This book that you hold now in your hands will change your life.
This may seem an impossible claim, and yet claim it I do! For the tale, nay, the epic tale which you are about to uncover, is nothing less than the entire secret history of the War of the Ring, and how the King was restored to our Middle-earth.
It may be that you know naught of these great deeds, for they were but recently done - I come to you, gentle reader, straight from the greatest battlefields and most terrible deeds of any Age, to set down the tale of what happened.
Or, if you are reading this in days yet to come, it may be that you think you know of these deeds…yet I tell you, you do not. For there is as of yet a tale untold, a tale so strange and tragic and incredible that it was lost to history itself! A tale that, if ever the truth of it were told, would shake the very foundations of all that you believe you know! A tale of love, and heroism, and war, and of the greatest sacrifices this world has ever known!
A tale, in short, of me.
So here between these pages, for the first time (and for a very reasonable price), can be found a mighty legend, as at last history is made aright and lies give way to truth!
Here, then, at long last, is the true story. The story of Lord Nicthalion Tallow, Hero of the War of the Ring.
~ Lord Nicthalion Tallow, 3023
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An Introduction from the quill of Gilmith, Minas Tirith, F.A. 126
Dear reader,
Upon the passing of King Elessar, Renewer of the Line of Isildur and First of the House of Telcontar, in the year 120 (3141 as accorded in the Old Reckoning), it was determined by the scholars and nobles of the White City that there was need to preserve memory of the Old Days, and of the passing of the Age that marked the downfall of Sauron and the restoration of the King. Though these great matters be recorded fully in song and in scroll, and are renowned across the land of Gondor and beyond, still it seemed to many who are wise that it be a matter of import to gather and preserve all remaining knowledge of those days and deeds.
With the blessing of the King Eldarion, so it was that this mighty labour was begun, and it is not yet complete - though it may be that my part be played to full.
I was one of several scribes assigned to the records left by the perian Peregrin Took, friend of the King and hero of the War. As one not yet advanced in years or in learning, this formed high honour for me, and I spent months copying and setting down the various documents that were in the noble perian’s possession.
One such document happened to strike me as being of peculiar importance, if in passing - a half-finished draft of a letter, that the perian Took had begun writing to his son in the distant North. I quote:
“…It really is nice to speak with dear old Gimli and Legolas again, and with all the others - it is strange, you know, how great a friendship we formed in those perilous few months. But is it to be wondered at, that despite the long years since last we met, our friendship should resume as easily as ever? It is one thing to tell those great tales (that I stumbled into quite accidentally) to you - and in years past to have told them to your ma - but I cannot speak about them, only of them (if you catch my drift); except with a vanishing few.”
“There is dear old Merry, of course, but Merry and I could speak of anything for hours and not tire (as you well know, to your peril) - I hardly feel he counts! And your Nuncle Samwise, before he went away…but our Sam never did talk much about those days, you know, and he had a very different road to Merry and I…different, and darker. No, with Gimli and Legolas (and old Strider, not that he’s got much time for such a small pair as we are, though he’s terribly generous with us both, and as witty and wise as ever), I can talk, you know, talk like I haven’t for years and years.”
“Back home, I don’t know that folk ever really knew what dear Merry and I went through, not really. You do, of course, and a few others, but I’m afraid our very small legend became much too big for us, in a way. All those strange stories flying around, about Sharkey (little Primsy Bolger once had the cheek to tell me that he was half-Orc, you know, and that he fought Frodo to the death! Tell me, indeed!), about that cad “Lord” Tallow and the ludicrous claims I’ve heard of him, about Strider being an Elfin changeling, all sorts of nonsense. Not that you don’t hear the strangest stories here too, of course, but people…well, they know, you know. They were there, or their fathers and grandfathers were there, really there, with me and Merry, and we can just talk…it does one good, I think.”
It is, on the whole, an unremarkable piece, and given the otherwise typically exquisite prose of the perian Took, it is not to be wondered at that this was but a draft. Yet there was something that caught my eye, mixed in among the strange Hobbitish words for the late King and the fell wizard Curunir. A name that I had never read before, yet was seemingly familiar to both the perian and his son. ‘“Lord” Tallow.’
At first, I thought little of it, merely making a note of it to better my knowledge. Yet when I consulted with my elders and betters, I learnt that they, too, knew naught of this person. I searched the libraries of the City, to no avail - it was as if this Lord Tallow never had lived.
It was then that I knew it was my duty to uncover what I could about this lost and untold part of the War. The perian wrote unkindly of him, yet it seemed important to me to learn the full story, and to record whatever role he played in the War.
As it was a name familiar to the hobbitfolk, I resolved to make my way North and to Arnor, the Kingdom Renewed. Over the following years, near five in count, I travelled the length and breadth of Gondor, Arnor, and even beyond into stranger lands. I scoured ancient inn ledgers, spoke with muttering minstrels of tales long-untold, entered into correspondence with dozens of the Hobbit people, and spent weeks on end in the smallest of towns, reading the least significant of letters, records and journals…those few that had survived the intervening years, that is.
At long last, I came near to the very borders of the Shire, to an inn not yet full built, where I was told I would find a book…nay, the book. The book that would answer all my questions - the full and complete tales of the self-styled Lord Nicthalion Tallow, in his own hand. The innkeeper, a Mr Bongo Hayward, parted with it reluctantly, and only with the promise that it would be returned to him at the earliest opportunity.
Two weeks ago, I finally sent it back. Two weeks ago, I determined that, to the best of my satisfaction, I had accurately copied the memoirs of ‘Lord’ Tallow in three seperate forms. A copy, as near as could be contrived, of the original text, to be deposited in the City’s archives. A second, written plainly and to be used for the few who may actually wish to read this tawdry nonsense
And a third copy, with my own footnotes and comments, that is now in your hands, dear reader. But before you read this hitherto undiscovered tale, a word of warning.
I cannot, and will not, recommend that you read this book. From a historical perspective, there is narry a grain of truth in it - its very existence is rooted in lies and self-aggrandising falsehoods. Nor can I recommend it for any literary merits, for it possesses none. What little talent Tallow may have possessed is squandered in his self-mythologising conceit. He had no talent for prose, and no spirit for saga. In my (admittedly few) years, I have never read a worse book, and if ever I do, I will despair for all Middle-earth.
I cannot recommend this book. Yet I believe it to be important nonetheless.
For contained within these illiterate lies is a stark reminder for I, and for many in this fair city. A reminder that the knowledge we hold so precious and dear, is a luxury granted to us that many have not. We are true lucky in Gondor, to possess a near-certain account of the great deeds of our forebears that shaped this Age, and beyond our mighty walls there be yet thousands for whom such tales are a matter of myth and rumour.
And to me, also, it is a grave reminder of the fragility of knowledge. Should Gondor be swept away in ten thousand years, the after-Men will look to the rubble of our towers for wisdom, and will prize the smallest of letters as a great prize. It be our duty, I deem, to cherish and nurture this wisdom, so that many may enjoy its fruits.
Here, then, at long last, is the true story - or as much of the true story as I have been able to glean - of Nick Tallow, a charlatan and fraud who by strange chance lived through the War of the Ring.
