Early the next morn, I rose and departed from the inn, even as the sun rose. I rode swift and true, heading towards Loopy Creek in the north, even as the wizard Mithrandir had counselled I should do. I could but hope that I was going the right way, and that he wasn’t trying to lure me into a trap.
The sun was shining, hot, like an oven and bright, like a fire in an oven. The wind blew, and birds flew about here and there, birds like eagles and sparrows and so on. The grass was green, growing on the plains and hills, except for when there wasn’t any grass or it was a bit brown and dead. Sometimes there was a tree.1
Anyway, as the sun drew low, I came to the forest where Loopy Creek was. Cautious of danger, I dismounted and drew my sword, ready to bravely kill any enemies in an instant. Slowly, I snuck into the wood, darting from tree to tree and scanning the ground, looking for any sign or sound of the boorish Rangers.
It did not take long before I heard the sound of song, drifting through the trees! Loud and rustic it was, with little tune or taste and mixed with the ugly profanities favoured by such brigands. Here and there, there was a great drunken cry, a ‘Hey, there, ninny now!’ or some such exclamation. I knew I was drawing near, and as I approached, I could pick out their crude verses.
Loot and plunder, pillage and spoil!
Steal some stuff and wreak turmoil,
Work’s no fun when you sweat and toil,
It’s a Ranger’s life for me!
Roaming, scrounging, sneaking and lying,
Vagabond folk from towns go flying,
Honest labour leaves us crying,
It’s a Ranger’s life for me!
Slashing, hacking, killing and mashing,
Our bright blades are swinging and flashing,
Chopping up folk who’re wailing and gnashing,
It’s a Ranger’s life for me!
Eating, drinking, feasting and fun!
We laze about all day in the sun!
Decent work we spurn and shun,
It’s a Ranger’s life for me!
It’s a Ranger’s life for me! Hey!2
I hid behind a tree and glanced out, stealthy as a fox, or a man who is hiding from the father of a daughter with whom he enjoyed a perfectly pleasant and innocent evening in a private room in an inn though sadly the daughter has misplaced some of her most valuable jewellery that can be pawned for a reasonable price within the week.3 Camped by the brook was a company of Rangers, not more than fifty in number. Ill-favoured folk they were, scowling and ugly, dressed in dirty and ragged clothes and armed to the teeth. Scattered all about the camp was their ill-gotten loot, gold and jewels and supplies, stolen from good and honest folk, and over a fire they were roasting a whole pig, doubtless the fruit of their latest raid. They were whooping and cheering and singing, crude and wild.
Yet as I looked closer I saw one of their number sitting a little apart from the rest, and he caught my eye, for there was something eye catching about him. He was clad as the others were, in some horrible dirty tunic and cloak, but he sat still in thought, not joining in the ribald fun of his company. There was a nobility in his bearing, though he was outwardly as churlishly favoured as the rest. His eyes I could not see, for he wore a great hat that hid his gaze, but there was something striking about him.
As I crouched, and watched carefully, I suddenly heard some sudden movement behind me! Warily I spun round, sticking out my sword, and then I saw a strange sight indeed. Behind me, not more than a few paces away, was a hobbit! He was clad even as the Rangers were, in dirty and ill-favoured garb, but fitted for his small stature, and in his hand he clutched a wicked blade.
Even as I whipped out my own sword from its sheath, the nasty little creature charged at me with a primal shout and drove its blade against mine. As I parried, I heard another noise from behind me and spun round just in time to see yet another hobbit jump from a tree, swinging a club directly at my head! Obviously, normally my prowess would be too great for such folk, but I was taken by surprise, from behind, and by trickery by the cowards! So it was that the club struck my head and I sunk to the ground, dazed and confused. As I drifted into unconsciousness, the last thing that I remembered was Boromir’s dying words. ‘Watch out for the hobbits…’
And I knew no more.
*******
When I came to, I was tied up securely, in the very middle of the Ranger camp. Captured by these ruffians, I knew I was in grave peril, and at once, I began working on my bound wrists, stealthy and quiet. As I glanced around, I saw and heard that the brigands remained engaged in their carousing, seeming heedless of my presence among them. Only one watched me closely, and that was the man in the hat who, seeing my movement, rose and approached me, coming very close indeed.
I saw now that he was tall, likely just about as tall as I, with a strange lean face and grey thoughtful eyes. At his side was a sword of surprisingly fine make, and obscured by the hat was a green jewel, bound about his brow, of like quality to some in my own modest collection in my castle in Gondor. He crouched down, looking into my eyes, and spoke, and his voice was soft, yet rich and commanding.
‘Well met, sir,’ he said quietly. ‘To what do we owe this pleasure, then?’
‘Unhand me at once, scoundrel!’ I cried.
The man smiled. ‘That I may, in time,’ he answered. ‘But first I would know who you are, and what you are doing, spying on me and my men.’
‘Well might I ask you the same question,’ I answered. ‘But I am Lord Nicthalion Tallow, of Gondor. You may call me Lord Tallow.’
‘Lord Tallow, eh? Well, Lord Tallow, well met,’ said the man. ‘I, for my part, am the leader of this band. My name is Mr Elessar.’4
I gasped. ‘Aragorn Elessar?’ I asked, with a shocked gasp.
The man frowned. ‘How do you know that name?’ he demanded.
‘You were the one sought by Boromir the Brave,’ I answered, ‘the one whom he left Gondor to find!’
Mr Elessar rose and turned dramatically, casting his hand to his brow. ‘Aye, Boromir,’ he said with woe. ‘I knew him well, but briefly. Truly, he was a good man.’
I sensed that this Mr Elessar spoke truly, as he turned back to me, his eyes swimming with sudden tears. ‘You knew him, then?’ he asked.
‘He was my best of friends and truest of allies,’ I answered. ‘And he trusted me, beyond all men.’
Mr Elessar suddenly drew out a knife, and loosed me from my bonds. We rose, and eyed each other warily, but with a strange respect. Here, I thought, was a man near my equal in kingly wisdom and courage. Here was a man among men, a man nearly as good as me.
‘Sit, Lord Tallow, and make yourself at ease,’ said Mr Elessar. ‘I will tell you my tale, and then you may judge my actions aright. I am not proud of them, and am sad for the evil done, yet maybe you will not judge me so harshly. Yet it is true, I knew Boromir, and I am not blameless in his death.’
And so I sat, among the unruly camp of the ruffian Rangers, and waited for Aragorn Elessar to begin his strange tale.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
1 Even by Nick Tallow’s appalling standards, these lines seem peculiarly poorly formed. It would seem that Tallow was fully aware that, according to the mode of those epic tales he was unsuccessfully emulating, some sense of beauty, of grandeur and of passage should be conveyed at points. This, alas, would appear to be his best attempt at evoking some sense of wondrous detail.
2 Tallow’s skill at writing simple metrical and rhyming schemes is markedly more practiced than his mastery of epicry. Needless to say, the verses set here are uncorroborated by the records of any of the Dúnedain of the North, South, or any direction at all, but the composition bears striking likeness to certain traditional comic songs of Dwarves of the Blue Mountains, Shire-Hobbits, and even Men of the Bree-lands (in form and overall levity, if not in content).
3 An alarmingly specific analogy.
4 It is not easy to judge where best to begin with this remark.
Firstly, the likelihood that Nick Tallow ever met or knew the King Elessar is vanishingly small. His impression of Elessar’s manner is crude, his knowledge of Elessar’s history bare, and it is not recorded that Elessar ever wore a hat, even in his early years of wandering exile.
Nonetheless, it seems that Tallow at least had some fair impression of the King, if fleeting and confused. His description of certain features of appearance and impression is strikingly fair, and (as will be seen) there is a reasonable awareness of Elessar’s deeds during the War.
It is my belief that Tallow’s path first crossed with that of King Elessar when the Dúnedain routed the Corsairs of Umbar in Lebennin and captured the Black Fleet. From there, Tallow went with the fleet to Pelennor (perhaps not wholly willingly, being rather caught in the great events about him), and later beheld the return of the Free Peoples that marched upon the Black Gate and the crowning of Elessar as King.
Further evidence for this version of events follows later in the tale and in secondary accounts of Nick Tallow’s movements, and I will endeavour to identify these hints as they become apparent. For now though, it is worth noting that Tallow’s estimation of the Rangers’ number (less than fifty) is in truth not so far from the actual strength of the Grey Company that passed through Erech.
Finally, a word regarding Tallow’s confusion regarding the name of the King. In the North, it is the practice among many peoples to take some family name, that accompanies the given name. Doubtless Nick Tallow, on hearing the name “Aragorn Elessar” (correctly) assumed that Aragorn was his birth name, and (incorrectly) that Elessar was the name of his family. Hence, Tallow uses the attested Northern honorific of “Mister” in conjunction with the mistaken last name, as would be correct (say) for “Mr Tallow”, yet is egregiously wrong in the case of King Elessar. Nonetheless Tallow's error is understandable (if utterly stupid), when contextualised through the customs of the North with which he was familiar.
