Yes, the evil High Steward1 Denethor, stood even in the doorway to my castle, his wicked eyes glittering with malice as he sneered at me wickedly.
My mind raced with thoughts. Did he know his son, Boromir the Fair, had been here but a day ago? Was it possible that he was trying to hunt Boromir down? Or was this simply some strange chance, though an ill one?
‘I hear my son came this way but a day ago,’ said Denethor sinisterly.
‘Yes, he did,’ I answered heroically. ‘Would you like some wine?’
Denethor sat down, as Wilbert busied himself with preparing food and drink. I sat opposite the old man, my eyes locked with his. I fear no man, but the wiliness and cunning of Denethor’s wicked mind was legendary, and I knew I would need every ounce of my wisdom and cleverness if I were to escape this perilous situation, and save Boromir to boot.
Denethor coldly toasted me and leaned forward in his chair. The menace he radiated toward me was palpable, like a man looking at another man who the man hates and is also a bit jealous of. ‘So, what did he want of you, Lord Tallow?’ he asked questioningly.
With my usual and effortless charm, I smiled broadly, ‘Ah, not much of note, merely one old friend seeing another,’ I said, cannily betraying nothing of my conversation with Boromir. ‘I think he mentioned going South, perhaps? Some secret mission to fight the Corsairs or something, maybe? I don’t recall, to be honest.’
Denethor nodded slyly. ‘South, you say? Ah, well, that is good to know. I will have to send some of my best men that way - to check on him of course, to make sure he’s alright.’
‘That would be wise,’ I agreed, pleased that my deception had worked.
‘So…that’s where he thinks it is, then?’ mused Denethor softly, as if forgetting that I was still in the room with him.
‘Where what is, my Lord?’ I asked innocently.
Denethor eyed me shrewdly. ‘Did he not tell you? Perhaps, then, the idiot son of mine has some wit left to him. Boromir is looking for a mighty weapon - for a weapon that, in the right hands, could destroy everything. He wishes to claim…’
I felt my heart sink as I realised what Denethor spoke of. ‘No! You cannot mean…?’
‘Aye,’ said Denethor. ‘The Last Ring.’2
My mind was in a whirl. Had Boromir really betrayed us? Or was this Denethor trying to conceal his own true desire? Was the Last Ring really real at all? What was I going to do? Truly was I caught in a big pickle.
But through the confusion came clarity and certainty, the certainty that only a truly brilliant mind can achieve. I trusted Boromir with my life, he would never try and use the Last Ring. But Denethor seemed to think he wanted it…which meant that Denethor himself was looking for it.
And then I remembered Borormir’s words yesterday, and I realised what they meant. Denethor was in league with Sauron himself.3 Denethor had betrayed Gondor to Mordor, and resolved to serve the Great Enemy.4 Denethor wanted the Last Ring.5
I stayed calm, my bearing noble. ‘Tell me, my Lord Denethor,’ I said icily, ‘Did Boromir happen to mention that he was coming to visit me?’
Denethor chuckled darkly, glanced sidelong. ‘My ears are long, Lord Tallow,’ he said, menace rising. ‘I have many ways of gathering news.’
I looked over likewise and saw Wilbert, his back turned to us, nervously fidgeting with some menial task like cleaning the floor or something. ‘Indeed?’ I asked coldly. ‘And what did you learn from gathering news, my Lord?’
Denethor smiled thinly. ‘That my son had passed this way,’ he answered. ‘And that he was looking for help with some scheme of his.’ He paused, clearly frustrated by my iron will. ‘Tell me what my son asked of you, Lord Tallow,’ he said. ‘And this will go much easier for you.’
‘If you would know, then ask Boromir yourself,’ I answered with stout heroism. ‘I am not his father.’
Denethor withdrew, stung by the rebuke. ‘We need not make this unpleasant,’ he said, his anger rising. ‘Boromir has turned you against me, that much is now plain to see. I do not know what foolish fancies he has planted in your mind, but…’
‘There is no “but”!’ cried I with resolve. ‘Boromir told me enough, Denethor. I know you’re in league with Sauron. I know you’re going to try and help him take over the world.’
Denethor hissed, like a snake hissing. ‘Careful, Lord Tallow,’ he said. ‘Wilbert, come. Tell Lord Tallow what you told me.’
Wilbert came over, fixing me with a slippery gaze. ‘I told Lord Denethor all that I happened to hear yesterday, Master,’ he sneered. ‘I told him that you and Boromir were plotting against him, that Boromir intends to supplant him…with your aid.’
‘Treachery and lies!’ I cried, drawing my sword. Wilbert turned to run, like the slimy little creep he was, but I nobly swung my sword, chopping his head off. Blood and guts flew everywhere.
Denethor drew his own sword, and cowardly ran straight at me. Barely in time, I parried his strike. ‘You’ll pay for this treachery, Denethor!’ I cried, as we began our deadly dance of death.
Our swords clashed and clanged as we duelled up and down my own halls, striking here and there. Denethor’s skill with a blade was legend, and it was all I could do to keep measure with him. As we fought, I cried, ‘How could you do this, Denethor?! This is a betrayal most foul!’
Denethor laughed, shrill and evil. ‘I should have known you’d never help me!’ he shouted. ‘Sauron has promised rich reward to me, if I turn Gondor over to him and deliver the Last Ring. But you’re too good and pure to even consider working with him, aren’t you?!’6
With a wicked strike, his sword lashed out, catching me across the face, leaving a deep and horrible wound.7 I gritted my teeth as blood clouded my vision and went everywhere. I could not die like this, here, I had to stop Denethor! With a shout, I pressed the attack once more, my blade flickering like lightning, as step by step I drove Denethor into retreat. It was a battle the equal of the heroes of old, or maybe even a little bit better.8
With a mighty blow, I drove my sword down, disarming Denethor, who cast himself to the floor, grovelling at my feet. ‘Please, don’t kill me, spare me!’ he whined pitifully.
I paused, blade held at his throat, panting heavily. ‘I should kill you,’ I growled angrily. ‘You’ve betrayed everyone! Your greed and cowardice has doomed us all!’
‘Please…’ he whimpered pathetically.
My breaths grew slower, calmer. ‘I should kill you…but I can’t,’ I said at length, slowly, and calmly. ‘I cannot kill an unarmed man, I’m too honourable for that. You will be arrested, and stand trial for your crimes.’
Denethor nodded slowly, ‘Thank you…thank you…thank you,’ he whined. Then he looked up, a keen and sneaky glint in his eye. ‘Guards!’ he screamed. ‘He’s a traitor, he tried to kill me! Quick, kill him!’
I spun round. To my shock, I saw that there were hundreds of guards in the hall - they had snuck in while I was distracted, and now stood behind me, swords drawn and at the ready. Ready to kill me!
‘Wait,’ I shouted. ‘It’s not true, Denethor is lying! He’s…’
But it was no good. Bloodlust in their eyes, the guards ran at me, frenzied and determined to kill me. I raised my sword, desperately parrying their blows, chopping their heads off, stabbing them, but they were too many for me! Even with all my skill, I was forced into a retreat, cutting my way through them, trying to find some escape route.
I stabbed their captain right through the heart, and as his guts flew everywhere, I jumped right through a window, leaping into the courtyard! There was my faithful white horse, Snowmane.9 I sprang onto his back, and with a ‘Whoa, there!’ we were off, flying like the wind through the gate.
Arrows whizzed past me as the wicked guards tried to stop me, but I was too swift for them! As I passed through the gate, driven from my very own castle, I heard Denethor from the wall above, screaming, ‘Stop the traitor! Stop Lord Tallow! A pound of gold for the man that brings me the head of Lord Tallow!’
Even as I galloped away, I could still hear his insane screams. ‘I’ll get you, Lord Tallow, just you wait! This isn’t over! You’re BANISHED, do you hear, BANISHED! I’LL KILL YOU, LORD TALLOW!!!’
I had escaped Denethor’s trap, but at what cost? My lands and wealth were gone, I could not return home. Who could I turn to, to thwart Denethor’s sneaky plans? What friend had I who could be trusted? Where could I go? What was I to do? My own suffering and discomfort was great, to be exiled so, but yet more distressed was I at the evil things Denethor was about to do. Someone had to stop him.
And so it was that I, Lord Nicthalion Tallow, chieftain of the Men of the West, was banished from Gondor, from the lands I loved more than life itself. Never had I known such suffering, or been in such a rotten situation, it made me quite cross.
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1 Further evidence of Nick Tallow’s broad ignorance concerning Gondorian custom and title.
2 Loathe though I am to give any credit to Nick Tallow, it seems only right to offer some explanation for certain failings in his knowledge. In these days, the matter of the Rings of Power is renowned, and it may seem unthinkable that there should be any who know not something of their history. However, toward the end of the Third Age, the Rings of Power were a matter of half-remembered legend for most, and even many who were counted learned knew little of their lore, for they were reckoned to have passed into ancientry and seemed of little import to many. As will become apparent, Tallow knew something of the tales of the Rings, yet in those tales, truth had become blended in measure with fancy and folly, and so the nature and function of the Rings is wholly false in Tallow’s version of events. Tallow was evidently also possessed of the knowledge that a Ring and its destruction was central to the wars through which he happened to live, and so his own tale draws from that which he thought he knew. Though his knowledge of these matters is terribly wanting, it is (if only in this instance) perhaps not wholly right to sneer at his ignorance.
3 He was not.
4 He had not.
5 He did - so at least one of Nick Tallow’s accusations has some merit (if perhaps by chance).
Nick Tallow’s casting of the Ruling Steward Denethor II in a villainous light is intriguing, not least because it would appear to reflect the very real divisiveness of Denethor II’s legacy in the days immediately following the War of the Ring. For some, Denethor II represented failure, an impotent ruler unable to rise to the occasion when his city most needed him, a coward and perhaps even a traitor in league with the Dark Tower. For others, Denethor II seemed a mighty ruler caught in a mightier war; a man of wisdom, patience and even charity who ceaselessly guarded his lands over many years, and who was willing to sacrifice his own joy, comfort and kin in service of the city he loved.
In more recent days, the consensus on Denethor II seems to have settled into some middle ground, acknowledging his faults whilst recognising his merits. It is not my task nor place to offer judgement upon the reign of the last Ruling Steward, but this seems to me to be a fair reflection of a complex historical figure caught in trying times - unlike Nick Tallow’s characterisation of him, which plays entirely off the ill reputation that Denethor II unjustly earned in certain circles (and indeed, Tallow heightens this reputation to a ludicrous degree).
6 Even the bitter enemies of “Lord Nicthalion” invariably have deep respect for him.
7 Nick Tallow did possess a distinctive scar on his cheek, but it was likely gained years prior to the War of the Ring. A record from the Houses of Healing, where Nick Tallow saw out the end of the War, states that, ‘...patient is aged past his thirtieth year, left cheek scarred in manner consistent with old wound caused by knife or glass. No malady yet discovered to explain patient’s continued need for recuperation. Priority for care: low, but further observation necessary in unlikely event that patient worsens…’
8 The Ruling Steward Denethor II was, by all accounts, a capable captain and warrior in his youth, and bore a blade until his dying day. However, he was certainly not one of the greatest duellists of his day, especially in his latter years…though I do not doubt that he was at least Tallow’s better.
9 In actuality the name of King Théoden Ednew’s horse, for whom Snowmane’s Howe is named.
