PART FOUR.
UNFINISHED TALES.
XVI.
THE NEW SHADOW.
This story, or fragment of a story, is now published for the first time,
though its existence has long been known.(1) The textual history is not
complicated, but there is a surprising amount of it.
There is, first, a collection of material in manuscript, beginning with
two sides of a page carrying the original opening of the story: this goes
no further than the recollection of the young man (here called Egal-
moth)(2) of the rebuke and lecture that he received from Borlas (3) when
caught by him stealing apples from his orchard as a boy. There is then
a text, which I will call 'A', written in rapid but clear script, and this
extends as far as the story ever went (here also the young man's
name is Egalmoth). This was followed by a typescript in top copy and
carbon 'B', which follows A pretty closely and ends at the same point:
there are a great many small changes in expression, but nothing that
alters the narrative in even minor ways (the young man, however, now
bears the name Arthael). There is also an amanuensis typescript
derived from B, without independent value.(4)
Finally, there is another typescript, 'C', also with carbon copy,
which extends only to the point in the story where the young man -
here named Saelon (5) - leaves Borlas in his garden 'searching back in his
mind to discover how this strange and alarming conversation had
begun' (p. 416). This text C treats B much as B treats A: altering the
expression (fairly radically in places), but in no way altering the story,
or giving to it new bearings.
It seems strange that my father should have made no less than three
versions, each showing very careful attention to improvement of the
text in detail, when the story had proceeded for so short a distance.
The evidence of the typewriters used suggests, however, that C was
made very substantially later. The machine on which B was typed was
the one he used in the 1950s before the acquisition of that referred to
in X.300, while the italic script of A could with some probability be
ascribed to that time; but the typewriter used for C was his last.(6)
In his Biography (p. 228) Humphrey Carpenter stated that in 1965
my father 'found a typescript of "The New Shadow", a sequel to
The Lord of the Rings which he had begun a long time ago but
had abandoned after a few pages.... He sat up till four a.m. read-
ing it and thinking about it.' I do not know the source of this state-
ment; but further evidence is provided by a used envelope, postmarked
8 January 1968, on the back of which my father scribbled a passage
concerning Borlas, developing further the account of his circum-
stances at the time of the opening of the story (see note 14). This is
certain evidence that he was still concerned with The New Shadow as
late as 1968; and since the passage roughed out here would follow on
from the point reached in the typescript C (see note 14) it seems very
likely that C dates from that time.
Such as the evidence is, then, the original work (represented by the
manuscript A and the typescript B) derives from the 1950s. In a letter
of 13 May 1964 (Letters no.256) he wrote:
I did begin a story placed about 100 years after the Downfall [of
Sauron], but it proved both sinister and depressing. Since we are
dealing with Men it is inevitable that we should be concerned with
the most regrettable feature of their nature: their quick satiety
with good. So that the people of Gondor in times of peace, justice
and prosperity, would become discontented and restless - while the
dynasts descended from Aragorn would become just kings and
governors - like Denethor or worse. I found that even so early there
was an outcrop of revolutionary plots, about a centre of secret
Satanistic religion; while Gondorian boys were playing at being
Orcs and going round doing damage. I could have written a 'thriller'
about the plot and its discovery and overthrow - but it would be
just that. Not worth doing.
From the evidence given above, however, it is seen that his interest in
the story was subsequently reawakened, and even reached the point
of making a new (though incomplete) version of what he had written
of it years before. But in 1972, fifteen months before his death, he
wrote to his friend Douglas Carter (Letters no.338):
I have written nothing beyond the first few years of the Fourth Age.
(Except the beginning of a tale supposed to refer to the end of
the reign of Eldarion about 100 years after the death of Aragorn.
Then I of course discovered that the King's Peace would contain
no tales worth recounting; and his wars would have little interest
after the overthrow of Sauron; but that almost certainly a restless-
ness would appear about then, owing to the (it seems) inevitable
boredom of Men with the good: there would be secret societies
practising dark cults, and 'orc-cults' among adolescents.)
To form the text that now follows I print C so far as it goes, with the
sinister young man given the name Saelon; and from that point I give
the text of B, changing the name from Arthael in B to Saelon.
THE NEW SHADOW.
This tale begins in the days of Eldarion, son of that Elessar of
whom the histories have much to tell. One hundred and five
years had passed since the fall of the Dark Tower,(7) and the story
of that time was little heeded now by most of the people of
Gondor, though a few were still living who could remember the
War of the Ring as a shadow upon their early childhood. One
of these was old Borlas of Pen-arduin. He was the younger son
of Beregond, the first Captain of the Guard of Prince Faramir,
who had removed with his lord from the City to the Emyn
Arnen.(8)
'Deep indeed run the roots of Evil,' said Borlas, 'and the black
sap is strong in them. That tree will never be slain. Let men hew
it as often as they may, it will thrust up shoots again as soon as
they turn aside. Not even at the Feast of Felling should the axe
be hung up on the wall! '
'Plainly you think you are speaking wise words,' said Saelon.
'I guess that by the gloom in your voice, and by the nodding of
your head. But what is this all about? Your life seems fair
enough still, for an aged man that does not now go far abroad.
Where have you found a shoot of your dark tree growing? In
your own garden?'
Borlas looked up, and as he glanced keenly at Saelon he
wondered suddenly if this young man, usually gay and often
half mocking, had more in his mind than appeared in his face.
Borlas had not intended to open his heart to him, but being
burdened in thought he had spoken aloud, more to himself than
his companion. Saelon did not return his glance. He was hum-
ming softly, while he trimmed a whistle of green willow with a
sharp nail-knife.
The two were sitting in an arbour near the steep eastern shore
of Anduin where it flowed about the feet of the hills of Arnen.
They were indeed in Borlas's garden and his small grey-stone
house could be seen through the trees above them on the hill-
slope facing west. Borlas looked at the river, and at the trees in
their June leaves, and then far off to the towers of the City under
the glow of late afternoon. 'No, not in my garden,' he said
thoughtfully.
'Then why are you so troubled?' asked Saelon. 'If a man has
a fair garden with strong walls, then he has as much as any man
can govern for his own pleasure.' He paused. 'As long as he
keeps the strength of life in him,' he added. 'When that fails,
why trouble about any lesser ill? For then he must soon leave his
garden at last, and others must look to the weeds.'
Borlas sighed, but he did not answer, and Saelon went on:
'But there are of course some who will not be content, and to
their life's end they trouble their hearts about their neighbours,
and the City, and the Realm, and all the wide world. You are
one of them, Master Borlas, and have ever been so, since I first
knew you as a boy that you caught in your orchard. Even then
you were not content to let ill alone: to deter me with a beating,
or to strengthen your fences. No. You were grieved and wanted
to improve me. You had me into your house and talked to me.
'I remember it well. "Orcs' work," you said many times.
"Stealing good fruit, well, I suppose that is no worse than boys'
work, if they are hungry, or their fathers are too easy. But
pulling down unripe apples to break or cast away! That is Orcs'
work. How did you come to do such a thing, lad?"
'Orcs' work! I was angered by that, Master Borlas, and too
proud to answer, though it was in my heart to say in child's
words: "If it was wrong for a boy to steal an apple to eat, then
it is wrong to steal one to play with. But not more wrong. Don't
speak to me of Orcs' work, or I may show you some!"
'It was a mistake, Master Borlas. For I had heard tales of the
Orcs and their doings, but I had not been interested till then.
You turned my mind to them. I grew out of petty thefts (my
father was not too easy), but I did not forget the Orcs. I began
to feel hatred and think of the sweetness of revenge. We played
at Orcs, I and my friends, and sometimes I thought: "Shall I
gather my band and go and cut down his trees? Then he will
think that the Orcs have really returned." But that was a long
time ago,' Saelon ended with a smile.
Borlas was startled. He was now receiving confidences, not
giving them. And there was something disquieting in the young
man's tone, something that made him wonder whether deep
down, as deep as the roots of the dark trees, the childish resent-
ment did not still linger. Yes, even in the heart of Saelon, the
friend of his own son, and the young man who had in the last
few years shown him much kindness in his loneliness.(9) At any
rate he resolved to say no more of his own thoughts to him.
'Alas!' he said, 'we all make mistakes. I do not claim wisdom,
young man, except maybe the little that one may glean with the
passing of the years. From which I know well enough the
sad truth that those who mean well may do more harm than
those who let things be. I am sorry now for what I said, if it
roused hate in your heart. Though I still think that it was just:
untimely maybe, and yet true. Surely even a boy must under-
stand that fruit is fruit, and does not reach its full being until it
is ripe; so that to misuse it unripe is to do worse than just to rob
the man that has tended it: it robs the world, hinders a good
thing from fulfilment. Those who do so join forces with all that
is amiss, with the blights and the cankers and the ill winds. And
that was the way of Orcs.'
'And is the way of Men too,' said Saelon. 'No! I do not mean
of wild men only, or those who grew "under the Shadow", as
they say. I mean all Men. I would not misuse green fruit now,
but only because I have no longer any use for unripe apples,
not for your lofty reasons, Master Borlas. Indeed I think your
reasons as unsound as an apple that has been too long in store.
To trees all Men are Orcs. Do Men consider the fulfilment of
the life-story of a tree before they cut it down? For whatever
purpose: to have its room for tilth, to use its flesh as timber or
as fuel, or merely to open the view? If trees were the judges,
would they set Men above Orcs, or indeed above the cankers
and blights? What more right, they might ask, have Men to feed
on their juices than blights?'
'A man,' said Borlas, 'who tends a tree and guards it from
blights and many other enemies does not act like an Orc or a
canker. If he eats its fruit, he does it no injury. It produces fruit
more abundantly than it needs for its own purpose: the con-
tinuing of its kind.'
'Let him eat the fruit then, or play with it,' said Saelon. 'But I
spoke of slaying: hewing and burning; and by what right men
do such things to trees.'
'You did not. You spoke of the judgement of trees in these
matters. But trees are not judges. The children of the One are
the masters. My judgement as one of them you know already.
The evils of the world were not at first in the great Theme, but
entered with the discords of Melkor. Men did not come with
these discords; they entered afterwards as a new thing direct
from Eru, the One, and therefore they are called His children,
and all that was in the Theme they have, for their own good,
the right to use - rightly, without pride or wantonness, but with
reverence.(10)
'If the smallest child of a woodman feels the cold of winter,
the proudest tree is not wronged, if it is bidden to surrender its
flesh to warm the child with fire. But the child must not mar
the tree in play or spite, rip its bark or break its branches. And
the good husbandman will use first, if he can, dead wood or an
old tree; he will not fell a young tree and leave it to rot, for no
better reason than his pleasure in axe-play. That is orkish.
'But it is even as I said: the roots of Evil lie deep, and from far
off comes the poison that works in us, so that many do these
things - at times, and become then indeed like the servants of
Melkor. But the Orcs did these things at all times; they did harm
with delight to all things that could suffer it, and they were
restrained only by lack of power, not by either prudence or
mercy. But we have spoken enough of this.'
'Why!' said Saelon. 'We have hardly begun. It was not of your
orchard, nor your apples, nor of me, that you were thinking
when you spoke of the re-arising of the dark tree. What you
were thinking of, Master Borlas, I can guess nonetheless. I have
eyes and ears, and other senses, Master.' His voice sank low and
could scarcely be heard above the murmur of a sudden chill
wind in the leaves, as the sun sank behind Mindolluin. 'You
have heard then the name?' With hardly more than breath he
formed it. 'Of Herumor?'(11)
Borlas looked at him with amazement and fear. His mouth
made tremulous motions of speech, but no sound came from it.
'I see that you have,' said Saelon. 'And you seem astonished
to learn that I have heard it also. But you are not more aston-
ished than I was to see that this name has reached you. For, as I
say, I have keen eyes and ears, but yours are now dim even for
daily use, and the matter has been kept as secret as cunning
could contrive.'
'Whose cunning?' said Borlas, suddenly and fiercely. The
sight of his eyes might be dim, but they blazed now with anger.
'Why, those who have heard the call of the name, of course,'
answered Saelon unperturbed. 'They are not many yet, to set
against all the people of Gondor, but the number is growing.
Not all are content since the Great King died, and fewer now are
afraid.'
'So I have guessed,' said Borlas, 'and it is that thought that
chills the warmth of summer in my heart. For a man may have
a garden with strong walls, Saelon, and yet find no peace or con-
tent there. There are some enemies that such walls will not keep
out; for his garden is only part of a guarded realm after all. It is
to the walls of the realm that he must look for his real defence.
But what is the call? What would they do?' he cried, laying his
hand on the young man's knee.
'I will ask you a question first before I answer yours,' said
Saelon; and now he looked searchingly at the old man. 'How
have you, who sit here in the Emyn Arnen and seldom go now
even to the City - how have you heard the whispers of this
name?'
Borlas looked down on the ground and clasped his hands
between his knees. For some time he did not answer. At last he
looked up again; his face had hardened and his eyes were more
wary. 'I will not answer that, Saelon,' he said. 'Not until I have
asked you yet another question. First tell me,' he said slowly,
'are you one of those who have listened to the,call?'
A strange smile flickered about the young man's mouth.
'Attack is the best defence,' he answered, 'or so the Captains tell
us; but when both sides use this counsel there is a clash of battle.
So I will counter you. I will not answer you, Master Borlas, until
you tell me: are you one of those who have listened, or no?'
'How can you think it?' cried Borlas.
'And how can you think it?' asked Saelon.
'As for me,' said Borlas, 'do not all my words give you the
answer?'
'But as for me, you would say,' said Saelon, 'my words might
make me doubtful? Because I defended a small boy who threw
unripe apples at his playmates from the name of Orc? Or
because I spoke of the suffering of trees at the hands of men?
Master Borlas, it is unwise to judge a man's heart from words
spoken in an argument without respect for your opinions. They
may be meant to disturb you. Pert maybe, but possibly better
than a mere echo.(12) I do not doubt that many of those we spoke
of would use words as solemn as yours, and speak reverently of
the Great Theme and such things - in your presence. Well, who
shall answer first?'
'The younger it would have been in the courtesy of old,' said
Borlas; 'or between men counted as equals, the one who was
first asked. You are both.'
Saelon smiled. 'Very well,' he said. 'Let me see: the first
question that you asked unanswered was: what is the call, what
would they do? Can you find no answer in the past for all your
age and lore? I am young and less learned. Still, if you really
wish to know, I could perhaps make the whispers clearer to
you.'
He stood up. The sun had set behind the mountains; shadows
were deepening. The western wall of Borlas's house on the hill-
side was yellow in the afterglow, but the river below was dark.
He looked up at the sky, and then away down the Anduin. 'It is
a fair evening still,' he said, 'but the wind has shifted eastward.
There will be clouds over the moon tonight.'
'Well, what of it?' said Borlas, shivering a little as the air
chilled. 'Unless you mean only to warn an old man to hasten
indoors and keep his bones from aching.' He rose and turned to
the path towards his house, thinking that the young man meant
to say no more; but Saelon stepped up beside him and laid a
hand on his arm.
'I warn you rather to clothe yourself warmly after nightfall,'
he said. 'That is, if you wish to learn more; for if you do, you
will come with me on a journey tonight. I will meet you at your
eastern gate behind your house; or at least I shall pass that way
as soon as it is full dark, and you shall come or not as you will.
I shall be clad in black, and anyone who goes with me must be
clad alike. Farewell now, Master Borlas! Take counsel with
yourself while the light lasts.'
With that Saelon bowed and turned away, going along
another path that ran near the edge of the steep shore, away
northward to the house of his father.(13) He disappeared round a
bend while his last words were still echoing in Borlas's ears.
For some while after Saelon had gone Borlas stood still,
covering his eyes and resting his brow against the cool bark of
a tree beside the path. As he stood he searched back in his mind
to discover how this strange and alarming conversation had
begun. What he would do after nightfall he did not yet consider.
He had not been in good spirits since the spring, though well
enough in body for his age, which burdened him less than his
loneliness.(14) Since his son, Berelach,(15) had gone away again in
April - he was in the Ships, and now lived mostly near Pelargir
where his duty was - Saelon had been most attentive, whenever
he was at home. He went much about the lands of late. Borlas
was not sure of his business, though he understood that, among
other interests, he dealt in timber. He brought news from all
over the kingdom to his old friend. Or to his friend's old father;
for Berelach had been his constant companion at one time,
though they seemed seldom to meet nowadays.
'Yes, that was it,' Borlas said to himself. 'I spoke to Saelon of
Pelargir, quoting Berelach. There has been some small disquiet
down at the Ethir: a few shipmen have disappeared, and also a
small vessel of the Fleet. Nothing much, according to Berelach.
'"Peace makes things slack," he said, I remember, in the voice
of an under-officer. "Well, they went off on some ploy of their
own, I suppose - friends in one of the western havens, perhaps
- without leave and without a pilot, and they were drowned. It
serves them right. We get too few real sailors these days. Fish are
more profitable. But at least all know that the west coasts are
not safe for the unskilled."
'That was all. But I spoke of it to Saelon, and asked if he had
heard anything of it away south. "Yes," he said, "I did. Few
were satisfied with the official view. The men were not
unskilled; they were sons of fishermen. And there have been no
storms off the coasts for a long time.>
As he heard Saelon say this, suddenly Borlas had remembered
the other rumours, the rumours that Othrondir (16) had spoken
of. It was he who had used the word 'canker'. And then half to
himself Borlas had spoken aloud about the Dark Tree.
He uncovered his eyes and fondled the shapely trunk of
the tree that he had leaned on, looking up at its shadowy
leaves against the clear fading sky. A star glinted through the
branches. Softly he spoke again, as if to the tree.
'Well, what is to be done now? Clearly Saelon is in it. But is
it clear? There was the sound of mockery in his words, and
scorn of the ordered life of Men. He would not answer a
straight question. The black clothes! And yet - why invite me to
go with him? Not to convert old Borlas! Useless. Useless to try:
no one would hope to win over a man who remembered the Evil
of old, however far off. Useless if one succeeded: old Borlas is
of no use any longer as a tool for any hand. Saelon might be
trying to play the spy, seeking to find out what lies behind
the whispers. Black might be a disguise, or an aid to stealth
by night. But again, what could I do to help on any secret or
dangerous errand? I should be better out of the way.'
With that a cold thought touched Borlas's heart. Put out of
the way - was that it? He was to be lured to some place where
he could disappear, like the Shipmen? The invitation to go with
Saelon had been given only after he had been startled into
revealing that he knew of the whispers - had even heard the
name. And he had declared his hostility.
This thought decided Borlas, and he knew that he was
resolved now to stand robed in black at the gate in the first dark
of night. He was challenged, and he would accept. He smote his
palm against the tree. 'I am not a dotard yet, Neldor,' he said;
'but death is not so far off that I shall lose many good years, if
I lose the throw.'
He straightened his back and lifted his head, and walked
away up the path, slowly but steadily. The thought crossed his
mind even as he stepped over the threshold: 'Perhaps I have
been preserved so long for this purpose: that one should still
live, hale in mind, who remembers what went before the Great
Peace. Scent has a long memory. I think I could still smell the old
Evil, and know it for what it is.'
The door under the porch was open; but the house behind
was darkling. There seemed none of the accustomed sounds of
evening, only a soft silence, a dead silence. He entered, wonder-
ing a little. He called, but there was no answer. He halted in the
narrow passage that ran through the house, and it seemed that
he was wrapped in a blackness: not a glimmer of twilight of the
world outside remained there. Suddenly he smelt it, or so it
seemed, though it came as it were from within outwards to the
sense: he smelt the old Evil and knew it for what it was.
Here, both in A and B, The New Shadow ends, and it will never be
known what Borlas found in his dark and silent house, nor what part
Saelon was playing and what his intentions were. There would be no
tales worth the telling in the days of the King's Peace, my father said;
and he disparaged the story that he had begun: 'I could have written a
"thriller" about the plot and its discovery and overthrow - but it
would be just that. Not worth doing.' It would nonetheless have been
a very remarkable 'thriller', and one may well view its early abandon-
ment with regret. But it may be that his reason for abandoning it was
not only this - or perhaps rather that in saying this he was expressing
a deeper conviction: that the vast structure of story, in many forms,
that he had raised came to its true end in the Downfall of Sauron. As
he wrote (Morgoth's Ring p. 404): 'Sauron was a problem that Men
had to deal with finally: the first of the many concentrations of Evil
into definite power-points that they would have to combat, as it was
also the last of those in "mythological" personalized (but non-human)
form.'
NOTES.
1. It has also been read publicly, by myself (Sheldonian Theatre,
Oxford, 18 August 1992). At that time, not having studied the
papers with sufficient care, I was under the impression that text
B was the latest, and it was this that I read - the young man's
name being therefore Arthael.
2. In the original draft of the opening of the story (preceding A)
the name was first written Almoth, but changed immediately
to Egalmoth. The original Egalmoth was the lord of the people
of the Heavenly Arch in Gondolin; it was also the name of the
eighteenth Ruling Steward of Gondor.
3. Borlas was the name of the eldest son of Bor the Easterling, later
changed to Borlad (XI.240); he was slain in the Battle of Unnum-
bered Tears, faithful to the Eldar.
4. The first page of this was typed on the machine that my father
first used about the end of 1958 (X.300), and the remainder on
the previous one (that used for text B).
5. The name Saelon is found in drafting for the Athrabeth Finrod ah
Andreth as a name of the wise-woman Andreth of the Edain, who
debated with Finrod; in the final text this became Saelind, trans-
lated 'Wise-heart' (X.305, 351-2).
6. This is the machine on which the very late 'historical-etymologi-
cal' essays were typed, and which I use to this day.
7. A puzzling question is raised by this dating, concerning the his-
torical period in which the story is set. In the opening paragraph
the original draft (preceding A) has:
It was in the days of Eldarion, son of that Elessar of whom
ancient histories have much to tell, that this strange thing
occurred. It was indeed less than one hundred and twenty years
since the fall of the Dark Tower ...
The first complete text, the manuscript A, has: 'Nearly one hun-
dred and ten years had passed since the fall of the Dark Tower',
and this is repeated in B. My father typed the opening page of the
late text C in two closely similar forms, and in the first of these
he retained the reading of A and B, but in the second (printed
here) he wrote 'One hundred and five years'. In the letter of 1964
cited on p. 410 he said 'about 100 years after the Downfall',
and in that of 1972 (ibid.) 'about 100 years after the death of
Aragorn'. We thus have, in chronological order of their appear-
ance, the following dates after the fall of the Dark Tower:
less than 120 years (original opening of the story);
nearly 110 years (A and B);
about 100 years (letter of 1964);
nearly 110 years (first copy of the opening page of C, c.1968);
105 years (second copy of the opening page of C).
The fall of the Dark Tower took place in the year 3019 of the
Third Age, and that Age was held to have been concluded at the
end of 3021; thus the dates from the fall of the Tower (in the same
order, and making them for brevity definite rather than approxi-
mate) are Fourth Age 118, 108, 98, 108, 103. Thus every date
given in the texts (and that in the letter of 1964) places the story
before the death of Aragorn - which took place in Fourth Age
120 = Shire Reckoning 1541 (Appendix B, at end); yet every one
of the texts refers it to the days of his son Eldarion.
The solution of this must lie in the fact that in the First Edition
of The Lord of the Rings (ibid.) Aragorn's death was placed
twenty years earlier, in Shire Reckoning 1521, i.e. Fourth Age
100. The date given in the letter of 1964 ('about 100 years after
the Downfall') is indeed too early even according to the dating of
the First Edition, but that is readily explained as being a rough
approximation appropriate in the context. More puzzling are the
dates given in the two versions of the first page of the late text C"
which do not agree with the date of Aragorn's death in the
Second Edition (1966). The first of these ('nearly 110 years') can
be explained as merely taking up the reading of text B, which my
father was following; but in the second version he evidently gave
thought to the date, for he changed it to '105 years': that is,
Fourth Age 103. I am at a loss to explain this.
In the letter of 1972 he gave a much later date, placing the
story in about Fourth Age 220 (and giving to Eldarion a reign of
at least 100 years).
8. See The Return of the King (chapter The Steward and the King),
p. 247.
9. Both A and B have 'sons' for 'son', and they do not have the
words 'in his loneliness'. With the latter difference cf. the last
sentence of the C text and its difference from B (note 14).
10. This passage in the argument was expressed rather differently in
B (which was following A almost exactly):
'A man,' said Borlas, 'who tends a tree and guards it from
blights, and eats its fruit - which it produces more abundantly
than its mere life-need; not that eating the fruit need destroy
the seed - does not act like a canker, nor like an Orc.
'But as for the cankers, I wonder. They live, it might be said,
and yet their life is death. I do not believe that they were part
of the Music of the Ainur, unless in the discords of Melkor. And
so with Orcs.'
'And what of Men?' said Arthael.
'Why do you ask?' said Borlas. 'You know, surely, what is
taught? They were not at first in the Great Music, but they did
not enter with the discords of Melkor: they came from Iluvatar
himself, and therefore they are called the Children of God. And
all that is in the Music they have a right to use - rightly: which
is with reverence, not with pride or wantonness.'
11. The name Herumor is found in Of the Rings of Power and
the Third Age (The Silmarillion p. 293) as that of a renegade
Numenorean who became powerful among the Haradrim in the
time before the war of the Last Alliance.
12. B (exactly repeating A) has here: 'No, Master Borlas, in such a
matter one cannot judge words by the shape they are spoken in.'
13. A has here 'his father Duilin'. This, like Egalmoth, is another
name from the story of Gondolin: Duilin was the leader of the
people of the Swallow, who fell from the battlements when 'smit-
ten by a fiery bolt of the Balrogs' (II.178). It was also the original
name of the father of Flinding, later Gwindor, of Nargothrond
(II.79, etc.): Duilin > Fuilin > Guilin.
14. At this point C comes to an end, at the foot of a page. B has here:
'He had not been in good health since the spring; old age was
gaining upon him' (see note 9). From here onwards, as noted
earlier, I follow text B, changing the name Arthael to Saelon. -
The passage written on an envelope postmarked 8 January 1968,
referred to on pp. 409-10, would follow from this point in C; it
reads (the last phrases being very difficult to make out):
For he lived now with only two old servants, retired from the
Prince's guard, in which he himself had once held office. Long
ago his daughter had married and now lived in distant parts of
the realm, and then ten years ago his wife had died. Time had
softened his grief, while Berelach [his son] was still near home.
He was his youngest child and only son, and was in the King's
ships; for several years he had been stationed at the Harlond
within easy reach by water, and spent much time with his
father. But it was three years now since he had been given a
high command, and was often long at sea, and when on land
duty still held him at Pelargir far away. His visits had been
few and brief. Saelon, who formerly came only when Berelach
[? ... been his old friend] was with Borlas, but had been most
attentive when he was in Emyn Arnen. Always in to talk or
bring news, or [?run] any service he could
For the site of 'the quays and landings of the Harlond' see The
Return of the King (chapter Minas Tirith), p. 22.
15. Borlas is described at the beginning of the story as the younger
son of Beregond, and he was thus the brother of Bergil son
of Beregond who was Pippin's companion in Minas Tirith. In
A Borlas gave the name Bergil to his own son (preceded by
Berthil ).
16. For Othrondir A has Othrondor.
XVII.
TAL-ELMAR.
The tale of Tal-Elmar, so far as it went, is preserved in a folded paper,
bearing dates in 1968, on which my father wrote the following hasty
note:
Tal-Elmar.
Beginnings of a tale that sees the Numenoreans from the point of
view of the Wild Men. It was begun without much consideration of
geography (or the situation as envisaged in The Lord of the Rings).
But either it must remain as a separate tale only vaguely linked with
the developed Lord of the Rings history, or - and I think so - it must
recount the coming of the Numenoreans (Elf-friends) before the
Downfall, and represent their choice of permanent havens. So the
geography must be made to fit that of the mouths of Anduin and
the Langstrand.
But that was written thirteen years after he had abandoned the story,
and there is no sign that he returned to it in his last years. Brief as it
is, and (as it seems) uncertain of direction, such a departure from all
other narrative themes within the compass of Middle-earth will form
perhaps a fitting conclusion to this History.
The text is in two parts. The first is a typescript of six sides that
breaks off in the middle of a sentence (p. 432); but the first part of this
is extant also in a rejected page, part typescript and part manuscript
(see note 5). Beyond this point the entire story is in the first stage of
composition. The second part is a manuscript on which my father
wrote 'Continuation of Tal-Elmar' and the date January 1955; there is
no indication of how long a time elapsed between the two parts, but I
believe that the typescript belongs also to the 1950s. It is remarkable
that he should have been working on it during the time of extreme
pressure between the publication of The Two Towers and that of
The Return of the King. This manuscript takes up the story from the
point where it was left in the typescript, but does not complete the
unfinished sentence; it becomes progressively more difficult, and in
one section is at the very limit of legibility, with some words uninter-
pretable. Towards the end the narrative breaks up into experimental
passages and questionings. With a few exceptions I do not record
corrections to the text and give only the later reading; and in one or
two cases I have altered inconsistent uses of 'thou' and 'you'.
In the days of the Dark Kings, when a man could still walk dry-
shod from the Rising of the Sun to the Sea of its setting, there
lived in the fenced town of his people in the green hills of Agar
an old man, by name Hazad Longbeard.(1) Two prides he had: in
the number of his sons (seventeen in all), and in the length of his
beard (five feet without stretching); but his joy in his beard was
the greater. For it remained with him, and was soft, and ruly to
his hand, whereas his sons for the most part were gone from
him, and those that remained, or came ever nigh, were neither
gentle nor ruly. They were indeed much as Hazad himself had
been in the days of his youth: broad, swarthy, short, tough,
harsh-tongued, heavy-handed, and quick to violence.
Save one only, and he was the youngest. Tal-elmar Hazad his
father named him. He was yet but eighteen years of age, and
lived with his father, and the two of his brothers next elder. He
was tall, and white-skinned, and there was a light in his grey
eyes that would flash to fire, if he were wroth; and though that
happened seldom, and never without great cause, it was a thing
to remember and be ware of. Those who had seen that fire
called him Flint-eye, and respected him, whether they loved him
or no. For Tal-elmar might seem, among that swart sturdy folk,
slender-built and lacking in the strength of leg and neck that
they praised, but a man that strove with him soon found him
strong beyond guess, and sudden and swift, hard to grapple and
harder to elude.
A fair voice he had, which made even the rough tongue of
that people more sweet to hear, but he spoke not over much;
and he would stand often aloof, when others were chattering,
with a look on his face that men read rightly as pride, yet it was
not the pride of a master, but rather the pride of one of alien
race, whom fate has cast away among an ignoble people, and
there bound him in servitude. For indeed Tal-elmar laboured
hard and at menial tasks, being but the youngest son of an old
man, who had little wealth left save his beard and a repute for
wisdom. But strange to say (in that town) he served his father
willingly, and loved him, more than all his brothers in one, and
more than was the wont of any sons in that land. Indeed it was
most often on his father's behalf that the flint-flash was seen in
his eyes.
For Tal-elmar had a strange belief (whence it came was a
wonder) that the old should be treated kindly and with courtesy,
and should be suffered to live out their life-days in such ease as
they could. 'If ye must gainsay them,' he said, 'let it be done
with respect; for they have seen many years, and many times,
maybe, have they faced the evils which we come to untried. And
grudge not their food and their room, for they have laboured
longer than have ye, and do but receive now, belatedly, part of
the payment that is due to them.' Such plain folly had no effect
on the manners of his people, but it was law in his house; and it
was now two years since either of his brothers had dared to
break it.(2)
Hazad loved this youngest son dearly, in return for his love,
yet even more for another cause which he kept in his heart: that
his face and his voice reminded him of another that he long
had missed. For Hazad also had been the youngest son of his
mother, and she died in his boyhood; and she was not of their
people. Such was the tale that he had overheard, not openly
spoken indeed, for it was held no credit to the house: she came
of the strange folk, hateful and proud, of which there was
rumour in the west-lands, coming out of the East, it was said.
Fair, tall, and flint-eyed they were, with bright weapons made
by demons in the fiery hills. Slowly they were thrusting towards
the shores of the Sea, driving before them the ancient dwellers
in the lands.
Not without resistance. There were wars on the east-
marches, and since the older folk were yet numerous, the in-
comers would at times suffer great loss and be flung back.
Indeed little had been heard of them in the Hills of Agar, far
to the west, for more than a man's life, since that great battle of
which songs were yet sung. In the valley of Ishmalog it had been
fought, the wise in lore told, and there a great host of the Fell
folk had been ambushed in a narrow place and slaughtered in
heaps. And in that day many captives were taken; for this had
been no affray on the borders, or fight with advance guards: a
whole people of the Fell Folk had been on the move, with their
wains and their cattle and their women.
Now Buldar, father of Hazad, had been in the army of the
North King (3) that went to the muster of Ishmalog,(4) and he
brought back from the war as booty a wound, and a sword, and
a woman. And she was fortunate; for the fate of the captives
was short and cruel, but Buldar took her as his wife. For she was
beautiful, and having looked on her he desired no woman of his
own folk. He was a man of wealth and power in those days, and
did as he would, scorning the scorn of his neighbours. But when
his wife, Elmar, had learned at length enough of the speech of
her new kin, she said to Buldar on a day: I have much to thank
thee for, lord; but think not ever to get my love so. For thou hast
torn me from my own people, and from him that I loved and
from the child that I bore him. For them ever shall I yearn and
grieve, and give love to none else. Never again shall I be glad,
while I am held captive among a strange folk that I deem base
and unlovely.'
'So be it,' said Buldar. 'But it is not to be thought that I should
let thee go free. For thou art precious in my sight. And consider
well: vain is it to seek to escape from me. Long is the way to the
remnant of thy folk, if any still live; and thou wouldst not go far
from the Hills of Agar ere thou met death, or a life far worse
than shall be thine in my house. Base and unlovely thou namest
us. Truly, maybe. Yet true is it also that thy folk are cruel, and
lawless, and the friends of demons. Thieves are they. For our
lands are ours from of old, which they would wrest from us
with their bitter blades. White skins and bright eyes are no
warrant for such deeds.'
'Are they not?' said she. 'Then neither are thick legs and wide
shoulders. Or by what means did ye gain these lands that ye
boast of? Are there not, as I hear men say, wild folk in the caves
of the mountains, who once roamed here free, ere ye swart folk
came hither and hunted them like wolves? But I spoke not of
rights, but of sorrow and love. If here I must dwell, then dwell
I must, as one whose body is in this place at thy will, but my
thought far elsewhere. And this vengeance I will have, that
while my body is kept here in exile, the lot of all this folk shall
worsen, and thine most; but when my body goes to the alien
earth, and my thought is free of it, then in thy kin one shall arise
who is mine alone. And with his arising shall come the end of
thy people and the downfall of your king.'
Thereafter Elmar said no more on this matter; and she was
indeed a woman of few words while her life lasted, save only to
her children. To them she spoke much when none were by, and
she sang to them many songs in a strange fair tongue; but they
heeded her not, or soon forgot. Save only Hazad, the youngest;
and though he was, as were all her children, unlike her in body,
he was nearer to her in heart. The songs and the strange tongue
he too forgot, when he grew up, but his mother he never forgot;
and he took a wife late, for no woman of his own folk seemed
desirable to him that knew what beauty in a woman might be.(5)
Not that many were his for the wooing, for, even as Elmar had
spoken, the people of Agar had waned with the years, what with
ill weathers and with pests, and most of all were Buldar and his
sons afflicted; and they had become poor, and other kindreds
had taken their power from them. But Hazad knew naught
of the foreboding of his mother, and in her memory loved Tal-
elmar, and had so named him at birth.
And it chanced on a morning of spring that when his other
sons went out to labour Hazad kept Tal-elmar at his side, and
they walked forth together and sat upon the green hill-top
above the town of their people; and they looked out south and
west to where they could see far away the great bight of the Sea
that drove in on the land, and it was shimmering like grey glass.
And the eyes of Hazad were growing dim with age, but Tal-
elmar's were keen, and he saw as he thought three strange birds
upon the water, white in the sun, and they were drifting with the
west wind towards the land; and he wondered that they sat
upon the sea and did not fly.
'I see three strange birds upon the water, father,' he said.
'They are unlike any that I have seen before.'
'Keen may be thine eyes in youth, my son,' said Hazad, 'but
birds on the water thou canst not see. Three leagues away are
the nearest shores of the Sea from where we sit. The sun dazzles
thee, or some dream is on thee.'
'Nay, the sun is behind me,' said Tal-elmar. 'I see what I see.
And if they be not birds, what are they? Very great must they be,
greater than the Swans of Gorbelgod,(6) of which legends tell.
And lo! I see now another that comes behind, but less clearly,
for its wings are black.'
Then Hazad was troubled. 'A dream is on thee, as I said, my
son,' he answered; 'but an ill dream. Is not life here hard
enough, that when spring is come and winter is over at last thou
must bring a vision out of the black past?'
'Thou forgettest, father,' said Tal-elmar, 'that I am thy
youngest son, and whereas thou has taught much lore to the
dull ears of my brethren, to me thou hast given less of thy store.
I know nothing of what is in thy mind.'
'Dost thou not?' said Hazad, striking his brow as he stared
out towards the Sea. 'Yes, mayhap it is a long while since I spoke
of it; it is but the shadow of a dream in the back of my thought.
Three folk we hold as enemies. The wild men of the mountains
and the woods; but these only those who stray alone need fear.
The Fell Folk of the East; but they are yet far away, and they
are my mother's people, though, I doubt not, they would not
honour the kinship, if they came here with their swords. And
the High Men of the Sea. These indeed we may dread as Death.
For Death they worship and slay men cruelly in honour of the
Dark. Out of the Sea they came, and if they ever had any land
of their own, ere they came to the west-shores, we know not
where it may be. Black tales come to us out of the coast-lands,
north and south, where they have now long time established
their dark fortresses and their tombs. But hither they have not
come since my father's days, and then only to raid and catch
men and depart. Now this was the manner of their coming.
They came in boats, but not such as some of our folk use that
dwell nigh the great rivers or the lakes, for ferrying or fishing.
Greater than great houses are the ships of the Go-hilleg, and
they bear store of men and goods, and yet are wafted by the
winds; for the Sea-men spread great cloths like wings to catch
the airs, and bind them to tall poles like trees of the forest. Thus
they will come to the shore, where there is shelter, or as nigh as
they may; and then they will send forth smaller boats laden with
goods, and strange things both beautiful and useful such as our
folk covet. These they will sell to us for small price, or give as
gifts, feigning friendship, and pity for our need; and they will
dwell a while, and spy out the land and the numbers of the folk,
and then go. And if they do not return, men should be thankful.
For if they come again it is in other guise. In greater numbers
they come then: two ships or more together, stuffed with men
and not goods, and ever one of the accursed ships hath black
wings. For that is the Ship of the Dark, and in it they bear away
evil booty, captives packed like beasts, the fairest women and
children, or young men unblemished, and that is their end.
Some say that they are eaten for meat; and others that they are
slain with torment on the black stones in the worship of the
Dark. Both maybe are true. The foul wings of the Sea-men have
not been seen in these waters for many a year; but remembering
the shadow of fear in the past I cried out, and cry again: is not
our life hard enough without the vision of a black wing upon
the shining sea?'
'Hard enough, indeed,' said Tal-elmar, 'yet not so hard that I
would leave it yet. Come! If what you tell is good sooth we
should run to the town and warn men, and make ready for flight
or for defence.'
'I come,' said Hazad. 'But be not astonished, if men laugh at
me for a dotard. They believe little that has not happened in
their own days. And have a care, dear son! I am in little danger,
save to starve in a town empty of all but the crazed and the aged.
But thee the Dark Ship would take among the first. Put thyself
not forward in any rash counsel of battle.'
'We will see,' answered Tal-elmar. 'But thou art my chief
care in this town, where I have and give little love. I will not
willingly part from thy side. Yet this is the town of my folk, and
our home, and those who can are bound to defend it, I deem.'
So Hazad and his son went down the hill-side, and it was
noon; and in the town were few people, but crones and children,
for all the able-bodied were abroad in the fields, busy with the
hard toil of spring. There was no watch, for the Hills of Agar
were far from hostile borders where the power of the Fourth
King (7) ended. The town-master sat by the door of his house in
the sun, dozing or idly watching the small birds that gathered
scraps of food from the dry beaten mud of the open place in the
midst of the houses.
'Hail! Master of Agar!' said Hazad, and bowed low, but the
master, a fat man with eyes like a lizard, blinked at him, and did
not return his greeting.
'Sit hail, Master! And long may you sit so!' said Tal-elmar,
and there was a glint in his eye. 'We should not disturb your
thought, or your sleep, but there are tidings that, maybe, you
should heed. There is no watch kept, but we chanced to be on
the hill-top, and we saw the sea far off, and there - birds of ill
omen on the water.'
'Ships of the Go-hilleg,' said Hazad, 'with great wind-cloths.
Three white - and one black.'
The master yawned. 'As for thee, blear-eyed carl,' he said,
'thou couldst not tell the sea itself from a cloud. And as for this
idle lad, what knows he of boats or wind-cloths, or all the rest,
save from thy crazed teaching? Go to the travelling knappers (8)
with thy crone-tales of Go-hilleg, and trouble me not with such
folly. I have other matters of more weight to ponder.'
Hazad swallowed his wrath, for the Master was powerful
and loved him not; but Tal-elmar's anger was cold. 'The
thoughts of one so great must needs be weighty,' said he softly,
'yet I know not what thought of more weight could break his
repose than the care of his own carcase. He will be a master
without people, or a bag of bones on the hillside, if he scorns the
wisdom of Hazad son of Buldar. Blear eyes may see more than
those lidded with sleep.'
The fat face of Mogru the Master grew dark, and his eyes
were blood-shot with rage. He hated Tal-elmar, yet never before
had the youth given him cause, save that he showed no fear in
his presence. Now he should pay for that and his new-found
insolence. Mogru clapped his hands, but even as he did so he
remembered that there were none within call that would dare to
grapple with the youth, nay, not three together; and at the same
time he caught the glint of Tal-elmar's eye. He blanched, and the
words that he had been about to speak, 'Slave's son and your
brat', died on his lips. 'Hazad uBuldar, Tal-elmar uHazad, of
this town, speak not so with the master of your folk,' he said.
'A watch is set, though ye who have not the ruling of the town
in hand may know it not. I would wait till I have word from the
watchers, whom I trust, that anything ill-boding has been seen.
But if ye be anxious, then go summon the men from the fields.'
Tal-elmar observed him closely as he spoke and he read his
thought clearly. 'Now I must hope that my father errs not,' he
said in his heart, 'for less peril will battle bring me than the hate
of Mogru from this day forth. A watch! Yea, but only to spy on
the goings and comings of the townsfolk. And the moment I go
forth to the field, a runner will go to fetch his servants and club-
bearers. An ill turn have I done to my father in this hour. Well!
He who begins with the hoe should wield it to the row's end.'
He spoke therefore still in wrath and scorn. 'Go you to the
knappers yourself,' he said, 'for you are wont to use these sly
folk, and heed their tales when they suit you. But my father you
shall not mock while I stand by. It may well be that we are in
peril. Therefore you shall come now with us to the hill-top, and
look with your own eyes. And if you see there aught to warrant
it, you shall summon the men to the Moot-hill. I will be your
messenger.'
And Mogru also through the slits of his eyelids watched the
face of Tal-elmar as he spoke, and guessed that he was in no
danger of violence if he gave way for this time. But his heart was
filled with venom; and it irked him also not a little to toil up the
hill. Slowly he rose.
'I will come,' he said. 'But if my time and toil be wasted, I
shall not forgive it. Aid my steps, young man; for my servants
are in the fields.' And he took the arm of Tal-elmar and leaned
heavily upon him.
'My father is the elder,' said Tal-elmar; 'and the way is but
short. Let the Master lead, and we will follow. Here is your
staff!' And he released himself from the grasp of Mogru, and
gave him his staff which stood by the door of his house; and
taking the arm of his father he waited until the Master set out.
Sidelong and black was the glance of the lizard-eye, but the
gleam of the eye of Tal-elmar that it caught stung like a goad. It
was long since the fat legs of Mogru had made such speed from
house to gate; and longer since they had heaved his belly up the
slippery hill-sward beyond the dike. He was blown, and pant-
ing like an old dog, when they came to the top.
Then again Tal-elmar looked out; but the high and distant sea
was now empty, and he stood silent. Mogru wiped the sweat
from his eyes and followed his gaze.
'For what reason, I ask, have ye forced the Master of the town
from his house, and brought him hither?' he snarled. 'The sea
lies where it lay, and empty. What mean ye?'
'Have patience and look closer,' said Tal-elmar. Away to the
west highlands blocked the view of all but the distant sea; but
rising to the broad cap of the Golden Hill they fell suddenly
away, and in a deep cleft a glimpse could be seen of the great
inlet and the waters near its north shore. 'Time has passed since
we were here before, and the wind is strong,' said Tal-elmar.
'They have come nearer.' He pointed. 'There you will see their
wings, or their wind-cloths, call them what you will. But what
is your counsel? And was it not a matter that the Master should
see with his own eyes?'
Mogru stared, and he panted, now with fear as much as for
the labour of walking uphill, for bluster as he might he had
heard many dark tales of the Go-hilleg from old women in his
youth. But his heart was cunning, and black with anger. Side-
long he looked first at Hazad, and then at his son; and he licked
his lips, but he let not his smile be seen.
'You begged to be my messenger,' he said, 'and so shalt thou
be. Go now swiftly and summon the men to the Moot-hill! But
that will not end thy errand,' he added, as Tal-elmar made ready
to run. 'Straight from the fields thou shalt go with all speed to
the Strand. For there the ships, if ships they be, will halt, most
likely, and set men ashore. Tidings thou must win there, and spy
out well what is afoot. Come not back at all, unless it is with
news that will help our counsels. Go and spare thyself not! I
command thee. It is time of peril to the town.'
Hazad seemed about to speak in protest; but he bowed his
head, and said naught, knowing it vain. Tal-elmar stood one
moment, eyeing Mogru, as one might a snake in the path. But
he saw well that the Master's cunning had been greater than his.
He had made his own trap, and Mogru had used it. He had
declared a time of peril to the town, and he had the right to
command any service. It was death to disobey him. And even if
Tal-elmar had not named himself as messenger (desiring to
prevent any secret word being passed to servants of the Master),
all would say that the choice was just. A scout should be sent,
and who better than a strong bold youth, swift on his feet? But
there was malice, black malice, in the errand nonetheless. The
defender of Hazad would be gone. There was no hope in his
brothers: strong louts, but with no heart for defiance, save of
their old father. And it was likely enough that he would not
return. The peril was great.
Once more Tal-elmar looked at the Master, and then at his
father, and then his glance passed to Mogru's staff. The flint-
flash was in his eyes, and in his heart the desire to kill. Mogru
saw it and quailed.
'Go, go!' he shouted. 'I have commanded thee. Thou art
quicker to cry wolf than to start on the hunt. Go at once!'
'Go, my son!' said Hazad. 'Do not defy the Master. Not
where he has the right. For then thou defiest all the town,
beyond thy power. And were I the Master, I would choose thee,
dear though thou be; for thou hast more heart and luck than
any of this folk. But come again, and let not the Dark Ship have
thee. Be not over-bold! For better would be ill tidings brought
by thee living than the Sea-men without herald.'
Tal-elmar bowed and made the sign of submission, to his
father and not to the Master, and strode away two paces. And
then he turned. 'Listen, Mogru, whom a base folk in their folly
have named their master,' he cried. 'Maybe I shall return,
against thy hope. My father I leave in thy care. If I come, be it
with word of peace, or with a foe on my heel, then thy master-
ship will be at an end, and thy life also, if I find that he has
suffered any evil or dishonour that thou couldst prevent. Thy
knife-men and club-bearers will not help thee. I will wring thy
fat neck with my bare hands, if needs be; or I will hunt thee
through the wilds to the black pools.' Then a new thought
struck him, and he strode back to the Master, and laid hands on
his staff.
Mogru cringed, and flung up a fat arm, as if to ward off a
blow. 'Thou art mad today,' he croaked. 'Do me no violence, or
thou wilt pay for it with death. Heardest thou not the words of
thy father?'
'I heard, and I obey,' said Tal-elmar. 'But first errand is to the
men, and there is need now of haste. Little honour have I among
them, for they know well thy scorn of us. What heed will they
pay, if the Slave's bastards, as thou namest us when I am not by,
comes (9) crying the summons to the Moot-hill in thy name with-
out token. Thy staff will serve. It is well known. Nay, I will not
beat thee with it yet!'
With that he wrested the staff from Mogru's hand and sped
down the hill, his heart yet too hot with wrath to take thought
for what lay before him. But when he had declared the sum-
mons to the startled men in the acres on the south slopes and
had flung down the staff among them, bidding them hasten, he
ran to the hill's foot, and out over the long grass-meads, and so
came to the first thin straggle of the woods. Dark they lay before
him in the valley between Agar and the downs by the shore.
It was still morning, and more than an hour ere the noon, but
when he came under the trees he halted and took thought, and
knew that he was shaken with fear. Seldom had he wandered far
from the hills of his home, and never alone, nor deep into the
wood. For all his folk dreaded the forest (10)
Here the typescript text breaks off, not at the foot of a page, and the
manuscript 'Continuation of Tal-Elmar' (as the name is now written)
begins (see p. 422).
It was swift for the eye to travel to the shore, but slow for feet;
and the distance was greater than it seemed. The wood was dark
and unwholesome, for there were stagnant waters between the
hills of Agar and the hills of the shoreland; and many snakes
lived there. It was silent too, for though it was spring few birds
built there or even alighted as they sped on to the cleaner land
by the sea. There dwelt in the wood also dark spirits that hated
men, or so ran the tales of the people. Of snake and swamp and
wood-demon Tal-Elmar thought as he stood within the shadow;
but it needed short thought to come to the conclusion that all
three were less peril than to return, with lying excuse or with
none, to the town and its master.
So, helped a little perhaps by his pride, he went on. And the
thought came to him under the shadow as he sought for a way
through swamp and thicket: What do I know, or any of my
people, even my father, of these Go-hilleg of the winged boats?
It might well be that I who am a stranger in my own people
should find them more pleasing than Mogru and all others like
him.
With this thought growing in him, so that at length he felt
rather as a man who goes to greet friends and kinsmen than as
one who creeps out to spy on dangerous foes, he passed unhurt
through the shadow-wood, and came to the shore-hills, and
began to climb. One hill he chose, because bushes clambered up
its slope and it was crowned with a dense knot of low trees. To
this cover he came, and creeping to the further brink he looked
down. It had taken him long, for his way had been slow, and
now the sun had fallen from noon and was going down away
on his right towards the Sea. He was hungry, but this he hardly
heeded, for he was used to hunger, and could endure toil day-
long without eating when he must. The hill was low, but ran
down steeply to the water. Before its feet were green lands end-
ing in gravels, beyond which the waters of the estuary gleamed
in the westering sun. Out in the midst of the stream beyond the
shoals three great ships - though Tal-Elmar had no such word
in his language to name them with - were lying motionless.
They were anchored and the sails down. Of the fourth, the
black ship, there was no sign. But on the green near the shingles
there were tents, and small boats drawn up near. Tall men were
standing or walking among them. Away on the 'big boats' Tal-
Elmar could see [?others] on watch; every now and then he
caught a flash as some weapon or arms moved in the sun. He
trembled, for the tales of the 'blades' of the Cruel Men were
familiar to his childhood.
Tal-Elmar looked long, and slowly it came to him how hope-
less was his mission. He might look until daylight failed, but he
could not count accurately enough for any use the number of
men there were; nor could he discover their purpose or their
plans. Even if he had either the courage or the fortune to come
past their guards he could do nothing useful, for he would not
understand a word of their language.
He remembered suddenly - another of Mogru's schemes to be
rid of him, as he now saw, though at the time he had thought it
an honour - how only a year ago, when the waning town of
Agar was threatened by marauders from the village of Udul far
inland,(11) all men feared that an assault would come, for Agar
was a drier, healthier, and more defensible site (or so its towns-
men believed). Then Tal-Elmar had been chosen to go and spy
out the land of Udul, as 'being young, bold, and better versed in
the country round'. So said Mogru, truly enough, for the towns-
folk of Agar were timid and seldom went far afield, never daring
to be caught by dark outside their homes. Whereas Tal-Elmar
often, if he had chance and no labour called (or if it did, some-
times), would walk far afield, and though (being so taught from
babyhood) he feared the dark, he had more than once been
benighted far from the town, and was even known to go out to
the watch-hill alone under the stars.
But to creep into the unfriendly fields of Udul by night was
another and far worse thing. Yet he had dared to do it. And he
had come so close to one of the huts of watchmen that he could
hear the men inside speaking - in vain. He could not understand
the purport of their speech. The tones seemed mournful and full
of fear (12) (as men's voices were at night in the world as he knew
it), and a few words he seemed to recognize, but not enough for
understanding. And yet the Udul-folk were their near neigh-
bours - indeed though Tal-Elmar and his people had forgotten
it, as they had forgotten so much, their near kin, part of the
same people in past and better years. What hope then was there
that he would recognize any single word, or even interpret
rightly the tones, of the tongue of men alien from his own since
the beginning of the world? Alien from his own? My own? But
they are not my people. Only my father. And again he had that
strange feeling, coming from where he knew not to this young
lad, born and bred in a decaying half-savage people: the feeling
that he was not going to meet aliens but kinsmen from afar and
friends.
And yet he was also a boy of his village. He was afraid, and
it was long before he moved. At last he looked up. The sun on
his right was now going down. Between two tree-stems he
caught a glimpse of the sea, as the great round fire, red with the
light sea-mist, sank level with his eye, and the water was kindled
to fiery gold.
He had seen the sun sink into the sea before, yet never before
had he seen it so. He knew in a flash (as if it came from that fire
itself) that he had seen it so, [? he was called,](13) that it meant
something more than the approach of the 'King's time', the
dark.(14) He rose and as if led or driven walked openly down the
hill and across the long sward to the shingles and the tents.
Could he have seen himself he would have been struck with
wonder no less than those who saw him now from the shore.
His naked skin - for he wore only a loin-cloth, and little cloak
of ... fur cast back and caught by a thong to his shoulder -
glowed golden in the [? sunset] light, his fair hair too was
kindled, and his step was light and free.
'Look! ' cried one of the watchmen to his companion. 'Do you
- see what I see? Is it not one of the Eldar of the woods that comes
to speak with us?'
'I see indeed,' said the other, 'but if not some phantom from
the edge of the [? coming] dark [? in this land accursed] it
cannot be one of the Fair. We are far to the south, and none
dwell here. Would indeed we were [? north away near to (the)
Havens].'
'Who knows all the ways of the Eldar?' said the watchman.
'Silence now! He approaches. Let him speak first.'
So they stood still, and made no sign as Tal-Elmar drew near.
When he was some twenty paces away his fear returned, and he
halted, letting his arms fall before him and opening his palms
outwards to the strangers in a gesture which all men could
understand.
Then, as they did not move, nor put hand to any weapon so
far as he could see, he took courage again and spoke, saying:
'Hail, Men of the sea and the wings! Why do you come here? Is
it in peace? I am Tal-Elmar uHazad of the folk of Agar. Who are
you?'
His voice was clear and fair, but the language that he used
was but a form of the half-savage language of the Men of the
Dark, as the Shipmen called them. The watchman stirred.
'Elda!' he said. 'The Eldar do not use such a tongue.' He called
aloud, and at once men tumbled out of the tents. He himself
drew forth a sword, while his companion put arrow to bow-
string. Before Tal-Elmar had time even to feel terror, still less to
turn and run - happily, for he knew nothing of bows and would
have fallen long before he was out of bowshot - he was sur-
rounded by armed men. They seized him, but not with harsh
handling, when they found he was weaponless and submissive,
and led him to a tent where sat one in authority.
Tal-Elmar feels the language to be known and only veiled
from him.
The captain says Tal-Elmar must be of Numenorean race,
or of the people akin to them. He must be kindly treated. He
guesses that he had been made captive as a babe, or born of
captives. 'He is trying to escape to us,' he says.
'A pity he remembers nothing of the language.' 'He will
learn.' 'Maybe, but after a long time. If he spoke it now, he
could tell us much that would speed our errand and lessen our
peril.'
They make Tal-Elmar at last understand their desire to know
how many men dwell near; are they friendly, are they like
he is?
The object of the Numenoreans is to occupy this land, and in
alliance with the 'Cruels' of the North to drive out the Dark
People and make a settlement to threaten the King. (Or is this
while Sauron is absent in Numenor?)
The place is on estuary of Isen? or Morthond.
Tal-Elmar could count and understand high numbers, though
his language was defective.
Or does he understand Numenorean? [Added subsequently:
Eldarin - these were Elf-friends.] He said when he heard the
men speak to one another: 'This is strange for you speak the
language of my long dreams. Yet surely now I stand in my own
land and do not sleep?' Then they were astonished and said:
'Why did you not speak so to us before? You spoke like the
people of the Dark who are our enemies, being servants of our
Enemy.' And Tal-Elmar answered: 'Because this tongue has only
returned to my mind hearing you speak it; and because how
should I have known that you would understand the language
of my dreams? You are not like those who spoke in my dreams.
Nay, a little like; but they were brighter and more beautiful.'
Then the men were still more astonished, and said: 'It seems
that you have spoken with the Eldar, whether awake or in
vision.'
'Who are the Eldar?' said Tal-Elmar. 'That name I did not
hear in my dream.'
'If you rome with us you may perhaps see them.'
Then suddenly fear and the memory of old tales came upon
Tal-Elmar again, and he quailed.' What would you do to me?'
he cried. 'Would you lure me to the black-winged boat and give
me to the Dark?'
'You or your kin at least belong already to the Dark,' they
answered. 'But why do you speak so of the black sails? The
black sails are to us a sign of honour, for they are the fair night
before the coming of the Enemy, and upon the black are set the
silver stars of Elbereth. The black sails of our captain have
passed further up the water.'
Still Tal-Elmar was afraid because he was not yet able to
imagine black as anything but the symbol of the night of fear.
But he looked as boldly as he could and answered: 'Not all my
kind. We fear the Dark, but we do not love it nor serve it.
At least so do some of us. So does my father. And him I love. I
would not be torn from him not even to see the Eldar.'
'Alas!' they said. 'Your time of dwelling in these hills is come
to an end. Here the men of the West have resolved to make their
homes, and the folk of the dark must depart - or be slain.'
Tal-Elmar offers himself as a hostage.
There is no more. At the foot of the page my father wrote
'Tal-Elmar' twice, and his own name twice; and also 'Tal-Elmar in
Rhovannion', 'Wilderland', 'Anduin the Great River', 'Sea of Rhun',
and 'Ettenmoors'.
NOTES.
1. In the rejected version of the opening section of the text the story
begins: 'In the days of the Great Kings when a man could still
walk dryshod from Rome to York (not that those cities were yet
built or thought of) there lived in the town of his people in the
hills of Agar an old man, by name Tal-argan Longbeard', and
Tal-argan remained the name without correction in the rejected
page. The second version retained 'the Great Kings', the change
to 'the Dark Kings' being made later on.
2. This paragraph was later placed within square brackets.
3. Both versions had 'the Fourth King', changed on the second to
'the North King' at the same time as 'the Great Kings' was
changed to 'the Dark Kings' (note 1).
4. In the rejected version the father of Tal-argan (Hazad) was
named Tal-Bulda, and the place of the battle was the valley of
Rishmalog.
5. At this point the rejected first page ends, and the text becomes
primary composition. A pencilled note at the head of the replace-
ment page proposes that Buldar father of Hazad should be cut
out, and that it should be Hazad himself who wedded the foreign
woman Elmar (who is unnamed in the rejected version).
6. The name typed was Dur nor-Belgoth, corrected to Gorbelgod.
7. 'the Fourth King' was not corrected here: see note 3.
8. knappers: a 'knapper' was one who broke stones or flints. This
word replaced 'tinkers', here and at its occurrence a little later.
9. I have left the text here as it stands.
10. A marginal note here says that Tal-elmar had 'no weapon but a
casting-stone in a pouch'.
11. The text as written had 'far inland, and all men feared', corrected
to 'far inland. All men feared'. I have altered the text to provide
a complete sentence, but my father (who was here writing at great
speed) doubtless did not intend this, and would have rewritten
the passage had he ever returned to it.
12. In the margin my father wrote that the village of Udul was dying
of a pestilence, and the marauders were in fact seeking food in
desperation.
13. The conclusion of the text is in places in excruciatingly difficult
handwriting, and the words I have given as 'he was called' are
doubtful: but I can see no other interpretation of them.
14. Against the words on p. 434 'never daring to be caught by dark
outside their homes' my father wrote: 'Dark is "the time of the
King".' As is seen from a passage on p. 436, the King is Sauron.