Act III, Part XI: A Home Destroyed, a Home Regained
400 years later, Sauron returned to the forest with increased strength and a greater number of evil followers. This spelled doom for Tinnurion’s secret abode as orcs descended upon it, ransacking the halls within, stealing anything they deemed to be of worth. But its host they could not find, for Tinnurion had heard them coming from afar and he had fled with his most prized possessions into the Emyn-nu-Fuin. But where these mountains had once housed the Silvan Elves, it was now a den of hideous creatures.
Tinnurion knew of a secret way across, but it was nonetheless perilous, even for one so stealthy as he, and so it took him three whole days to reach the northern side. He could not tarry, not even by daylight, for there were no safe places to linger here. Like a fleeting shadow he moved unheard and unseen till the ground between his feet turned soft again. He had reached the other side safely, but the spiders of Mirkwood had nested here also and their cobwebs hung from nigh every tree. Níniolêg cut him a safe path through the webbing, which could not have worked with any sword made by men, in that he was fortunate. But the spiders learned that something was amiss, for they felt the tremors of their broken webbing all the way back to their hidden nests. Quickly they came, and in great number, and they hunted the shadow that fought its way through their housing.
Eventually Tinnurion came upon one of the forest rivers that flowed from the mountains. It was called the enchanted river, for those who touched it would fall into a deep sleep. He followed it northward as quickly as he was able, as the spiders were on his tail. The river led him in a great loop through the forest till he came to a small paved path, not six feet wide. This was the Elf-path, sparingly used by the Silvan Elves to travel through the forest. East of where he stood the path met the river and there in the black water at the opposite side of the stream floated a small boat of Elven make. Tinnurion was agile, but even he could not jump 12 yards across. For a moment, he was in doubt. He had never gone further north in the forest, but the tree-branches there seemed to be entangled as well, and he did not wish to walk into a spider’s nest if he could help it. But crossing the river would mean following the path closer to the woodland realm of the Silvan Elves, who he had so far tried to avoid. He chose the latter.
Among his possessions he had taken with him, was an oakwood bow, beautifully carved in the Elven way. But he had no rope to tie his arrow. Instead he gathered whatever long and sturdy sticks he could find and bound them using younger vines. The result was a makeshift spear, the craftsmanship of which was worth no praise, but it was long and sturdy enough to pull the boat towards him. Once on the other side he heard voices coming straight for him. Quickly he dashed to the side to hide. But Silvan Elves are not so easily fooled, and further on the path two of them came near the river crossing and they had seen him.
“A fair but feeble attempt, shadow behind the tree!”, said one of them. “Step now into the light, ere our arrows fly!” said the other. And sure enough, both had an arrow at the ready.
Tinnurion cursed himself and the river for his moment of slight. He had no choice but to show himself, for Silvan Elves have clear aim, even in the dark of the forest.
“Hold your arrows, wood-elves of the woodland realm”, Tinnurion said. “I am a traveller, simply minding my own. I care not to disturb you, only to pass in peace.”
But the two Silvan Elves simply responded: “Show yourself!”
And so, Tinnurion came from behind cover and his pale face was now visible to the two young Elves standing with bows raised. They were like in appearance, not just in attire, but in face as well. Clearly, they were brothers.
“That is a great many weapons you carry, traveller”, said the tallest of the two. “Perhaps we can relieve you of that heavy burden.” And he pointed to the ground before them, gesturing that he should drop them before his feet. But Tinnurion said only:
“A burden I find it not. But it is good that I should find kinsmen thus kindly in my hour of need. For the vile creatures of the forest have hunted me hither and I fear they will not end their pursuit after the damage I wrought.”
“Drop your weapons”, they said in unison.
It was clear now to Tinnurion that they would not give in to mere talk, not before they could in their own time discover who he was and where he came from. Hence, he dropped his weapons and followed them eastward. The march to Thranduil’s halls took six days, and most of it happened in complete silence. The two elves never left Tinnurion out of their sight, and their arrows were ever pointed in his direction. In that fashion they neared Thranduil’s halls.
These halls were built underground, and in that they resembled Menegroth of old, where Tinnurion had resided in the early years of his life. The Silvan Elves were led by a Sinda named Thranduil, that much Tinnurion knew, but he had never met him, not even in Doriath, for Thranduil came new into this world when Tinnurion had yet lived many years in Nan Elmoth. Hence, he did not expect a warm welcome as granted by Elves of close kin. He would suffer scrutiny and distrust, and they would lock him up in their dungeons lest he should be of any danger to them.
But when the wood-elves brought him before the king, his hands remained unbound and though the king's guard stood watch, there was no sense of animosity, merely curiosity. The king asked him who he was and where he hailed from, and Tinnurion answered with a leniency unbecoming of him - he knew better than to lie to a king, even to one younger in years than he. He spoke at length of his time in Beleriand and of his time in Nan Elmoth also, and his story met willing ears in King Thranduil, who had not reminisced about such things in a long time.
But Tinnurion did more that day, for he told him willingly of his thraldom in Angband and how he had escaped and came through perilous ways back home. And of everything he told the king, that was the hardest to speak of, and he wept as he told it, for the memory was still fresh in mind. The king was moved by his words, perhaps because in some ways he could relate. Therefore, he bade Tinnurion stay within his halls and find comfort. And though he was reluctant at first, Tinnurion accepted and he learned that he and the Silvan Elves were of like mind in many ways, and it truly did seem like his wandering days were finally over.
