April 10th 3019:
Thirenel sat long at the desk he had been provided during his recovery in Minas Tirith, reading the missives of his long-wandering friend... He read over and over the words, hoping to commit them to memory.
It was true, he had never completely confided in his friend, he had never wished to lessen is own burden by giving it to others, his was a story of regret and retribution. Night fell and passed before he stood, shouldering his shield and sheaf of javelins, latching on his belt of swords, among them his blade of black glass... He passed down lanes and through gates with nary a glance by those about, his gait quick and stride determined, at the last gate looking upon the pelennor fields still burdened with carrion and detritus he spoke at length with one of it's wardens, and leaving a simple note written in an ancient tongue, knowing his choice was made.
Some time later:
He met with his old friend at the gates of the dark lands, traveling deep into those lands and, perhaps, beyond... Tinnurion searched for a home, whilst Thirenel searched for redemption, knowing full well it would never be found. the two often found themselves lost in conversation as they had once before, in simpler times, though the topics bored Thirenel as they never had before, his friend so full of hope and want.
At the last light of the second fortnight of traveling Thirenel was gone, wandering into the horizon with not but his treasured blade, one blessed in darkness and crafted of an unknowable material, leaving all other equipment in the shallow cave where he and his companion had taken their rest.
Tinnurion likely called after and searched for his companion before accepting what had transpired... Thirenel Tathargwath, or Zagzeroth Willowshade the Dark Blade of the Noldor, Dwarf-Friend, and lover of men... was gone. He left to meet his fate in the far east, never looking back his cloak of shadow laying amongst what could only be called the remains of the 'Dark' Elf he was... Striding into the east light shining upon his face again with no hood to hide him, his eyes glinting with deep sorrow, and his blade seeming to wail with a sorrow of it's own.
A note for Tinnurion, left with the gate-warden of Minas Tirith to be sent into the west some time after:
"My dear friend, I know you may ask yourself why, or regret in some way the splitting of our paths... But I know in my heart you will keep going for the Fuinedhil even if it rends at the very core of your being, there are some things even we, in our strange bond, could not share but upon your brow I see great sorrow and despair, a great loneliness likely made greater with my 'disappearance'. Even so I see hope, not just for our people, but for all in the coming ages, and while I regret a great many things myself none weigh more heavily than leaving my wife, my child, and my dearest friend... And know that in my last days I shall think back often to our long chats under the trees, moonlight glinting more beautifully than the sun could ever hope, and know I do this with a heavy heart.
Still some things must transpire, they can only be put off for so long you see, and my debt was called up the moment I set foot on these shores... I will fade, and myy spirit will linger in lands I once wandered, in the hearts of those who knew me for who I could be not who I was, I fear there will be no rest for me in the end... Still mine is an end worth chasing.
Walk your path, never falter, no matter the costs dear friend,
~ Thirenel Tathargwath, Noldor of Cuivienen, and Southern Shadow of the Fuinedhil"
