Act III, Part XIII: Of Rebuilding and Being Unseen
In 2941 of the third age, when Tinnurion yet resided with the Silvan Elves, a company of Dwarves passed through Mirkwood and were captured by the Wood-elves who locked them in Thranduil’s dungeons. Tinnurion was much displeased with their treatment of the Dwarves and he spoke against it. But while the Silvan Elves had come to see him as one of their own, they would not heed his view on Dwarves. Silvan Elves dislike them greatly and their enmity goes back by many years. When Thranduil marched for the Lonely Mountain to reclaim his share of the treasure, Tinnurion was far from willing to join them. This was the cause of some dissent and in his anger, he stormed out of their halls into the wild.
As he travelled through the woods, the shadow that had lain over the forest appeared somehow lessened. He knew not how or why, but he could sense it. The cobwebs still hung from tree to tree, but the spiders that had lived close by had retreated and Tinnurion was curious just how far they had fled. He took secret paths south to the mountains of Mirkwood and from there found his way all the way back to his old home.
Curiously, it appeared largely unaltered from the outside, but as Tinnurion stepped into the dark of his home, inside he saw the ruin the orcs had left in their wake. The floors were filled with rotting things and both chairs and tables were cleaved and hewn. Further inside, the books he had written had been thrown on the floor, and those that had not been destroyed were covered in mould. The stone coffin, in which he had lain to rest Gardbrand, was desecrated. The lid lay on the floor and what yet remained of the late woodman lay bare for him to see, which pained him greatly. Though dwarves and men alike saw it as a great honour to bury the dead in such fashion, he could not now see the splendour in their ways. Indeed, now he lamented greatly not having buried him in the way of the Elves, as he did his companions.
In the great hall of his house, the statue of Eöl stood still upright but it was besmirched with markings of the necromancer, and cobwebs hung about it, as it covered every wall all the way up to the tower, where he found what yet remained of the phials and pots he had used in his brewing. But his draughts and elixirs were all missing.
Much it grieved him to see his house in such grim state and he cursed the orcs for their wickedness. In the next few years, he set to great labour, repairing all that was broken. In that time, he returned a few times to Thranduil’s halls, where he was still welcomed warmly. But he returned hither also to gather resources to rebuild his home, and in that he was not secretive, speaking openly of his house and the labour he had set his mind to (though never did he divulge the precise location), and they abided by his decision to return to the wild.
For ten years all was well in Mirkwood. Though the Mountains of Mirkwood were still filled with dangerous creatures, Tinnurion could once again sojourn in his old home. Here he took up his brewing and his writing, and in his tower, he gazed at the stars as was his habit. For a brief time, the Woodland realm flourished, and Tinnurion could linger where he pleased.
It was in this time, perhaps in part due to the many hardships he had endured, that the weariness of the world finally took root in Tinnurion. Whereas before he had lived by the memory of life under perpetual starlight, neglecting the passing of time and the changing of the world under the sun by purposefully hiding from it, he now allowed himself to become obsessed with the fading. But unlike the Noldor, who had been heralded the portends of Mandos on the fate of Elves, he knew not that this fading applied to him also. Therefore, did he wrongfully assume that by pursuing the fading he would gain greater control over it, blinded by his desire to walk unseen.
In the latter years of the Third Age, he would therefore become increasingly curious after mortality, a matter he had hitherto spurned in mortals. In the forest, he became attuned to feeling the presence of wraiths and spirits, admittedly without the power to see or control them, for that skill lay only with the Elves who had seen the light of Aman. Yet greatly did he desire to do so, not knowing the limits of that impossible quest. And in obtaining said knowledge he went often too far, not realising the danger he put himself in and others. For should he have fallen pray to the Nazgûl, who at that time had returned in secret to Dol Guldur, he would not have been at strength to oppose them and they would have granted him his desire to walk unseen, but in a terrible form, accursed and afflicted. What would have happened then, if by their will he had been set loose upon the Woodland realm, a thrall unseen? Fortunately, despite his misgivings, Tinnurion remained largely out of the enemy’s sphere of influence and his journeys kept him mostly out of harm’s way, at least for the time being.
Still, this obsession with the fading would eventually hasten his fate, albeit unbeknownst to him.
