So it was that, with the fair Princess Éowyn by my side, I departed from the dread Golden Wood with life and sanity intact, a great feat indeed by the accounting of any man. A little bit later, we came back to the Ranger camp by Loopy Creek, where still those lowly ruffians feasted and partied, revelling about the place and enjoying their loot.
‘Hello,’ I said.
‘Hello,’ said Mr Elessar. ‘How are you, Lord Tallow?’
‘Fine thanks, Mr Elessar,’ I said. ‘How about you?’
‘I’m also fine,’ he said. ‘Would you like something to drink?’
‘That would be nice,’ I said.
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Meregrin, get our guests something to drink.’
‘Alright then,’ said Meregrin the hobbit.
‘Oh, by the way, this is Princess Éowyn,’ I said to Mr Elessar.
‘Hello,’ said Mr Elessar.
‘Hello,’ said Princess Éowyn.
‘How are you?’ said Mr Elessar.
‘I’m fine thanks. How about you?’ said Éowyn.
‘Quite well indeed, thanks,’ said Mr Elessar
‘Sorry I cursed you before,’ said Éowyn attractively.
‘Oh that’s alright,’ said Mr Elessar. ‘Thanks for lifting it.’
‘That’s alright’ said Éowyn.
‘Here are your drinks,’ said Meregrin the hobbit.
We took our drinks, and toasted to friendship and fortune and the ending of evil!
‘To friendship, and fortune, and the ending of evil!’ I said.
‘Aye, indeed!’ cried everyone in agreement.
‘Speaking of which, I suppose we should decide what we must do next. We need to help King Théoden, of course, and also stop the High Steward Denethor from doing whatever he’s doing. Then we should really kill King Sauron once and for all. Also, we need to decide what to do about this ring, of course. It's a lot to do, really, and I suppose we should come to some sort of plan.’ I said.1
‘Oh yes of course, my old ring,’ said Mr Elessar. ‘You never told me what was so special about it, Lord Tallow.’
‘That ring,’ I said, ‘is the Last Ring. The Ring that old Sauron needs to take over the world and destroy everything. It was lost, many years ago, but now has been found, so we should decide what to do with it,’ I said ponderously.
‘We should hide it,’ said Mr Elessar.
‘We should use it,’ said Princess Éowyn.
‘I think we should destroy it,’ I said.
‘Oh,’ said Mr Elessar and Éowyn.
‘Until the Last Ring is destroyed, lots of wicked people will be tempted to use it,’ I expounded, ‘And also, so it will be so that Sauron will keep on living forever, which is bad. If we destroy the Ring, we can all live in peace forever!’
‘But how can the Last Ring be destroyed?’ asked Éowyn sultrily, looking to me for guidance.
‘I’ll figure that out later,’ I said wisely.
‘So be it,’ said Mr Elessar.
‘By the way, I was wondering something,’ said Mr Elessar. ‘How came it to be that I even had the Last Ring, anyway? I mean, it’s been in my family for ages, how is it even possible that they had it?’
I felt the creeping hand of dread creep up my spine, as it were even verily like the creeping coming of doom. Long had I dreaded this very question, yet I knew that it must be answered, for it was a question of great import, that needed answering.
‘Mr Elessar, my friend Aragorn,’ I said solemnly. ‘That Ring, as all who are learned know, was once borne by Isildur, the King of Gondor, and was passed down by his descendants to their descendants. Then, long long ago, the King of Gondor accidentally married a wicked witch and went missing, and nobody could find him. Probably the witch killed him or something. Anyway, ever since then, the Ring has been missing. Missing, until it was found, which it was but of late. Found here, in this very glade, borne by a Ranger. A humble, unknown Ranger, of mysterious origin. And that Ranger, Mr Elessar…was you.’
Mr Elessar’s face turned very very white, as white as milk from a healthy cow, as pale as the shining moon, but not when the moon does that thing where it turns a bit red. Éowyn said, seductively, her hair falling down her shoulders and her red lips shining, her breast heaving, her slender ankles bare and sightly, ‘But what do you mean, Lord Tallow?’
‘What I mean is that thee, Mr Elessar, are the right King of Gondor,’ I declared.
Mr Elessar’s face turned white with fear, a fell and grey fear. He seemed unhappy. ‘But I don’t want to,’ said Mr Elessar.
‘You must,’ I said. ‘It is your destiny.’
Mr Elessar shook his head as if to say no. ‘No,’ he said. ‘It cannot be so, I am but a worthless vagabond, a roaming layabout. I’m not worthy to be the King of Gondor.’2
‘So you say, yet I see it is other,’ I said wisely. ‘You’re a good man, Aragorn. Maybe, ere the end comes, you will see that you are indeed of noble bearing and would make a great king indeed, and indeed it may be that you realise this before the end indeed.’
‘You are wise, Lord Tallow, and I am loathe to disagree with your judgement, for I can tell that you are seldom wrong,’ said Mr Elessar. ‘But in this matter, I am certain you are wrong. But we will see.’
‘Indeed, we will see,’ I agreed.
‘Yes, we will,’ said Mr Elessar.
‘We will see,’ observed Éowyn.
‘Anyway,’ I said. ‘We should probably decide what to do for now, I suppose.’
‘What do you think, Lord Tallow?’ asked Éowyn sultrily.
I thought. Then I said what I had thought, ‘I think we should go first to Isengard, and to Saruman,’ I said. ‘I’m sure your father King Théoden will be glad to see you again, and if we can kill Saruman the White, then maybe the Rohirrim can all come to Gondor with us and fight Mordor.’
‘It is a good plan,’ said Mr Elessar. ‘Then let us away! COME, RANGERS!’ he shouted loudly. ‘WE RIDE TO WAR, AND TO GREAT DEEDS, AND TO THE AID OF GOOD PEOPLE!’
'HUZZAH!' shouted all the Rangers. It was a stirring sight, to see the hearts of folk so depraved and wicked moved truly to do something nice.
So off we went to Rohan to Isengard, to help the Rohirrim kill Saruman and destroy his army. For many days did we journey, by day and by night, walking away from where we had been and closer to where we were going, which was Isengard. In that time, Mr Elessar seemed troubled indeed, doubtless by his kingly destiny, and the Princess Éowyn and I fell ever deeper in love, and all the Rangers marvelled at her beauty, though they did not marvel that we were a couple, for they could see that the nobleisity of my bearing was a perfect match for how pretty she looked.
A few days later, we came even unto the very gates of Isengard, and there we were met by a strange sight! For indeed, the Rohirrim were camped all about, and were trying to get in the gate, but in the centre of their camp there was weeping and lamentation, and everyone seemed miserable.
‘Hello,’ I said.
‘Hello,’ said someone from the Rohirrim.
‘What’s happened?’ I said.
And the news that answered me was grave and shocking indeed, grave even unto the point of being sombre.
‘King Théoden has been poisoned. He is dying.’
Oh no! What would happen next?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
1 Among the many diverse questions concerning the dubious life of Nick Tallow, one of the chief mysteries must surely be how much (or little, more likely) of the policies, motivations and goals of the War of the Ring's central players he actually understood. On the one hand, detractors of Tallow (and it is to be assumed that these form the greater part of those few who actually know of him at all) would likely argue that this here text itself is proof enough of Tallow’s extraordinary stupidity.
I, to be clear, am indeed a detractor of Tallow. Yet perhaps I have spent too much time reading and studying his inane story, for I find myself defending him on this point - to a point. To be sure, Tallow was likely spectacularly ignorant concerning certain happenings and motives of the War; though perhaps no more ignorant than many Men like him. Yet I find it impossible to believe that Tallow was as stupid as it may appear. Tallow was craven, foolish, unlearned, selfish and cunning, but he did possess some wit, if base and misused. My guess is rather that Tallow perceived the War through a political lens, ignorant of its broader history, yet somewhat aware of its immediate context.
To Tallow's mind, such a low understanding was likely sufficient. However, Tallow’s ultimate goal with this book was indeed not to tell a dull story of political intrigue, but a broad and heroic epic in the mode of the greater tales, an epic of Good and Evil. Tallow, though, was assuredly not among the great taletellers. His prose is atrocious, his knowledge of human nature lacking, and even his basic moral character so gravely deficient as to prohibit any serious attempt on his part at studying questions of virtue and wickedness.
Yet attempt it he did. Hence, we are burdened with Tallow’s turgid legacy, this inane and bizarre and utterly awful piece of self-aggrandising nonsense based, in the loosest sense possible, upon actual historical events reinterpreted so as to suit his own needs. This, at least, is my guess, and how near the mark it is, I cannot say. Yet I find it more plausible an explanation than the alternative; that Tallow was truly so blind to the events about him that he believed his version remotely credible.
Which of these explanations would cause me the greater grief if proven true, on the other hand, I cannot truly say.
2 It is, of course, frankly baffling that Nick Tallow casts “Aragorn” as being unwilling to seek the throne of Gondor. In truth, King Elessar’s gaining of the kingship was a labour of many years, and richly deserved once earned, and never have I or any peer of mine come across some hint that Aragorn ever wavered from that goal. Tallow, though, was (as has been made abundantly clear) broadly ignorant of nearly every detail of biography and character concerning the King, and this would seem to be a cheap (and laughably unsuccessful) attempt on his part at building narrative tension and drama, and (as will be seen) creating a key role for himself as the restorer of the Line of Isildur.
