‘Come’, said Mr Elessar, as he freed me from my bonds, ‘Sit, and I will tell you the sorry tale of how Boromir the Mighty was led by treachery and sorcery to his unhappy death.’
As I made over to sit by the campfire, Mr Elessar snapped his fingers and as if from nowhere, the very same hobbits who had but minutes before cowardly ambushed me and briefly captured me popped up as if from nowhere. Four they were in number, rat-faced and dastardly, armed to the teeth with cruel little blades and dressed in dubious clothing.
‘Wine, please, for my guest,’ said Mr Elessar. As the hobbits scurried about and poured wine for the two of us, he gestured to them. ‘These are my servants. A finer group of spies, scoundrels and sneaks never will you find elsewhere, my Lord!’
I glanced to them, smiling a little. ‘Curious folk to be keeping company with Rangers, are they not?’ I asked, as one of them passed me a mug of wine.
Mr Elessar chuckled, ‘Indeed, they are,’ he agreed. ‘But long have they served me and my gang, and been well paid for their cunning service.’ The hobbits finished serving food and drink and lined up, bowing one by one as Mr Elessar introduced their names. ‘Nine-Fingered Frodo, Meregrin, Peregrin and Steve at your service,’ he said.1
I raised my cup in toast to them and to my strange, uncouth yet noble host. Formalities aside, the hobbits scattered, vanishing as swiftly as they had appeared. The Rangers about us continued their bawdy and drunken sung revelry, and Mr Elessar leaned forward, his face suddenly marked with sudden grief suddenly.
‘Now, to my tale of sorrowful woe,’ he said sorrowfully. ‘The tale of the death of Boromir, your good friend.’
‘Yes, he was,’ I said.
Mr Elessar cleared his throat, and began his long and sad story.
‘Have you ever heard of the Golden Wood?’ he asked.
I nodded grimly. All who are learned in Gondor, such as I, know well the evil reputation of that fell place, shrouded in sorcery and wickedness.2
Mr Elessar continued. ‘Well, but a few months ago, I strayed into those woods, and met the witch who lives there. She trapped me and enchanted me into working for Saruman the White, who’s evil. Then Boromir came here, looking for me because he needed to find me, but the witch used her power on me to trick Boromir into going into an ambush and so he got killed.’
I nodded in thought. ‘I am sorry for you, Mr Elessar,’ I intoned gravely. ‘Truly, it is an ill tale of great woe. Yet I deem that you could have done none else, so long as you be under the sway of this witch.’
Mr Elessar smiled in relief. Clearly, he had been very worried about what I would think of him. ‘I am glad to hear you say so,’ he said. ‘But now, so it is such as it is so verily. This witch holds me in her power, and so I have to do whatever Saruman wants.’
‘And if I were to slay the witch, what then would you do?’ I asked. ‘For you and your men are Ranger folk, thieves and ruffians! Would you give up your wicked ways?’
‘Yes, a thousand times yes!’3 cried Mr Elessar, and in my heart I judged that he spoke truly. He was a brigand and a robber, yet I could tell that there was a nobility in his spirit, and all that this misguided wretch had needed was a nudge in the right direction from one who was similarly good.
‘Then it will be done,’ I said.
At those words, Mr Elessar’s eyes lit up. ‘Great!’ he said happily. ‘Then in the morn, you go to the witch. But tonight, we feast!’
And with that cry, the crude instruments of the Rangers struck up anew, and song and merriment filled the air! It was rustic and simple stuff, especially to an ear and taste so refined as mine. Yet I could appreciate the joy of these simple people, and merrily did I join in their cavorting, because I could tell it honoured them to so revel with one as fine as I, and for my part, it did my heart glad to see the simple happiness of these wandering folk.
Long did we sing and dance and drink and make merry and drink. I met many of the other Rangers such as Halbarad Elessar, Aragorn’s brother,4 a coarse and brutish man, but with a glint of mischief in his eye and a joke on his lips and Calenglad, a tall man who stood but a little shorter than I, and who was clearly considered mighty and noble by his ragged brethren.5
Late in the night, I withdrew into silent thought, as is my wont,6 and Mr Elessar joined me. ‘Please, call me Aragorn, Lord Tallow,’ he said.
As he sat, I happened to glance at his hand and there I saw something strange indeed. For Aragorn wore a ring on his finger, a ring bejewelled and finely wrought, even as it were of some fine house of Gondor such as mine…or even finer.
‘Pray, Aragorn, what is that on your finger?’ I asked.
Aragorn glanced to it, ‘This? This is but a trifle, an heirloom of my family. For you see, Lord Tallow, I am a Ranger, but my family is of some other blood. Many years ago, the Rangers were out looking for things to steal when they chanced upon a babe in the woods, a babe wrapped in cloth and bearing no token save this ring.’
‘That babe was my great-great-great-something-great-grandfather, and he was raised by the Rangers and in time became their chief, because he was better than them at everything. So it is so that my forebears have been the chiefs of the Rangers ever since, and have passed this ring down from father to son. It is a pretty trinket, but no more than that, I fear.’7
With sudden trepidation, I looked closer at the ring. It was curiously fashioned, golden, and cunningly wrought as if it were many single fine threads woven together and around each other. Set in it were rubies, each of them small, yet exquisitely shaped and glistening. ‘Pray, friend, would you mind if I examined it closer?’ I asked.
Aragorn slid the ring from his finger and handed it to me. As I turned it over in my hand, I felt my heart beat fast. Could it be? Was it possible that this was the Last Ring, lost those long years ago when the King of Gondor went away? Surely, such a chance was too strange to be true, or was it? It was not. But was it?
‘And you say, Aragorn, that this ring is completely ordinary,’ I asked. ‘No magical properties or anything?’
Aragorn laughed and shook his head. ‘Nay, Lord Tallow!’ he said merrily. ‘It is but a trinket, some strange token of my ancestors.’
I looked closer at it. I am no magician, but I am learned in much lore that is counted strange, and have read deep in ancient wisdom, deeper than many man. With shaking hand, I slipped the ring on, and I said an ancient magical word, a Word of Magic Power, to test if dormant sorcery slept within this ring.
‘Galenas!’ I said.8
The word echoed and trembled through the hills. In an instant, all lights, even the fire and the stars above, went out. Nay, not all. For the shining rubies set upon the ring suddenly glowed with an ancient and fell power, a dark and evil power, a power that was old and wicked and very powerful. Trembling, I looked upon it, and felt the ring glow with sudden warmth upon my finger, awaiting my command. I knew that, if I willed it, I could wreak great havoc with this Ring of Power.
Nay, not any Ring of Power. The Last Ring. The Ring yet unclaimed by Sauron himself, the only thing that stood in his way to destroy the world.9
The Last Ring, upon my finger, found in the unlikeliest of places - upon the hand of a mere Chief of the Rangers, ragged and churlish in the woods.
And even as I thought this, and the Last Ring dimmed and the campfire sprang back to life, my eyes drifted from the Ring and to the face of Aragorn Elessar. Wait, could it be…was he…could he maybe be the heir to the throne of Gondor? It was a strange chance indeed, but was it not possible?
Yes. It was possible.
‘What is it?’ asked Aragorn quietly. ‘What just happened to my ring?’
I rose, thoughts racing through my mind quickly. If this Mr Elessar was the true King of Gondor, maybe he could stop Denethor’s evil. But if he remained under the witch’s spell, then she might be able to use him to do great evil, or worse. And until he was freed from the spell, I could not risk him learning the truth about his ring, that it was the Last Ring.
‘I must go,’ I said. ‘Aragorn, listen to me. Whatever you do, whatever happens, do not use this ring. Do not tell anybody about it. Do not give it away. I will return soon, and then I hope I can say more…until then, tarry here a while.’
Aragorn bowed his head. ‘As thou command, Lord Tallow,’ he said.10
Still shaking, I removed the ring from my finger, giving it back to him, and I vanished into the night, seeking answers, and also seeking the Golden Wood, where I hoped to find answers to the questions that I sought answers to.
But as I left, hunting the witch that had caused my friend Boromir’s death, still my mind reeled - the true King had been found, among the villainous Rangers. My road forward had never been clearer, or less clear, than it was now.
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1 Nick Tallow’s naming and overall description of the halflings that played so central a role in the War of the Ring allows several conclusions to be drawn. First, it is notable that Tallow knew both the number of the halflings, and had some impression (if horribly muddled in the unhappy cases of Meriadoc Brandybuck and Samwise Gardner) of their right names. Further, Tallow’s inclusion of the halflings among the number of the Dúnedain may seem comical, but there may be a certain (rare) sense to his thought. It cannot have been lost upon even the idiot Tallow that both the Grey Company and the halflings of the Fellowship were Northern folk, present upon the southern theatre’s battlefields, and that the halflings were counted close friends of the King Elessar. Finally, as will be seen later, Tallow was clearly aware that these halflings were in some way linked with the Quest of the Ring (note also that Frodo Baggins is named as lacking a finger in Tallow’s tale - clearly, Tallow was aware of this deformity, but must not have realised that it was suffered in the fulfilment of the Quest). It must also be noted that Tallow’s knowledge of Frodo Baggins and Samwise Gardner all but proves that Tallow was present in Minas Tirith in the days immediately following the War of the Ring, as their Quest into the Black Land was undertaken in the greatest secrecy, and it was not until the fulfilment of the Quest that their names were celebrated in our lands.
2 Even in the learned cities of Gondor, the wood of Lothlorien bore an ill reputation among all but the wisest in the unhappy latter days of the Third Age. Plainly, those legends and misthought rumours concerning Lothlorien were further exaggerated in the North among simple folk such as Tallow.
3 There is no record that the King Elessar was ever a robber, a brigand, or engaged in any such wicked conduct that he foreswore. It seems not possible for me to sufficiently emphasise how exceedingly unlikely it is that Nick Tallow was ever properly acquainted with the King, and that his slanders are not substantive in any way, shape or form.
4 They were in truth but kinsmen.
5 As has been previously observed, Nick Tallow’s knowledge concerning the Grey Company that rode from the North to war in Gondor demonstrates some actual knowledge of their organisation. Halbarad was indeed the captain that led them from the North, and who bore the standard of the High King upon the Pelennor, where he was slain. Calenglad is attested in more reliable sources as being another member of the Grey Company, who met his end in the Battle of the Morannon. There are also significant omissions in Tallow’s observations, however - note, for example, that the twin peredhil are not named, despite their having been strikingly dissimilar to the Dúnedain. Clearly, Tallow’s knowledge of the Grey Company was limited, yet also was he not wholly ignorant of them, nor of the role which they played in the War.
6 From the Dalish source previously referenced, I quote, “...though Lord Tallow has proven pleasantly merry company for a passing few weeks I, and not some few others, become less fond of his continued presence. Ever is he the first to drink in an evening, and often the last to rest, unless the wine masters him fully and he passes to sleep even where he sits. Alas! this occurs all too seldom, and long into the night does he boast speak in loud voice with ever growing passion upon his own great deeds. His heroism cannot be denied (certainly, he at least makes sure never to deny it), and many are loathe to demand his departure, yet his tarrying grows wearisome to many…”
7 Nick Tallow may have known the Grey Company, but his invention of this ridiculous legend betrays anew his lack of knowledge concerning the history of the Dúnedain, and of the lineage of King Elessar.
8 Likely one of the few Sindarin words Tallow recalled from his time misspent in Gondor.
9 I fear I be somewhat repetitive in my observations, yet nonetheless I must remark yet again upon Nick Tallow’s curious blend of knowledge and ignorance revealed in the preceding passage. His description of the Ring itself is inventive but inaccurate, its being fashioned of gold being the only true congruence with the One Ring (and even this may well be chance). Though it is not recorded that the King Elessar bore any ring upon his hand in the days of the War, Tallow’s associating of the Ring with the rightful King of Gondor is nonetheless tenable, as it was recorded in history and song by many that Isildur bore the Ring as a token of his rule. Finally, Tallow’s description of the power of the Ring is entirely fanciful (as will be seen later, Tallow’s concept of what strength a Ring of Power might hold is ludicrously simplistic), and further omits a key attribute of the Ring - throughout, Tallow (and other characters) remain visible to the naked eye whilst wearing the Ring. To reiterate, Tallow was clearly aware that a Ring of Power had been in some way central to the War, that its finding was in some way linked with the restoration of the King, and that halflings of the Shire were key to the tale, but in assembling these disparate few facts (and clumsily inserting himself into the drama), he was forced to invent great stretches of fancy to compensate for his basic lack of knowledge.
10 Ironically, Tallow’s use of ‘thou’ in this passage is likely intended to convey respect, rather than the informality it bears. It is a peculiarity of the tongue spoken in the North that ‘thou’ has fallen out of usage, and ‘you’ is used for speech with peers and betters alike. Tallow, it would seem, mistook ‘thou’ as being the deferential form of the word, perhaps owing to its sounding archaic to his ears - there are reports of other unlearned Northern travellers being similarly mistaken upon coming to Gondor.
