifice."

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She squeezes Luthien's hand. 

And sends to her - "He feels guilty for not coming after you. To help or rescue you, whatever was needed, because he knows what 'could have' happened."

"Sadly, I don't think calling him out on this right now would be productive, but... I can point it out to your mother, maybe. For now, we need to not get me kicked out of Doriath because he's upset."

"The world outside of Doriath's borders is terrible, my Lord," she says, softly, "And growing rapidly worse. You have done something good in making at least this single safe haven - "

"But the Darkness is growing, and the Valar will not come in time for anyone alive in Beleriand. Not now, not for a hundred years. Luthien, ultimately, would not have been any safer if she had stayed in Menegroth's deepest vaults. We all will either come before the Enemy or die before we get the chance."

"And in a world like this, it is safer to have a blade in your hands. To be fierce, and mighty, and not someone the Enemy can risk even trying to capture."

"Your daughter defeated Sauron and shattered his Tower. She stood openly before the Enemy, and cast a spell over the entirety of Angband that, had an army followed us, would have been the end of most of Morgoth's servants. She ensorcelled a Vala. She is only going to grow more powerful."

"Your daughter is the safest person in Middle Earth."

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He pauses, almost deflating, the anger and fear in his eyes giving way to a deep grief.

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"Please, Father. Trust me."

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"I - "

A pause, his gaze going distant. 

"...I will."

"You two have my blessing."

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"Thank you, Father."

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"You're welcome." He's trying to smile. It's not very convincing, what with how pale his face is. 

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Well, it will probably take him some time to compose himself.

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"Thank you, my Lord," Mygwainor says with her own smile. "I'll look after her." She squeezes Luthien's hand. 

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Squeeze.

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He takes a breath, closing his eyes, then - starts trying to get to know his future daughter in law. 

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Luthien contributes anecdotes where appropriate.

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She mixes stories from their first and most recent lives, keeping the two to a coherent but denser timeline.

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He relaxes a little over the talk. 

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Good. She does like living in Doriath, if she can have her Mygwainor with her.

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"Will you want a larger suite here?" he asks Luthien after a bit.

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"I think so, yes."

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"It'd be rather nice. Thank you."

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He nods. "I will see it done."

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"Thank you, Father."

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There isn't much left to discuss, after that, and the conversation wraps up soon enough, and Thingol dismisses them.

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Back to her rooms! With her wife!

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The return to an actual bed is rather nice. Camping's fun, but, well.

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It's also nice to luxuriate in luxury.

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And in her wife's presence. Minus rocks in inconvenient places, plus warm water.

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Don't forget the soap.

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Most wonderful, excellent soap. Mygwainor has missed it so.

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Mmm perhaps Luthien had better help her with it, to make sure she remembers how to use it...

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That seems downright necessary.

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Good.

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She loves her wife.

After: "We're hoping to take this loop as far as possible still, right?"

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"It seems like it's working out so far."

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"It is... So - I think it's the four hundred and sixty-sixth year of the First Age, then..."

She frowns. "The normal timeline has me dying this year - after our arrival in Doriath, falling to a werewolf who makes it through the border... I'm not sure if we can push that back - we might have to try it, if the timeline keeps collapsing. After that..."

"Beren and Luthien - the ones who aren't us - usually have a son in four years. I'd. Rather not."

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"All right."

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She thinks.

"...There's. Something that happens in three years, if we get that far - and I'd like to get to the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, which is after - "

"There's something I want to prevent. It matters nothing to the timeline, but - "

She pauses.

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Luthien takes her hands. "You deserve to be able to do things you want to. Whatever help I can give, you have it."

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She smiles, squeezing Luthien's hand.

"In three years, a plague sweeps through the area to the north and west. It doesn't reach most of the elves, but - it's tough on the Mannish communities, and - "

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Her gaze goes distant. Melancholy.

"...My zeroth life. I was a mortal named Turin, daughter of Hurin. I - "

"The person in that role's already been born. Two years ago, now."

"But right now - my younger sister would've been born this spring. That - shouldn't have changed."

"She dies in the plague. Always, unless I change it - her survival doesn't really impact the timeline as long as Turin doesn't know she's alive before the - the end of that arc. Which never lasts long, anyways, so it's easy enough to send my Lalaith - away. Out of Beleriand. To live just. Somewhere a bit more peaceful."

"I always save her when the timeline gets that far. It feels - silly. The timeline will reset, and she won't remember, and she dies anyways if the timeline lasts long enough, but - "

"I failed her and my whole family once. The others are harder, but... A three year old is easy enough to spirit away. And the timeline seems to think she's only a footnote in Turin's life."

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Hug. "A worthy cause."

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Aggressive lean.

"...I can't save most of my family. But. Even just one - and - I never put the original in that role, but my youngest sibling... Sometimes I can save her, too."

"She's born after the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, though, so - we probably won't make it that far, this time."

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"Hey. We can try."

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Nuzzle. 

"I don't - know how much you want to hear, about - all that."

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Luthien kisses her cheek. "As much as you want to tell me, Mygwainor."

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Small, soft kiss.

"Turin - "

"I."

"I was born in the four hundred and sixty fourth year of the First Age, to one of the noble houses of Men. My father Hurin was in the service of one of the Noldor, and he was a great warrior by any accounting."

"My sister was born when I was two, and - she was the most amazing thing I'd ever seen. I loved her, like I loved nothing else - "

"And she died. She died horribly, I stop that plague entirely when I can because it shouldn't exist."

"Ballad writers called that the first great sorrow of the children of Hurin. I hate ballad writers, incidentally."

"Three years later - when I was eight - the hosts of the Noldor gathered, and the Men and Dwarves answered their call. Few others came to their aid. Doriath abstained from the alliance entirely, except for a few individuals who slipped away."

"The union attacked Angband."

"They lost. My uncle Huor was slain, and my father covered the retreat of Turgon, who had become High King with Fingon's death. My father was captured, and tortured to force him to reveal Gondolin's location, but he refused."

"My mother, Morwen, gave birth to my little brother not long after. Nienor. She sent me away to Doriath, though, before Nienor was born, to be fostered here, as Beren - the original Beren - was my cousin. I grew up here, and Thingol took me as his ward. He invited my mother to Doriath, but - the road was long and hard by then. The world outside of Doriath was growing increasingly dark."

"I joined the northern guards in harrying orcs once I was old enough, until - one of Thingol's councilors, that ass Saeros, picked a fight with me. I killed him - accidentally - and then I panicked and fled. I still wanted to fight, though, so I gathered a band of Men with me to try and carve a path through the orcs."

"Thingol sent my friend Beleg to find me and assist me. I wasn't willing to return to Doriath - even with a pardon - and - "

"Beleg died too. My band was scattered. I ended up in Nargothrond, and then Nargothrond fell, and a girl I'd grown - close to, one who I thought I might be able to love and who loved me, was captured."

"I fell under a dragon-spell, though, and he convinced me my mother and brother were in danger - "

"I abandoned her. Finduilas. Even though she called for me."

"My family wasn't at our own halls. The swath I'd carved through the orcs was enough, and they'd already gone to Doriath. I went to find Finduilas, but - I wasn't in time. She was already dead."

"I took up my sword again and fought. What else did I know how to do? The world was full of angry, lost people, and they were willing to follow me to their deaths, for we would all die anyways. Better to go with a sword in your hand."

"I found a man, one day. Naked in the woods, with no memory whatsoever. I should have been suspicious."

"He was kind, and funny, and like - like the only thing good left in the world. I married him, and we were expecting children together - twins - "

"And then the dragon Glaurung found us, and in the fight my husband and I got separated, and I was knocked unconscious. Glaurung lifted the shroud he had put on my husband's memory, and - "

"My husband killed himself."

"He was Nienor, my brother, and he'd left Doriath to seek me out - and then the dragon waylaid him."

"I killed myself as soon as I - realized it was true. That his death wasn't a lie."

"I wouldn't have cared if - if he'd lived. We could have worked it out."

"But. I'd brought nothing but death and misery to my loved ones. So I stopped."

"I don't - remember what being dead was like. There was a sense of time passing, and then I was being called back, with a sword in my hand, the Final Battle arrayed against the architect of my every misery - "

"So I fought, and I won, and I became my own sworn Enemy."

"I'd called myself the master of fate near the end of my life. Declared myself the master of fate by fate mastered at the close."

"Each of the Melkors has taken up our own names. One independent of any role we have ever played."

"I took up Fate."

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"Oh, my dear love." Hair pets, soft kisses.

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She snuggles into her wife rather aggressively. 

"I can't save most of them. Nienor - I couldn't stand to put my husband back in that role, so - it's drifted to someone else. A woman, and Turin a man, and - the same mistakes each time. But sometimes I can rescue Nienor, and even prevent her from killing herself again, and steer her to join Lalwen - "

"I can't keep her from miscarrying. It's the stupidest fucking tapestry thing. Turin apparently isn't allowed kids, even ones who vanish out of the narrative."

"Turin always dies but I don't - ever try to change that."

Lean. 

"...I don't like the First Age much."

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Hug.

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So many hugs.

"...I don't ever want kids. Even if not breaks the timeline or makes things harder. I - can't. Again."

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"We'll work around it. I promise."

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Kiss.

"I - think we can manage to hit the battle before the timeline gets destabilized from no kid."

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"Focus on that, then."

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Snuggle. 

"I will."

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Pet pet.

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"I love you."

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"I love you too, dear heart. My Mygwainor, my wife."

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She giggles and kisses her wife. "Perhaps the true 'master of Fate.'"

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Kiss. "If it has to be someone."

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"This Fate rather prefers being mastered, I think..."

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"Well then. Allow me..."

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She laughs.

She'll allow Luthien anything.

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Most excellent.

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Heeee.

Thingol somehow successfully manages not to send the timeline into a death spiral. They get confirmation that the Noldor (primarily Maedhros) are indeed arranging diplomatic overtures to assorted nations and groups, trying to build an alliance against Morgoth, citing specifically the victory of Luthien, Beren, weapons of dwarf-make, and Finrod (listed in that order of importance), spun as a herald of a new age, a new chance for all their peoples to work together.

Finrod comes to their wedding, negotiating to bring Aredhel and Celegorm and Huan (the last of whom accompanied their Quest, of course, and Celegorm and Aredhel are among those Beren befriended in Nargothrond - two past Melkors, she whispered to Luthien at one point, the two right before Scarlet-Huan - "Aredhel's usually dead by now, but if I stick Shmi in her role, she'll murder her husband rather than be murdered by him, then storm out of Gondolin, and apparently that's enough for the timeline... Celegorm's always an ass, sadly, but Karin as her gives me an ass who really likes me") - and Finrod makes overtures on behalf of the Noldor to Thingol (Aredhel and Celegorm stand there and look pretty; Finrod is clearly steering very aggressively to never have either say anything important to anyone important). The King's hesitant, of course, but, well, Finrod doesn't seem to be turning his charm off anytime soon, and Aredhel and Celegorm are very quickly sent off to join the much less easily offended guards in showing off the strength of their arms against orcs.

And a bit over a year after their marriage is finalized, they get rumors that a new sickness is emerging, circulating in the scattered households of the Men of the North.

Beren wants to do something, of course, but - it's hard to know what. This disease is... Difficult to really influence. 

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They can send help. Doriath has medicine, and enough young elves who'd like to leave its borders at some point in their lives.

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Thingol needs to be convinced, but... A humanitarian mission behind lines mostly held by the Noldor, to assist his new in-laws - for many of those Men are under the care of Beren's House - is a much easier proposition.

(He's... Considering on his own, actually, allowing the establishment of human communities in Doriath's borders, away from Menegroth. Disease is much less of a problem here, orcs hardly an issue at all.)

(He doesn't want to charge out, to risk what he's built, but Beren's words about Doriath as a shelter have been striking a slow chord.)

He'll put the operation under Luthien's command, if she'd like. 

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She'll take it.

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Then his best wishes go with her. 

(And his political backing and resources too, of course.)

(He doesn't look excited about sending Luthien out of Doriath again, but... It's a big step for him.)

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It is. But she won't be going alone. She'll have her wife, and the volunteers, and the guards.

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A comfort to him. 

He'll have guards stationed to receive messages; she can send word ahead if she needs extra supplies sent, or for an area to be prepared for refugees.

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She will do so.

Out, then.

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"What do you want me doing, Ellin?" 

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"Show us where to go."

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"I will," she says, and sets to making maps of the area with notes on population as Luthien finishes organizing the supplies.

Then - out of Doriath, to the worst-hit regions first.

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It's not pleasant for Doriath's elves to see. But it is important that they do so, to understand the cost of suffering and increase the pressure to open their borders and help with the broader conflict.

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It's tough for Mygwainor, too, and she's used to it. 

They make their way through, helping, assisting in quarantining and treating the sick, bringing food and medicine and other supplies. Some of the communities seem likely to take them up on the offer to relocate, but - not all. 

They end up at the halls of Hurin and Huor, soon enough. Hurin's entire family is ill except Huor, the adults somewhat less debilitatingly so, and Hurin has ordered the villages split, the sick quarantined far from the well, with separate water sources, the well not often downwind of the sick.

They don't know how this spreads. He's being cautious. (His people will make it through stronger than anyone else. It won't be enough.)

Morwen is working as a nurse, eyes sharp despite a feverish glaze, when Huor directs the elven relief to Hurin's sick village. 

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They'll do what they can. Take over nursing duties from those who need rest.

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Mygwainor can't get sick even moreso than the elves, so she does a lot.

(Lalwen is among the sick. This timeline's Turin is among the sick, and keeps wanting to help his baby sister.)

(Mygwainor's a numb, dissociated sort of unhappy.)

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Luthien will take over interactions with Turin's family for her.

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She - 

Feels like she shouldn't need it.

But interacting with her family hurts. In the way anything she wants but can't have hurts.

She's more than willing to let Luthien take over, though. 

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All right. (Hugs.)

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Snugs.

"Thanks. You're - really good."

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"My dear Mygwainor. So lovely and brave."

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Kiss. "My wonderful Ellin. Kind, competent, intelligent..."

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"Beautiful and brave."

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"Of course. All the excellent things."

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Hug.

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Hug!

Back to the grind, then? (It's been a long, horrible slog, but - the outbreak seems almost over. They've saved a lot of lives, and probably next is checking back in with people who might want to relocate...)

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Once she gets some initial estimates, she'll write to her father.

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Doriath's borders are open to refugees at only a few places, and they're being settled nowhere near Menegroth - but the chosen locations have plenty of fresh water, and existing meadows that can be farmed easily, and forests full of game and easy forage. He's assigning some guards to each settlement, to orient them to the area, help guard them, and help watch for problems among the population themselves. 

Right now it seems like the main plan is for most people to go, and once the new settlements are established for anyone interested in fighting to leave Doriath again - or join the border guards, perhaps arrange raids projecting out. 

Hurin and Huor will be splitting up for now, Hurin with those going to Doriath, Huor with those staying. 

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Luthien quietly inquires about Morwen and Lalwen.

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They've recovered fully, though Morwen still feels fatigued often. They're going to Doriath - and are the reason Hurin was chosen to accompany that group of their people, to keep the family together. 

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Hopefully that works out. She'll keep a subtle watch.

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Nothing (other than Mygwainor's stress levels) goes wrong on their way in. 

"I don't think that'll tank the timeline," she confides, voice soft, "But we'll be seeing more - terrible things attempting to happen, probably."

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"Terrible things that matter less to you?"

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"...At Turin's family. The timeline really hates them."

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"Mm."

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She hugs her wife.

"We'll fix it - everything. Eventually. We'll break the chains on the world."

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Hug.

"It's just- everything you've endured, love. I would take this from you if I could."

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She leans her head on her wife's shoulder, squeezing her.

"Knowing you is worth it."

"And - I wouldn't wish this on you at all." She nuzzles Luthien. "I like existing, even with all the weight of the past, if nothing else."

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"My dear wife. Ever the optimist." Gentle kiss.

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Kiss! "I'm not sure 'I refuse to stop until I have personally punched Eru in the face' counts as optimism, but I'll take it."

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"It's some kind of good quality, anyway."

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She laughs. "One of my best."

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Kiss!

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Kisses!

There's not too much to finish up here, at least...

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Perks of tidying up as you go.

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Quick kiss.

The next big thing is the build up to the Union of Maedhros - and the Battle of Unnumbered Tears - though that's still a few years in the making, and there's plenty of smaller things to keep busy with while the currents of diplomacy swirl.

(Mygwainor sends letters to the people she has or could have influence on, among the Noldor and the Men who would be fond of Beren or her father. Their participation in the battle is unquestioned, of course, but - Doriath is the big unknown.)

(This is the place Mygwainor's hoping to twist the timeline in on itself; to win, without breaking the timeline's internal logic... It might just dump them back at the beginning, but she hasn't tried this yet, at least.)

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Luthien does what she can to push her father into participating, or at least allowing his subjects to volunteer.

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He's... 

Hesitant.

He really, really doesn't want to risk Doriath. He knows - 

He's aware Luthien will be participating. He knows he can't stop her.

He does not want her facing Morgoth again. Not alone.

(Thingol spends many long days in consultation with his wife. What's said between them is never revealed.)

- But in the end, he won't order the armies of Doriath to war, and he'll require a guard stay behind - 

But he'll give command to Luthien, of all who would follow her, and his blessing to their endeavor. The King and Queen of Doriath will stay behind to guard their land - but he's explicit that if the hosts end up needing somewhere to retreat to, Doriath can relieve them. 

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Hopefully it will not be urgently necessary- But it is good to have the option.

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It will.

(She's very, very cuddly with her wife, lately.)

(They should - plan, where Doriath will be in the battle, and what the two of them will be doing. And they should take into account Ares' opposition...)

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If Ares shows himself, Luthien will face him.

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"...I should be at least mildly concerned for you, but, also, I am very sad I missed your first fight."

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"Huan did most of the physical work for that one."

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"Makes a rematch extra important, then."

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"We'll have to put you somewhere non-critical, if you're going to be distracted watching me."

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She snorts. "I'll behave."

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"There, there, dear. I know it's a trial."

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Kiss. "Perhaps you can reward me after - if I'm good, of course - for completing such a difficult task..."

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"Mmm, if that's what it takes..."

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"Proper motivation makes everything easier."

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"Very true."

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Nuzzle.

That just leaves the final planning - much of which Mygwainor can handle, with Luthien's support on the diplomatic aspects (Mygwainor's deep knowledge of the timeline and also who she stuck in each role helps, here, though many of the Noldor are among the people they at least distantly befriended during their Aman loop).

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Not that they can officially use that knowledge. But still, it helps.

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At least in the background... But they do have to be careful here, yes.

(Mygwainor gets increasingly tense as the planned battle approaches. She organizes Doriath's forces into scouts and irregulars and archery and medical support - they don't have the drilling needed for good infantry or cavalry, and it's better to leave those to the Noldor's standing armies than to try and play catch up. They'll be working with the Men in those positions, too, and the Sindar are still rarely fond of the Noldor - better for morale to put them with people they get along with, with a people they've spent the last few years helping and have bonds among. She'll be leading a large division of the Men - they respect the House of Beor, still, and her deeds have earned her renown - which she positions to work with Luthien's own command.)

(She speaks at meetings, too, keeping only to knowledge Beren could have, of the possibility of traitors, the machinations of their Enemy... It might not catch the nearly inevitable betrayal - but it'll hopefully reduce the impact of anything, and might lead to forewarning. She cautions them against relying too strongly on one clever plan, works the Sindar and Men into backup plans.)

(They aren't allowed to prepare unhindered, too. Orcs and werewolves and stranger things nip at their edges, focusing especially on breaking supply lines and killing messengers wherever they can - the Sindar prove vital, there, better able to avoid interference...)

(There are a lot of long days, leading up.)

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Fighting for the future was never going to be easy. Luthien's wife is a source of strength for her, and, she hopes, vice versa.

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"You are, my Ellin. Always."

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Kiss. "I love you, Mygwainor."

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"I love you too, darling." Kisses!

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A welcome respite from war planning.

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A needed one.

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She's pleased to oblige.

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Perfect.

They'll make it through. 

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Through anything, together.

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She kisses her most wonderful wife.

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And then to the grind of war.

(This is familiar. She was a warrior as Turin, not a soldier - but she has put on the general's hat more than once in the many lifetimes since. She needs it, against Ares.)

(The default flow of this - two hosts. Fingon's hidden in the mountains to the west of the great ashen plains, Maedhros's openly marching from the eastern passes. The intent - to draw out Morgoth's forces, and catch them between the two hosts. It ends in disaster, always - not the worst plan if you assume your opponent is stupid enough to leave the safety of their walls, but, well. Perhaps the original Morgoth, when this plan was woven into the tapestry, was that dumb. Fate never has been. Ares as Sauron certainly isn't; a host openly marching across a barren plain to your mountain fortress is a great opportunity to test out your ranged weapons. Even if she sends her hosts out to meet the union, though - the commander of the elves of Nargothrond, among Fingon's host, breaks ranks when his captive brother is brought out and tortured, destroying the 'stay hidden' plan. Fingon's host follows them, and they make it inside the gates of Angband - where the inevitable trap closes, slaughtering many. As for Maedhros's host - betrayed by the Men under Ulfang's command, delayed, beset by a sudden rush from Angband - scattered and killed. Turgon's host had come unlooked for, and stayed out of the initial rush into slaughter, coming forth to rescue Fingon's host - and then the combined hosts were again overwhelmed, Fingon slain, Turgon in a retreat brought only by the life of nearly every member of the House of Hador - including the capture of Hurin...)

(She's pretty sure she can avoid that much disaster.)

The known hosts - the elves of Hithlum under Fingon, the elves of the Falas under Cirdan, the men and elves of Nargothrond under Finrod, the men of Brethil under Haldor, the men of Dor-lomin under Huor and Hurin, the Noldor of Eastern Beleriand under assorted children of Feanor, the men of the east under Bor, the men of the east under Ulfang, and the dwarves of Belegost under Azaghal - and, this time around, the elves of Doriath under Luthien and the scattered House of Beor gathered under herself as Beren.

They need Morgoth's hosts to take the field, even when it's very clearly a trap. Sauron - probably doesn't have full, unambiguous command, and she knows how the simulacrum will act -

So, the simulacrum needs to think she's being more clever than her enemies, and the bait needs to be shiny enough she'll risk it. Not too hard. The simulacrum is Fate's personality filtered into the shape that'll follow Morgoth's steps, and, well.

Fate is actually pretty incredibly reckless at a fundamental level. She enjoys gambling. She's arrogant, but - not actually very attached to winning any particular game without a significant stake, more than the simulacrum's life could offer. It's honestly no wonder the simulacrum is driving Ares-as-Sauron up the wall. (She learned caution eventually, but the simulacrum is far closer in lived experience to Fate-as-Turin than to Fate-as-Mygwainor.)

Karin-as-Celegorm thinks 'taunt Morgoth with the stolen Silmaril and then ride away very fast' sounds hilarious. Convincing everyone else is... A bit of an uphill battle. But she does it eventually. (Everything they can do is going to be obviously a trap, anyways, might as well get the simulacrum into a playful mood about it. She'll make more mistakes, like that.)

Setting up ambushes off of that is incredibly easy - she positions the forces better at woodscraft near the front of the pass Celegorm will be heading for. Doriath, the men loyal to herself, Haldor, and Hurin and Huor. They'll let any pursuit past them. Heavy infantry deeper in, everyone else graded between - Ulfang's very-likely-to-be-traitorous forces given a flattering but actually entirely useless position they'll have trouble striking at the other forces from...

 

It almost even works.

 

Well, they do crush the forces Morgoth sends out. They lure Glaurung over a trap that exposes his vulnerable belly - Mygwainor is more than a bit viciously satisfied with killing dragons. The battle spills out of the ambush, Ulfang turns on them, but they keep command of their forces - Turgon comes to bolster them, unlooked for, turning the tide back again -

If the forces of the Union are wiped out, they'll take the forces of Angband with them. Better than how it usually goes.

 

Her, Luthien, Hurin, Huor, and Haldor's positions are overrun in the first swell of chaos, the first time the order of battle breaks down. They scatter. Mygwainor regroups her men. She merges into Hurin's host, she mostly keeps in sight of Luthien's, though they have quite a few orcs between them -

(Mygwainor might have underestimated how much she's been annoying Sauron. Sending out this many of their maiar is definitely both reckless and excessive. At this rate, the two forces really will destroy themselves against each other. But it's successfully trapping her forces - her-Turin's father's forces - )

(She gets separated from Hurin and Huor, and sees, almost prophetically, the blow that will kill her uncle, whose wife is of Beren's House, who'd been so kind to young Turin - )

The charge she makes to rescue them is - reckless.

 

Huor falls, but he's not dead, and medical care could come - their position's been thoroughly overrun, and she should be retreating, she shouldn't be striking out like this -

Hurin has stood himself over his brother, ordered his men to retreat back to Beren's forces, his axe flashing around, slaughtering the orcs trying to press him -

Mygwainor - Fate - Turin - usually doesn't watch this part of the battle. Usually leaves the entire segment of Turin's life to the simulacrum, unless she's trying to throw this battle -

 

She gets to her target. She gets Huor moving toward the medics, bellows at Hurin to fall back, to return to his family, his people -

She faces the hosts of Angband with her sword in her hand and a snarl on her lips, and as a mortal she defeated Ares-as-Morgoth in single combat, once -

 

The tapestry doesn't really care about that, though. It cares that this battle is a loss. It cares about Hurin's capture, and Huor's death - it cares that Beren should have died years ago at the jaws of a wolf, protecting her father-in-law -

(Cousins are close enough, aren't they?)

 

'Oh, fuck you too, Eru,' is Fate's last thought, before Carcharoth - the greatest werewolf - tears her apart.

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She reorients in stone halls, shadowed, full of mist, the looming form of Mandos before her, staring at her with some puzzlement.

Fate crosses her arms and glares back.

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Luthien feels her wife fall. For an instant, she stills. A drop of blood beads at the end of her beautiful long sword. Hangs. Falls.

A ray of sunlight on one of the remaining clean patches on her steel battle-dress.

She screams.

She's still screaming as she pushes off, charging through the enemy's lines to her wife's side, scattering orcs like grain before the flail. A smooth arc cleaves Carcharoth in half lengthwise. It's not enough. It will never be enough.

Luthien falls to her knees next to the bloody corpse of her wife. She bows her head, tears falling down.

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Her next cry shakes the earth. She rises, a song of grief, of rage and terror, spilling forth. She fixes her gaze on the stronghold of the Enemy, the great hollowed mountain held up by the barest skein of magic. Her beloved's prison will no more survive this battle than she did.

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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 - )

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

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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.

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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.

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"Love?"

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(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.

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Hug?

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Hug.

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

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

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Squeeze!

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

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"Well. Good."

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

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

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Kiss.

"So. What are you doing here?"

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"Waiting for you," she says.

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"Here I am."

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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."

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Soft laugh.

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

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"Good." Little nuzzle.

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

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...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."

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"Mygwainor..."

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"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."

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

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"Thank you."

She squeezes Luthien's hand.

"Are you - really okay with this?"

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"More than I am sending you by yourself."

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"I love you." She kisses her wife's cheek, and then steps toward the darkness. "Together, then."

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"Together." Into the darkness.

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The Halls recede behind them, and a path rises under their feet. Colorful in the utter dark, smooth like glass with glimpses of nebulas and distant stars trapped within it. The mists continue to swirl lazily around them, almost hedging them away from the edges of the path. It rises for a long time, the silence heavy, and then -

Their ears pop, and Mygwainor glances behind them, her eyes widening at the entirety of Ea spread at their feet, a coiling darkness wrapped around it - a headache, for her mind can't comprehend how it's supposed to parse a dead god, and a maggot growing in the corpse of a dying day -

A dry husk of a thing, trapped, a record spinning now without any hand to guide it, the Song slowly turning to static, and -

Mygwainor takes a step back, pulling Luthien away, and something gossamer snaps.

And unravels.

And Mygwainor can breathe.

"Oh," she says, softly. "Oh."

Her grip on Luthien's hand is so, so tight.

The impossibly many layers of Ea, the threads binding it in place, shake and settle out, and leave just -

The world.

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Luthien gazes in awe, mouth hanging slightly open.

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"...It's over."

Small, almost hysterical laugh, and she turns and pulls her wife into a hug, burying her tears in her shoulder.

"It's all over."

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Hug, hair pets.

"It's over."