'Go.' The one word was enough for Eönwë, who knew what Manwë had been waiting for. He left Taniquetil and hurried towards the city of Tirion. Halfway up the hillside he suddenly recalled when was the last time he had run. The memory hit him like a storm. He had not run alone then, oh no... Memories buried under the tides of time were floating up one after another. Healed wounds were bleeding once again. Eönwë had chosen to serve his master and stay beside him, but in his heart he often wished he had gone off in search for Tinwen. Tinwen, who had abandoned him. The herald realized he was standing in the middle of the road. He rushed to fulfil his important errand.
The city was empty, too empty. There should be one there. Where was the Messenger? At last Eönwë saw him, already turning away. How stupid of him, the lord of all heralds, to be late on a day like this...
'Hail Eärendil, of mariners most renowned, the looked for that cometh at unawares, the longed for that cometh beyond hope!'
Not so very long after this, in the scale of Ages, Eönwë was leaning on his sword and watching the morning sun shine over a battlefield. The battlefield of the last great battle. The scene of his victory, and Eärendil's. He lifted up his sword to greet the man who was steering Vingilot back up towards the higher skies. There was blood on the blade, Morgoth's blood. From where he was standing, right opposite the broken gates of Angamando, he could see the place where the Dark Lord was kept chained and guarded. He could see the dead being buried and the wounded being treated. He could see the prisoners of darkness brought to freedom. They were weak and broken; they shielded their faces, for their eyes were unaccustomed to light. On the field there shone in addition to Anar the Silmarils, all three of them. One was up the skies and the two others were kept under guard close to Eönwë. On an impulse he picked the jewels into his hands and lifted them high over his head.
Then he saw a vision that burned his heart. From the gates had emerged a straight-backed prisoner, thin like a skeleton, with aged features, lifeless skin, and a bitter expression. The woman walked with a steady gait and bore her rags as if they were the glorious robes of a queen. She turned her eyes skywards and the rays of Anar were reflected in them. Eönwë had recognized Tinwen instantly, and abandoning all dignity he ran to her.
When they met, they said not a word. Instead, Eönwë reached to take hold of Tinwen's hands – but in his hands were still the Silmarils. When Tinwen touched them, her heart was rekindled. She was once again tall, young and beautiful. Her garment was white like the flame of the Silmarils, her hair was like a cloud, as black as the memory of sorrows past and gone.
Eönwë kissed her.
An eternity after this, in the scale of love, as they stood by themselves some way from the blood-stained battleground, Tinwen asked:
'Am I free now? Where is Sauron?'
'I do not...' Eönwë began, but he was interrupted.
'Sauron is here.'
As he was. He had assumed a handsome and kind shape once again. He knelt down at Eönw's feet, begging for mercy.
'I have not the power to pardon those of my own rank. Therefore, I command you to return to Aman to be judged by Manwë.
Sauron walked away with his head bowed.
'You let him go unchained like that? You speak of pardon?' Tinwen was furious.
'Do you still not understand what he did to me?' Tinwen showed Eönwë the Morglin-Stone.
'As long as Sauron is free, I am enslaved. See, here is a chain you could not break. As long as this binds me, I cannot come to Aman with you. Sauron binds me to Middle-Earth.'
'Then will you marry me here? As for Alatáriel, she has been married for centuries'. Eönwë managed a smile.
'No. I must be liberated from this first. Prove your love to me by destroying Sauron's power!'
'Why bind us with more oaths? I fear this is the last chance we are given. I can only do what is in my power and what my Lord allows.'
'I was tortured while you enjoyed yourself in Aman.'
'Enjoyed myself? Hardly, when my heart had been torn away.'
'Then why did you not come? I was bound and chained, frozen and violated, and you did not come to my aid!'
'It was you who left me! I hoped you would return. But you had forsaken me; you loved another more than me! You think your shameful secrets are unknown to me. But Morgoth flaunted them all at me when he saw I would not be merciful on him anyway.'
'And you believed him?' Tinwen was trembling.
'Of course not! Ten warriors were needed to keep me from cutting him all to pieces, Manwë be merciful! But now I read the truth in your eyes. You believed him. You left me. You wanted Sauron, you desired him! You smiled at him when he wound that slave-chain around your neck!'
Tears rolled down Tinwen's cheeks, tears of all the ages of her imprisonment. When captured, she had kept her pride. Now nothing kept her from crying out her pain and loneliness. Her legs failed her, and she fell sitting on the ground. Then she felt Eönw's strong arms around her.
'I love you, Híniel! Oh, how I missed you! And I want you, no matter what.' He kissed Tinwen.
'Forgive me. I wish we were back in Aman under the two trees, and I could throw this black stone away and the Summer would never end. For I love you, I do!'
'Me and no other, this time?' Eönw's voice was serious but his eyes smiled teasingly.
'Many others, actually.' Tinwen laughed through her tears.
'Tell me right now!' He pretended to threaten her.
'Well, my lady Vána for one, and all the Valar, and Ilúvatar the father of all.'
'But no others, I'm sure?'
'Of course! Arien and all my other sisters!' Tinwen pointed at the Sun.
'No more others?'
'Two more. Here is one.' And she took a crystal sphere from her pocket.
'May I introduce Quetondo.'
'So this is your dearest one, Tinwen', said the jewel-spirit, 'shall I tell him all you said about him?'
'Not right now, please!'
'Aha! And the last one?' Eönwë tried not to laugh at the tiny spirit before Tinwen had put it back down her pocket.
'Do not be stupid. Alatáriel, who else! Do you know where she is?'
'She is living as a refugee at the mouth of a river named Sirion. She and husband, who is of the Moriquendi, have been through much joy and sorrow, blessing and pain.'
'Then I must meet her at once! I will return to you as soon as I can.'
And she kissed him and left on her journey.