If memory serves me right, it was a fair day in a goodly Spring that the first stroke of the War of the Ring was struck, when an evil doom came to my door. I was sitting at table in my castle, somewhere in Gondor near Lamedon, enjoying a simple meal and pondering weighty matters of state, when I heard a knock at my door.1
My manservant, an odious and untrustworthy little fellow, came to me. ‘My Lord, a guest is here,’ he snivelled.
‘Then show him in, man!’ I barked magnanimously.
Wilbert2 bowed, and threw open the great door of my hall. There, a great smile on his face, stood a man clad as a Captain of Men, a sword girt at his side, his bearing tall and proud (though he stood a little shorter than I).3 He bowed, yet there was joy in his voice as he said, ‘Well met, my Lord Tallow.’
With a great cry of joy, I sprang forward and embraced him. ‘Boromir, oldest and best of friends!’ I cried.4 We stepped back, clasping strong hands together. ‘But please,’ I added graciously, ‘There is no need for such formality - to you and all my dearest friends, I am Nicthalion.’
Boromir shrugged his great shoulders, and together we made our way to table, where Wilbert was already pouring wine. ‘So do you ever say, but my respect for you is too great,’ he said gravely. We sat, and toasted to each other.
‘Pray, on what errand come you here?’ I asked, as we began to drink. ‘It is many miles ride from Minas Tirith to my castle - surely you are not here merely to enjoy my company?’5
‘You misjudge the fineness of your company, if you think such!’ said Boromir. ‘But alas! as ever, you perceive finely that which is hidden. It is true, Lord Tallow - I am here with unhappy news.’
He poured a little more wine for us both, and leant forward, his voice low and filled with urgency. ‘War is coming, Lord Tallow. A war the like of which Middle-earth has not seen the like of which. And Gondor is ill-prepared.’
‘But Gondor is strong,’ I said truly.
‘You speak truly,’ he agreed. ‘But its leaders are weak. Some, such as yourself and the Prince of Dol Amroth, remain true and mighty - but not all. I fear there is a black treachery at the heart…the heart of Minas Tirith itself.’
I inhaled sharply, for this was bad news. Of course, for months I had keenly guessed that there was something amiss in Minas Tirith, but to hear my guess confirmed by the Steward’s heir himself?! But even I was scarce prepared for his next words.
‘Aye…I fear Denethor has betrayed us,’ he said softly. I noticed Wilbert out of the corner of my eye, polishing some rare and expensive and very tasteful silverware, which bore engravings of my great deeds and conquests.
‘Denethor!’ I muttered. ‘These are bad tidings indeed.’
‘Bad, but true,’ agreed Boromir. ‘Indeed, I fear he is plotting to have me removed…alas, for Faramir ever was more malleable to our father and his wicked ways.’6
I shook my head sorrowfully. ‘I am sorry for you, my friend,’ I said, my voice filled with sorrow. ‘This is evil news.’ I paused, my mind racing, but ever magnanimity was foremost in my heart. ‘If you need, you may tarry here as long as you wish, Boromir. Though not long can I withstand the full power of Denethor if he turns his attention hither, I will protect you…with my own life, if it comes to it.’
Boromir’s eyes welled with tears, overwhelmed by my kindly spirit! ‘Friend, Lord Tallow, best and truest of friends,’ he wept. ‘Truly did I not expect such generosity from you, but was that not my error? For do I not know you to be the best and finest of men?’ He rose, and sighed. ‘Yet I cannot accept this kindness. For I would not have you put yourself in harm’s way to protect me! And,’ and he paused weightily, ‘And I must move against Denethor’s evil plans while I still can. I have already been to Dol Amroth and counseled the Prince Imrahil, your kin - he is ever our friend in these matters. And now you, too, know of Denethor’s treachery, and I may hope that this is enough to forestall Denethor’s treachery.’
He rose, and sighed. ‘And now it is so that you must bear this burden - for I must go into exile, and leave the land I love.’
My heart was stirred, for well did I know that Boromir would not make such a choice lightly. He continued, ‘Indeed, there is yet some strange hope. I must journey into the wilds, in search of a man…a man whom, I am told, may be found among the Rangers of the North.’
‘The Rangers of the North,’ laughed I. ‘It cannot be so! For are they not brigands and vagabonds?7 What man among them may be able to stop Denethor’s treachery?’
Boromir laughed in agreement. ‘Indeed, it seems too strange to be true!’ he said. ‘Yet it is so, and small hope may be better than none. Aragorn Elessar is the name of the man whom I seek, for it has come to me in a dream that he may yet be able to change Gondor’s evil fate.’
I nodded gravely, for I knew that Boromir was wise, and that prophecy came to him.8 ‘Then so be it,’ I said. ‘I will wish you luck, friend Boromir, in your search…and I will do what I can to prevent Denethor’s treachery in your absence.’
Boromir wept freely once more at my gracious words. ‘I know, for I know you to be the best of men,’ he said at length. We embraced solemnly, and there was a shadow on our hearts, for both of us foresaw that never again would we meet. Yet we endured this heavy burden manfully, and so Boromir left my castle, and rode away, on his strange errand, and I returned to my chambers, to ponder with all my wisdom and knowledge what was to be done.
The next day, I was roused early by news that a visitor was come. I dressed swiftly, and went to meet my mysterious guest. I flung open the door, and an evil dread came over my heart when I saw him.
‘Greetings, Lord Tallow,’ rasped the man, his hooded and dark eyes glittering evilly at me. ‘I have heard that my son passed this way but yesterday - tell me, what news have you of him?’
It was Denethor.
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1 Not a single word of this opening (nor indeed many of the following words) is true. The man that the footnotes of history would come to vaguely recollect as Lord Nicthalion Tallow hailed from a small township beset by hardships named Trestlebridge, some miles south of Fornost that was in the realm of Arthedain. The town’s ledger records the birth of a ‘Nick Tallow’ in 2985 O.R., to a local smith of little renown (indeed, also within the ledgers are numerous complaints made concerning the workmanship of Tom Tallow, Nick’s father). Nick was the third of six children, but there is nothing more concerning his early life to be found in the record, nor indeed any memory or record of him in the town - though there remains a smithy owned by the Tallow family in Trestlebridge to this day. Notably, the firstborn of Rob Tallow (Tom’s eldest son) was also named Nick, born in 3003 O.R., perhaps some years following the elder Nick’s departure from Trestlebridge - but this cannot be proven with any certainty.
2 A clearly Northern name - as will become abundantly clear, Nick Tallow’s familiarity with Gondorian custom and practice was sketchy at best.
3 A reputable source in Dale records that, ‘...his bearing was lordly, though not noble, his hair thinning and his belly plump. Whatever great deeds Lord Tallow may have performed in yesteryears, his finest is long behind him, though he cannot yet be many winters beyond fifty. He stood stiff and tall, as if affecting some high air, though even drawn to his full height he stood of like height to many Dale-men, if not indeed a little shorter…’
4 Boromir, eldest son of the Ruling Steward Denethor II and companion to the King Elessar in the Quest of the Ring, on which he met his end. While it cannot be confirmed, it is unlikely that Nick Tallow ever met Boromir, who had left Minas Tirith on the Quest long before Tallow ever came there.
5 Tallow never positively identifies the lands which formed "his" estate. It may be that Tallow favoured a certain vagary, in order that his stories be less easy to prove false. Or it may be that despite his travels, he maintained a degree of ignorance as to the lay and regions of Gondor. For my part, I see no reason why both cannot be the truth.
6 Tallow’s casting of the Prince Faramir in an ignoble light may seem incongruous to those that recall his kindly and wise manner…indeed, it would appear Tallow bore some grudge to the Prince, to which I will return at a later point.
7 A betrayal of Tallow’s Northern origins, where the few remaining Dúnedain were indeed known as ‘Rangers’ and common people bore them little trust or love, despite their service in war against the Enemy.
8 Those who are somewhat learned in the lore of yesteryears may be surprised at Tallow’s portrayal of Boromir. Though a great captain and mighty warrior, Boromir gained no great renown for learnedness, nor wisdom, in his life. However, it seems likely that Tallow was in Gondor when news of Boromir’s passing came to these lands, and it cannot be overstated how great the grief of all Gondor was at the news, especially since it came in so strange a manner and in dark days. Given the rumour that surrounded Boromir’s end, and the full grief of many, it is not to be wondered that Tallow cast the firstborn of Denethor II as being his heroic ally and friend.
