I was exiled, cast out from my own lands, by the evil High Steward Denethor of Gondor. My heart wept and my mind railed against this injustice, yet ever foremost was my thought turned toward stopping whatever evilness the evil man was planning. Also, I hadn’t had lunch and I was getting a bit peckish. All in all, the overwhelming tragedy of my miserable lot made me quite grumpy indeed.
I decided that maybe it would be best to go to Dol Amroth to visit my old friend and cousin, Prince Imrahil. He was a noble man, and Boromir had also trusted him with his secret mission - if there was anyone I could confide in, it would be Imrahil.
So I went to Dol Amroth. It was a goodly ride away, and I stopped for some lunch at an inn. Roasted chicken, as I recall, with white bread and good wine. The innkeeper, a fair maiden with a heaving bosom and long beautiful hair that was dark or golden or something, was clearly enamoured of my noble and tragic bearing, and fain would she have had me tarry a while longer in her shack, but my mind was fixed upon the protection of Gondor and of all good people, so I went on my way.1
The shadows were drawing long and dark, like a swirling pool of ink or like a black hood over your head, when I came to Dol Amroth. At once, my keen senses alerted me to the fact that not all was right. Indeed, something was wrong. The guards roaming the streets were watchful, the ordinary folk tense and worried. Clearly, Dol Amroth was worried.
I elected to be cautious and, rather than announcing my arrival, drew my hood close around my head and stole through the city, quiet as a cat that isn’t making any noise. It seemed better to me to avoid being seen by Denethor’s agents, and to protect Imrahil in case something went wrong.
I came to Imrahil’s castle and, rather than marching through the front gate, I stealthily made my way round its walls, searching for some postern gate or gutter through which I could discreetly enter. In but a few moments, I found a less-travelled entrance, and slipped in to the inner courtyard. From there, it was a matter of simplicity itself to steal through the castle, unchallenged by the few guards I came across, until I came to Imrahil’s private chambers.2
I knocked at the door, and Imrahil himself opened it, his broad and simple face breaking into a wide grin the moment he saw me. He was a tall man, standing nearly to my height, with a great black beard and broad shoulders - the very picture of geniality and good-humoured cheerfulness.3
‘Hey, Lord Tallow,’ he said, with his usual simple ease. Yet I could tell that beneath the Prince’s easy-going facade, he was troubled in thought. ‘How ya doing, eh?’
I laughed easily in turn, embracing Imrahil manfully. ‘The better for seeing your ugly face!’ I teased, and he laughed, because we were really good friends.
Imrahil lead me in to his chambers, as we chatted easily. I took a seat as he poured a little wine, a particularly fine vintage from Lossarnach, in the summer of ‘11. Notes of cedarwood, a hint of plum, light and refreshing, with a pleasingly spiced overtone and a surprising aftertaste of mint.4
We toasted, and Imrahil said, ‘It is good that you’re here, Lord Tallow. I have, of late, received troubling news.’
I forestalled him, ‘News of Denethor and his black treachery? You need not speak of it, my friend - I, too, have heard.’
Imrahil gasped in shock. ‘How do you know of this?’ he asked, shocked.
I chuckled, ‘Boromir came to me also, after he had visited you. But, more pressingly, I have proof from the High Steward himself.’ I leaned forward secretively in my chair. ‘Denethor visited me but this morning, Imrahil. I have it from his own mouth - he has betrayed all of Gondor. And I, foremost champion of these lands, have been banished.’
Imrahil’s face darkened, ‘That really stinks,’ he said ponderously. ‘I am sorry for you, Lord Tallow. You, least of all men, deserve such an evil fate, for you are truly among the absolute best of us.’
‘I know,’ I said humbly. ‘Yet it is so. And now Gondor, and the whole world, is in terrible danger, unless we can stop Denethor and Sauron.’
‘But what even is Denethor’s plan?’ asked Imrahil questioningly.
‘He is searching for the Last Ring,’ I told him, and for a moment, the room seemed to go dark, as if a shadow of evil had blotted out the sun itself, or a cloud or something, or a candle had just gone out. Something like that, but evil.
‘The Last Ring!’ cried Imrahil. Then he frowned. ‘The Last Ring? What is the Last Ring?’
I smiled a little, for I knew well that Imrahil was a good man, and a loyal friend, but unlearned in matters of lore. Happily, I have read much lost wisdom and am learned in secret matters, so I was able to answer the Prince’s question.
‘Once, over a thousand years ago, the Dark Lord Sauron, King of Mordor, gave many magic rings to the people of Middle-earth. Three he gave to the false and cunning Elf Kings, who wield them still in Sauron’s service. Seven he gave to the Dwarves, and the rest to Men.’
‘The Dwarves proved hardy, and so Sauron murdered them all and stole their rings back. Over the years, the Men fell to the evil power of the Rings, one by one, and they became Ringwraiths. In time, there was only one Man left who withstood his ring’s horrible power, and that was Isildur, the king of Gondor.’
‘So then Sauron went to war with Isildur, hoping to get back the Last Ring, but Isildur beat him, and Sauron fled. So the Last Ring remained in the keeping of the Kings of Gondor, for they alone were strong enough to resist its evil power.’
‘But, in time, the kings of Gondor were betrayed. The last king of Gondor, Eärnur, married a beautiful woman who was secretly a wicked witch, and she kidnapped him and he was never seen again…and with Eärnur disappeared the Last Ring.’
‘So it is that now Gondor is kingless, ruled by evil stewards. And King Sauron is looking for the Last Ring, wherever it might be. The Seven Dwarf Rings he has, and the evil kings of Elves and Men wear theirs in his service. If Sauron possesses all of the rings, he will at last be unstoppable, and he will destroy the whole world.’5
‘Truly,’ said Imrahil, ‘You are learned and wise in matters of lore, Lord Tallow.6 But now what is to be done? Do you think Denethor will find the Last Ring?’
I sighed heavily, ‘I know not, my friend. But I know he certainly will, unless we prevent him. With any luck, Boromir will find it first, but I do not think we can count upon this. And even if he does, what then? Nay, we must ourselves act, to find the Ring and to stop Denethor.’
Imrahil looked to me, asking for guidance. ‘Then what should we do, Lord Tallow?’ he asked.
With certainty, I answered, ‘Gondor cannot be left unguarded, but also we must forestall Denethor’s plans. Denethor does not trust me, and has banished me - I will go into the wild to hunt for this Ring. You stay here and marshall the men of Gondor to protect everyone from Denethor and Mordor; the defence of our lands must be trusted unto you. I will follow on the trail of Boromir, and aid him in his search. This, I deem, is the best thing to do.’
So it was decided. Imrahil embraced me, and I will not tell a falsehood - tears were shed by us both, and especially by Imrahil, for it was plain that it was an evil doom upon us, and that I in particular was making a great and heroic sacrifice. But what choice does man have, but to endure danger and discomfort in order to be a hero?
So I left Dol Amroth, secure at least in the knowledge that Gondor was guarded, for Imrahil was a true man, and a great warrior and general, and he would keep the defences of the land sure.7 And I, for my part, turned into exile and wanderings, seeking high and low for where Boromir might have gone, and into peril I passed in search of the lost Last Ring.
But, though I did not know it yet, I was to discover something far greater than the Last Ring…something, indeed that would change the whole war…something that none knew was even lost…something very important indeed…yes, something…
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1 “Lord Nicthalion” invariably captures the heart of every maiden he meets upon his adventures, all of whom are also fair beyond measure. Given the little that is known of Tallow’s manner, appearance, and general character, this supposed trait of his may seem to be among the greater of the implausibilities found in this greatly implausible story.
2 Throughout his writings, Nick Tallow demonstrates a staggering unfamiliarity with the organisation and ways of noble houses. By contrast, however, he does seem to have some knowledge at least of how to sneak into (and out of) a great many buildings, towns, and even (as will later be seen) ships.
3 From this description, we can be sure indeed that Nick Tallow never even saw the Prince - unless it were in a crowd or from some great distance - let alone met him.
4 Curiously, it is corroborated in other sources that the year of 3011 O.R. was a good year among several bad years for vines, at least in the realm of Gondor. Whatever Nick Tallow’s broad ignorance considering many subjects indeed, he was at least learned in the matter of drink.
5 Dear reader, I know not where to begin. If I were possessed of a ream of paper and a year in which to write, then perhaps it would be that I might come near to correcting every failure of knowledge to be found in the above few lines of drivel.
Suffice it to say, I must trust that whoever may be unlucky enough to actually read this work is also sufficiently learned in the histories of past Ages, and thus will need not turn to me for elucidation concerning these matters. All that I will add is that it is instructive to observe once more the blend of truth and fiction in Tallow’s version of events. How much is Tallow’s own invention, and how much may be based upon whatever folklore and legend he knew, cannot be told without further investigation. However, given the minor fame of Tallow’s legend in the North in the years immediately following the War of the Ring, it is clear that there were at least some who found his tales convincing…a conviction that declined over time, as true reports of the War were delivered to folk beyond Gondor.
One additional observation, however, is that Tallow saw need to include this expository information in his account - clearly, the histories of Gondor and the Rings were fragmentary or not common knowledge in northern lands, necessitating this diversion from Tallow to “explain” them to his ignorant audience.
6 Truly, he was not.
7 As with the Ruling Steward Denethor II and his son Boromir, Nick Tallow’s casting of Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth is intriguing in how it reflects contemporary attitudes towards the Prince. Prince Imrahil was indeed beloved in Gondor, and especially in Minas Tirith for his role in defending the City during the war, and Tallow’s allying of himself with this fictive Imrahil is doubtless a cynical attempt to gain from the Prince’s good reputation.
