My story is nearing its end. Only a last, humble part of it remains. My part. For I gave Tinwen her tenth name.
Sunset on the Island of Eresseä is a beautiful sight. I had acquired the habit of viewing it on the western shore, where I could behold Arien in her full glory settling beyond the Blessed Lands. On that shore I met Tinwen. Her shape was astounding; in her being could be read all the joys and sorrows of her past. Her hair was curly and grey like silver filigree. Greyed in sorrow, but still just as lively and untamed as the hair of Miss Tinwen from Bagshot Row Seven. Her shape was noble and straight-backed, like the prisoner of Angamando walking to freedom, adorable as Lady Elai of the elven court. She wore a silver-shining garment like El-Carnil of Lothlórien, a garment of simple design such as the robes of Wen-Wen the servant. Her feet were bare and dirty, like the feet of little Híniel so long ago. From her green eyes shone the ancient sap of Fangorn but also Pengil's flaming courage. Her face was young like the young soul-sister of Alátariel, yet as rich in experience as that of the grey-headed Elf-Friend of Rivendell, and there was something sharp and carved in her features also, a trace of Dari the dwarf. None of her past shapes could I recognise, although they were all thus displayed to me, and I knew not her name, none of them.
But I turned my face from the Sun to the woman looking at it, and I greeted her politely in the elven tongue. She smiled at me.
'I was expecting you.'
'You were expecting me? I am sorry, but I do not know you, my lady.'
'I know you. Better than you can guess. I apologise for having confused you. Perhaps you know me better - now.'
She took the shape I had first seen her in. I gasped in astonishment, for she was exactly as I remembered her. Time seemed not to have touched her. I spoke her name, and again she smiled, a wise smile that seemed not to belong to that familiar face.
'Yes, that was my name. That is my name.'
'But how - I mean, you looked different at first. And I thought you would be dead by now. You have not aged a day!'
'I have many names. Nine in all. Tinwen Híniel Cal-Urúnya Maialaurë El-Carnil Elai Pengil Dari Hawkfeather. Tinwen I have always been, a spark from the same fire as Arien my sister. Híniel I was in the dawn of my innocence on the Isle of Almaren. Cal-Urúnya was betrayed by Sauron and suffered in captivity. Maialaurë was the name I called myself among the Ents, who keep their true names secret. Dwarven names are secret too, and they called me Dari. El-Carnil, the star of fate, loved Galadriel as her sister. Ereinion Gil-Galad loved the name of Elai, but Pengil was the one who rode with him to the war the Last Alliance. And Hawkfeather I was called in Rivendell and in the Shire.'
'Elrond has mentioned you. But I had no idea… that it was you. And that you are a sister to Arien. A Maia. Of course you are not dead… why did you keep it all a secret?'
'Most of my memories are painful.'
I thought about her words for a while.
'How did you know to expect me?'
'I had hope. When my chain was broken, I was told who had set me free. I did not go to Aman but remained on the mortal earth of Eresseä. I wished I would meet you here when the time comes.'
'What time?'
'It has to do with oaths I have spoken. I bound myself to Sauron with my own words, and he put round my neck an enchanted chain. It prevented me from leaving Middle-Earth and from speaking the promises of marriage. Eönwë, who defeated Morgoth, was the first one I demanded to slay Sauron. But that was not in his power after Sauron begged for mercy. Later I asked the same of Gil-Galad, thus partly causing his death. In my mourning I swore I would never again send a man to that hopeless mission. Among the dwarves I announced, however, that if a smith with his tools could break the chain I would marry him. Not even king Durin, sixth of that name, could do it. Much later I met Gandalf and he refused even to try. Instead he advised me to leave the Shire. That was indeed wise, for if my chain had been involved in the War of the Ring the results might have been horrible. Finally, in the days when I fought to defend Lórien, my chain crumbled and I was able to cross the ocean.'
'You mean…'
'Frodo. Yes.'
I looked at her. It was difficult to believe what I had heard, but Tinwen was obviously serious. It seemed not to be a strange idea to her at all that she, a Maia, older than the world, would marry an ordinary halfling - not to mention such a tired, prematurely aged halfling as Frodo Baggins, on whose shoulders the past still was a heavy burden.
She sensed my feelings. There before my eyes she changed her shape, only a bit, but it was enough. In front of me now stood a beautiful hobbit maiden, with greyish-brown hair and a pretty green dress that matched the colour of her eyes. If Tinwen Hawkfeather had been an ordinary hobbit she might have looked like this when she was young. A girl like this Frodo Baggins might indeed fall in love with - if he could fall in love with anyone at all.
For there are shadows that are not banished even by the sight of sunset over Aman.
Tinwen looked into my eyes.
'I have no right to make any demands. My oaths make it my duty to inform you of what is possible.'
'I thought as much; I guess this has nothing to do with your feelings.' I attempted a smile.
'No? For millennia I have wrapped all my feelings around the hatred I felt for Sauron and his spell. But I am no hero-worshipping silly little maiden. I once knew a really nice family. I told stories to a little hobbit child. Later I saw his face in the Mirror of Galadriel. The previous times I looked into it that mirror had shown me Lúthien Tinúviel, Lúthien wearing the Silmaril, Lúthien with a child in her womb. My path was marked for me. And I would have loved you even if you had failed in your task.'
'Oh, Tinwen.' Tears filled my eyes.
'I did fail. At the last moment temptation overcame me and I declared the Master Ring as mine. Only Fate saved us all.'
She embraced me fiercely. I could barely discern her whispered words:
'My love. I have failed a thousand times. Will you have me?'
Of course I would have her. I desired her, for she was beautiful, beautiful all the way through her heart.
Tol Eresseä celebrated a wedding. Bilbo gave a speech in our honour, and stammered more than usual.
I took up the task of writing down Tinwen's story, these pages you have read, the story of ten names and an everlasting spark. Before I finish, I have one more thing to tell. You must be as surprised as I was when I realised Tinwen's tenth name would be Baggins. But that is not all. Galadriel's prophecy came true and she could hold the child of her friend in her arms. Our daughter. The youngest inhabitant of Eresseä. Her name is Niphredil, in honour of Lúthien and in memory of Lothlórien. She is pale as the moon, beautiful as a star, and she has wonderfully wise green eyes and thick black curls. And as I write this she has just learned to climb an apple tree…