So off I went to the Golden Wood. But as I went, my mind was spinning with thoughts, my head whirling with thoughts. Was Mr Elessar really the long lost king of Gondor?1 Had the Last Ring been kept hidden from all in the company of low and dirty thieves these past hundreds of years?2 These, and other thoughts like those ones, weighed heavy on my mind as I entered under the eaves of the Golden Wood.
At once, I knew this was a place heavy with magic. The air was thick with enchantment, lulling me to sleep, whispering to me of temptation. I saw myself, riding at the head of a great army, storming the very gates of Mordor and toppling Sauron from his iron throne. I saw myself, the Last Ring blazing upon my finger, wreaking havoc and great deeds with its magic, driving my enemies before me! And, strangest of all, I saw a maiden, riding at my side, embracing me in sultry arms, fair beyond measure, with heaving bosom and fair hair. Who was she?
Yet, with heroic and grim determination, I put aside these fancies, for I knew them for what they were. What they were were but foolish hopes, founded on lies and on my great power and desire to do good things. Great things I may indeed accomplish, but these falsehoods were designed to ensnare me, to tempt me into making a bad decision or not relying upon my own wisdom. I pressed on into the wood, drawing my sword.
Within but a few minutes, I realised why the Golden Wood was so named so, a few minutes after I had entered it. Though it was spring outside, within the wood the leaves on all the trees were yellowed and browning, caught in an everlasting autumn that was definitely magical.3 Hmm, I thought. Interesting.
Suddenly, I heard a twig snap behind me! I whirled around, drawing my sword, ready to kill whatever was there in an instant, but I was scarce prepared for the truth of whatever was really there! There, in the middle of the wood, stood a woman, tall, fair and pale. Her hair was yellow like gold, but not as heavy as gold. She had legs, legs that came up to her waist, and her teeth were white and none of them were missing. Her eyes gleamed like coins catching the light of a fire in a tavern, and she was fair beyond measure. She was clad in a white dress, that fell over most of her body, except her hands and her head and her shoulders and a bit of her breast, but the cloth clung to her, revealing her shapely form, which was very nice. Her lips were red, and her skin unmarked by pox. She was truly the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.4
‘Greetings, traveller,’ she said, and her voice was low and sultry, like the voice of a fair woman.
I eyed her warily. Could she be the sorceress? She seemed very pretty, but it was odd that she was just wandering about the Golden Wood all by herself. I would have to keep my wits about me, and be cunning indeed if I were to survive this strange meeting.
‘Hello,’ I said. ‘Who are you?’
She looked very familiar, and I wondered why. Then I realised why! She was the very woman I had seen in my vision but a few minutes before, at my side as I did great deeds. Could it be that she was a pawn in the sorceress’ game? Or the sorceress herself, come to tempt me with her fair looks and nice hair? I would have to be cunning indeed, to survive this strange meeting!
‘I? I am but a wanderer in these woods, like yourself, my good sir,’ she said, soft and tempting. ‘My name is Éowyn.’5
‘Éowyn?’ cried I with a surprised cry of shock. ‘Then you are the daughter of King Théoden, the missing Princess of Rohan, gone these past months!’6
The pretty woman who was called Éowyn seemed perturbed that I knew of her. ‘I did not expect you to know of me,’ she said, with a seductive lilt. ‘But yes, I am the Princess of Rohan. But now you have me at a disadvantage, sir? Who might you be?’
‘My name is Lord Nicthalion Tallow,’ said I. ‘But you may call me Lord Tallow.’
My mind raced with thoughts yet again. Of course, I knew of the missing princess, for Rohan and Gondor (where my castle is) are close allies,7 and news in one quickly travels to the other, so I’d already heard all about Éowyn’s mysterious disappearance months ago.8 Could it be that this was the missing princess indeed, in so strange a place? Had she been enchanted and trapped here by the witch? Or was she an illusion, a mirage conjured to lure me into some trap?
‘Ah,’ she said, her voice playful and flirtatious. ‘Your reputation precedes you, Lord Tallow, for I have heard of you and how important you are in Gondor.9 Yet all the rumour and tales, I confess, do not do justice to how handsome and mighty you are.’10
‘Nay,’ I answered modestly, ‘They do not. But come, Princess Éowyn, we must get out of here, at once! There’s an evil sorceress about somewhere, and she might come any moment!’
The princess raised an eyebrow. ‘A sorceress?’ she asked questioningly. ‘Yes, I know, Lord Tallow. Indeed, you might say that we are…well acquainted.’
If ever my heart could have felt the icy grip of fear grip icily upon my heart, my heart would have been gripped in that moment by that icy grip about my heart.
‘Is that so?’ I asked coolly.
‘Yes,’ she answered sensually.
‘And is that so, Princess Éowyn,’ I asked guardedly, ‘Because you, in fact…are the sorceress?’
In an instant, Éowyn’s face transformed into a hideous grimace, though she was still very attractive. ‘Ah, you’re clever as well as sightly, I see,’ she shrieked, her voice rich and fair. ‘Well, Lord Tallow, I see you’ve figured out my little game, but enough of that! Your life ends…now!’
With a magic word, she held out her hand, and a big ball of fire flew out of it! Surely, my life was over now, and this was the end of me and my epic tale!
Or so the wicked sorceress thought. For, standing in the middle of the fire, I rose, a smile on my face. ‘How…?’ she gasped, questioningly. ‘It’s impossible!’
‘It is not!’ I said smugly. ‘Indeed, it’s very not impossible!’ And triumphantly, I held up my hand, where I wore the Last Ring, power glowing from it as I used its power to stop the witch’s evil magic from hurting me.11
‘How…what…how did you even come by that?’ Éowyn asked in disbelief, her hair billowing behind her, her voice trembling in disbelief. ‘Is that indeed the Last Ring, lost all these years?’
‘It is,’ I said. ‘It is the property of a lowly boss of the Rangers, Aragorn Elessar. I am told he has had dealings with you?’
The princess nodded, ‘He has indeed,’ she says. Slowly, the magic died down around us, and the fire went out. Her eyes were now pleading, gentle. ‘You have conquered me, Lord Tallow,’ she gasped sultrily. ‘For all my arts and wiles, I have not the strength to overcome the Last Ring, when wielded by a worthy man. And, in any a case…’ and her words trailed off.
I drew closer, laying a hand on her trembling arm, looking at her, a maiden fair beyond compare. A wicked witch she may have been, but I know well that even the evillest may turn to be good, if only given the chance. Looking deep within her eyes, I knew that this princess, evil sorceress aside, was not truly bad, just misguided.
‘Yes…?’ I asked searchingly.
‘In any a case,’ she murmured. ‘I now find that, even if I could harm you, I would not. For truly, you are the bravest, the wittiest, and the most handsome man I ever did see.’ And she looked into my dashingly rugged face, and so we fell in love.
For a while, we embraced passionately, and also kissed a bit. Then, I said, ‘Enough, for now, my sweet! For great deeds need doing, and we must do them,’ for my will was as iron in these troubled times.
‘Oh yes,’ she said.
‘First, you must lift your curse on Mr Elessar,’ I said. ‘Then, we must away to Rohan and to your father, for though you have learned your magic through evil means, I do not doubt that you’ll be very useful in killing Saruman! Then, we must return to Gondor, and stop Denethor, and restore the kingship to Mr Elessar. And then…who knows?’
So, we set off, and my heart was glad. This day, I had made a powerful friend, and caused a fair maiden lost in deceits to turn back to being good, and that was good. Also, now we could do something about the entire mess with Gondor. Aye, things were looking good!
If only I knew the trouble that lay ahead of me, and the true thought of the wily temptress witch who maybe even now schemed against me…
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1 He was.
2 It had not.
3 This description alone should serve as ample proof that Nick Tallow never stepped within the bounds of Lothlorien, being familiar with it rather through travellers’ fancies and the tales of the superstitious. To Tallow’s incredibly minimal credit, however, it is at least a pleasingly credible (if wholly false) explanation for how the Golden Wood may have come about its name. As such, I am sure that he had heard this explanation from someone else.
4 It would appear that the standards by which Nick Tallow measures the beauty of a woman are deeply, terribly revealing, of his character, his “gift” for prose and his broad experience alike.
5 Even by Nick Tallow’s woeful standards, his casting of the Lady Éowyn of Ithilien in this dubious role is a baffling decision. Yet there may be, as ever, some strain of rationality disguised beneath the layers of absurdity. For now, it will suffice to say that Tallow was evidently aware of rumour that a sorceress dwelt in the Golden Wood (a tale that persists in many less learned lands to this day), and for the purposes of the idiotic narrative he devised, it suited him to place the Lady Éowyn in the role.
I weep that I must now write these words, yet written they must be so as not to slander the faultless name of the Lady Éowyn. There is no record that the Lady Éowyn ever practiced any form of witchcraft, ever visited Lothlorien, ever served the Dark Lord or any of his agents or purposes, or ever did any single one of the deeds that Tallow ascribes to her. The one concession that may be granted Tallow is that he may have met the Lady - his description of her, bawdy though it be coloured, is not unfair, and their paths may well have crossed briefly and by ill chance in Minas Tirith itself. Whatever impression the charlatan may have left on Lady Éowyn was almost certainly both fleeting and forgettable, though.
6 She was not.
7 Obvious though this may seem to us, Tallow’s Northern audience were apparently broadly ignorant even of such fundamental affairs of statehood.
8 Nick Tallow’s introduction of this narrative thread may indeed have some basis in truth - if, as ever, both grossly misinterpreted and misplaced. When the Lady Éowyn rode with the Host of the Mark to the aid of Minas Tirith in the War of the Ring, her abandoning of her post as steward of the people of Rohan did indeed lead to rumour and mistaken knowledge, especially among the peoples of farflung and rude hamlets and towns far from Edoras. Éowyn made ready her departure in great secrecy, so as not to attract the attention of her uncle or brother, and though she made arrangement for the governorship of Rohan to be managed in her absence, that knowledge was slow to reach the ears of all, and became confused in the telling. Indeed, to this day, ‘The Lay of the Lost Lady’ is a well-known lament in the Wold.
9 She had not.
10 He was not.
11 As with many of the greater and lesser virtues alike, a care to maintain continuity cannot be counted among Nick Tallow’s meagre strengths.
