Nár Tinwen (or: a Journey of Names)
6. A Light Rekindled
The one word was more than enough for Eönwë, who knew what Manwë had been waiting for.
He left Taniquetil and was soon running towards the city of Tirion. Halfway up the hillside he suddenly wondered when was the last time he had run. Then the memory hit him like a storm. He had not run alone then, oh no... Memories buried under the tides of time were floating up one after another. Healed wounds were bleeding once again. Eönwë had chosen to serve his master and stay beside him, but in his heart he often wished he had gone after the one who had abandoned him... The herald realized he was standing foolishly in the middle of the road. He rushed to fullfill his important errand.
The city was empty, too empty. There should be one there. Where was the Messenger? At last Eönwë saw him, already turning away. How stupid of the lord of all heralds to be late on a day like this...
Not so very long after this, in the scale of ages, Eönwë was leaning on his sword and watching the morning sun shine over a battlefield. The battlefield. The scene of his victory, and Eärendil's. He lifted up his sword to greet the man who was steering Vingilot back up towards the higher skies. There was blood on the blade, Morgoth's blood. From where he was standing, right opposite the broken gates of Angamando, he could see the place where the Dark Lord was kept chained and guarded. He could see the dead being buried and the wounded being treated. He could see the prisoners of darkness brought to freedom. They were weak and broken, they shielded their unaccustomed eyes from the light of the Sun and the Silmarils, all three of them. One was up the skies and the two others were kept under guard close to Eönwë. On an impulse he picked the jewels into his hands and lifted them high over his head.
Then he saw her. Standing unbent, she had emerged from the dark caves and was now walking towards him. She was old and ugly, but Eönwë knew her at once. The rays of Anar reflected from her upturned eyes. Eönwë almost ran to her.
When they met, they said no words. Instead, Tinwen put her hands into his. Only, Eönwë's hands held the Silmarils. When Tinwen touched the jewels, her fire was set alight. She was now tall and young and beautiful, clothed in white flames, her hair a black cloud like a memory of gone sorrows. Eönwë kissed her.
An eternity after this, in the scale of love, as they stood by themselves some way from the blood-stained battleground, Tinwen asked:
'Am I free now? Where is Sauron?'
'I do not...', Eönwë began, but he was interrupted.
'Sauron is here.'
As he was. He looked handsome and kind once again. He knelt down at Eönwë's feet, begging for mercy.
'I have not the power to pardon those of my own rank. Therefore, I command you to return to Aman to be judged by Manwë.
Sauron walked away with his head bowed.
'You let him go unchained like that? You speak of pardon?' Tinwen was furious.
'You still do not understand what he did to me.' Tinwen showed Eönwë the Morglin-Stone.
'As long as Sauron is free, I am enslaved. See, here is a chain you could not break. As long as this binds me, I cannot come to Aman with you.'
'Then will you marry me here? As for Alatáriel, she has been married for centuries'. Eönwë managed a smile.
'No. You will set me free to marry you in Aman. You shall prove your love to me by destroying Sauron's power.'
'Why bind us with more oaths? I fear this is the last chance we are given. I can only do what is in my power and what my Lord allows.'
'I was tortured while you enjoyed yourself in Aman.'
'Enjoyed myself? Hardly, when my heart had been torn away.'
'Then why did you not come? I was bound and chained, frozen and violated, and you did not save me!'
'It was you who left me! I hoped you would return. But you had forsaken me for the sake of one that you loved more than me!You think your filthy secrets are unknown to me. But Morgoth flaunted them all at me when he saw I would not be merciful on him anyway.'
'And you believed him?' Tinwen was trembling.
'Of course not. Ten warriors were needed to keep me from cutting him to pieces, Manwë be merciful!
But now I read the truth in your eyes. You believed him. You left me. You wanted Sauron, you desired him! You smiled at him when he gave you that slave-chain!'
Tears rolled down Tinwen's cheeks, tears of all the ages of her imprisonment. When captured, she had held her pride. Now nothing kept her from crying out her pain and loneliness. Her legs failed her, and she fell sitting on the ground. Then she felt Eönwë's strong arms around her.
'I love you, Híniel! Oh, how I missed you! And I want you, no matter what.' He kissed her again and again.
'I am sorry. I wish we were back in Almaren and I could dance for you and throw this black stone away and the two lamps would shine and never be broken and we would be there forever. For I love you, I do!'
'Me and no other, this time?' Eönwë's voice was serious but his eyes smiled teasingly.
'Many others, actually.' Tinwen laughed through her tears.
'Tell me right now!' He pretended to threaten her.
'Well, my lady Vana for one, and all the Valar, and Ilúvatar the father of all.'
'But no others, I'm sure.'
'Of course! Arien and all my other sisters, but Arien the most because she would burn me if I said something else.' Tinwen pointed at the Sun.
'No more others?'
'Two more. Here is one.' And she took a chrystal sphere from her pocket.
'So this is your dearest one, Tinwen', said the jewel-spirit, 'shall I tell him all you said about him?'
'Not right now, please!'
'Aha! And the last one?' Eönwë tried not to laugh at the tiny spirit before Tinwen had put it back down her pocket.
'Do not be stupid. Alatáriel, who else! Do you know where she is?'
'She is living as a refugee at the mouth of a river named Sirion. She and her moriquend-husband have been through much joy and sorrow, blessing and pain.'
'Then I must go to her at once! I will come back as soon as I can.'
And she kissed him and went away, not looking back.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.