Act III, Part IX: The Great Plague
It was around the year 1636 that Rhovanion came under the spell of an evil disease the Men of that land called a plague. Disease could not harm Tinnurion, as it could not harm any of his kind, but the realms of Men suffered greatly, and death was all about. The curious nature of Tinnurion meant that he could not simply hear of it, but he wanted to see it. So, he espied them at their towns and was met by woe and grief the like he had not seen in Men before. They were at a loss, trying to flee from an unseen evil that did not discriminate, for both men and women and even children fell to this plague. They called it “evil magic”, which Tinnurion did not quite comprehend. To him, this was no different than the disease of mortality as he had encountered it in Dwarves and Men before, save that it struck more swiftly.
In other times, he would have merely espied them from afar, but the ordeal with Gardbrand years ago meant that he could not deny a certain responsibility for these woodmen. Whatever this disease was, Tinnurion felt he needed to try and help them. He returned to his dim halls, where he gathered what remedies he could. But he did not have many, for Elves do not get ill, and wounds of the body would heal in such short a time that remedies were oft unnecessary. Save poisonous wounds, as afflicted by spiders, where even Tinnurion heeded them. In his mind, these men suffered from something akin to poison, hence he hoped that it could prove useful.
But he had also brewed many other cordials in his dim halls, and though he had never truly used them for the healing of the body, it did hold some healing properties for the spirit. They had served Tinnurion well in his long wanderings, for after many strides in journeys impossible for any mortal to accomplish, a few sips would suffice to return his vigour. Yet it must be said, that though he healed quickly like any elf could, he had never brewed anything that could fully cure his blackened heart, nor return his strength of old. The wounds he had afflicted in Angband, by torture and hard toil, were too deep to mend, and maimed ever remained his posture, as if the whips of his captors still edged him forward. In that the strength of Morgoth Bauglir was written within him, even now.
Packed with what remedies he had, he returned to the edge of the forest where the villages of the woodmen were. Focussing on his connection with his fëa, he conjured up the deceptive disguise of an old woman to walk among them undisturbed. By night he visited those afflicted by the plague, carrying his basket with cordials with him. And though the coming of the old woman was a boon to the woodmen, who saw in her a soothsayer of great skill, Tinnurion did not have the healing skills of the very wise. The remedies for poison availed him not, and while his cordials were enough to brighten their spirits, they could not remedy the afflicted fully and they perished nonetheless, much to Tinnurion’s dismay. Still, the woodmen were thankful, and they mocked the other soothsayers for not matching even remotely the skill of this newcomer. This greatly displeased the other soothsayers, and there were some among them who were wary of the old woman and sought to discover her secrets. But by the morrow, the old woman was gone without a trace.
The plague continued to ravage the realms of Men in Rhovanion for some years, crippling their numbers, but Tinnurion could do naught but witness it, for he lacked the healing skills to aid them. He did suspect that this was no ordinary affliction, but one conjured up through guldur, evil sorcery. Perhaps it came from the evil that had come to the woods, but he refrained from seeking it out. Instead, he waited, hoping that other, more skilled healers would come. Eventually they did, but the disease was so quick to spread that many more perished ere at last it ceased to be. By that time the population of the kingdoms of Men had been cut in half. Many strongholds and villages lay abandoned and the roads were unguarded. Little did Tinnurion know that this had been Sauron’s doing, and that it was preparation for a renewed offensive, orchestrated from his lair in Amon Lanc, now called Dol Guldur.
