Act III, Part VII: A Meeting at Twilight
Tinnurion was as if one turned to solemn stone. For a brief moment he pondered if the shape was the Willow's doing, but the thought betrayed him as the shape moved closer to the water's edge. In that moment Tinnurion stood up swiftly with sword raised and said:
'What shadow lies lurking across the pool? Make yourself known at once, lest you feel the sting of my blade!'
But his words were idly chosen, for the faint light of twilight lit up the face of a fay with glaring eyes, and therein was a fire concealed; the unmistakable glint of a gnome's countenance, the look he had nigh forgotten, but could not have mistaken for anything else. The thought of being thus snuck upon by one of the Hated Folk much disturbed him. Now he was discovered, and dawn lay ahead. Should it come to the crossing of blades, he would find himself easily outmatched. But the shape spoke and said:
'One who has lived here for many years and chooses to do so quietly, who comes who would sneak through the boughs of the forest like some thrall of Sauron?'
These words angered Tinnurion, for in them resonated the words of the sons of Fëanor. A hatred welled up within him before any rational thought could, and thus tightly did he grip his sword as he spoke.
'What does a gnome know of thralldom? What claim was ever lain over you that you could not revoke, save but the curse of a misbegotten oath? You may house where you desire, you may wage war where you think it just, but by my life I shall not trade in names with you, kinslayer.'
Tinnurion came on strong with these words, but he realised too quickly that he had revealed too much. The elf responded after a short pause.
'Not a thrall, but a malcontent then. If we had crossed paths in earlier times such misplaced boast could have meant you your life. But these are not earlier times, when forests like these spread far and wide, and I am not my earlier self. Should you have found yourself in a more forgiving mood, you could have learned that much. Now, I'm afraid that I must leave you to your spiteful thoughts. Fare ye well.'
But Tinnurion, though spiteful he was indeed, met something in himself he had not indulged in for a long time, a curiosity about someone more mysterious than himself. For indeed, long had he been content knowing more about those he conversed with than they did of him, and it had given him the edge in any exchange of words, as was his skill. This elf whose name and heritage he now pondered in honesty, was about to walk out of sight when Tinnurion surprised himself with a reply not befitting his person.
'Perhaps my judgment fell upon you swifter than was justified. But we need not know names to pass it. Return hither and we may yet speak of such times.'
Whether he spoke these words by some hint of desperation or a by a longing for deviousness, Tinnurion knew not and heeded it not, but the Noldo appeared again and in that moment was sown the seed to an unlikely friendship.
They talked through the morn, nigh into mid-day and spoke at length of things long passed and things yet to come. Though in many matters Tinnurion still remained secretive, and at worse deceitful, for while he had not enjoyed such conversations since his companions of Nan Elmoth perished, the truth remained that this was an Elf of the Hated Folk, even if he had long since cut ties with his kin and become wayward. Hence it took many moons ere they at last exchanged their real names.
That is when he learned his name was Thirenel.
