As all who would read, or take part in the telling of, this tale undoubtedly know, one of King Aragorn’s first orders was the rebuilding of the North-Kingdom of Arnor. Upon this order, many of his stouthearted subjects heeded the call once again. Not to take up sword and shield and helm in defense of Gondor, but to take up the hammer and the spade and the trowel to once again make great cities and towers and roads of the world of men.
Among these was a blacksmith called Gallan. Gallan the Smith had lost his right leg below the knee in the battle for his home city, Osgilliath, and now walks on an iron peg. But he had lost none of his strength nor his cunning for working metals into the tools that men use. Gallan was as stout in spirit and loyalty as he was physically, such that as soon as he was healed of his wounds and could travel, he gathered his noble-born wife, Corinne and two sons, Gallan the eldest and Tallan the younger, loaded his hammers, tongs, bellows, and anvil into a wagon to which he yoked his sturdy oxen, Ironhoof and Steelhorn, and made for the ruins of Fornost, where that capitol city was to be rebuilt.
In the years that followed, Fornost grew steadily. As the towers and battlements of Fornost’s castle and encircling wall were being built by stonemasons, carpenters and smithies, it came to be that all sorts of folk gathered to the place as well – merchants, innkeepers, horse-grooms, and the like built their establishments and homes within the new walls to form the beginnings of the city.
The road between Fornost and Bree, deserted for many years, was now a grand paved thoroughfare lined with farms and cottages. Nearly all traffic on that road was Men, as the Elves had all but vanished from the shores of Middle-earth, with more taking that final westward journey every day, and the Dwarves, though a few had lent their considerable expertise with stone to the re-building of the castle at Fornost, had retreated to their under-mountain lairs to root out the last vestiges of orc-filth and rebuild their own cities. Hobbits were still seen in that time, around ten years after Barad-dûr crumbled, but mostly the above-ground-dwelling folk from Bree-land. It seemed that the Shire folk were quite content within their own country and no longer had need to venture out.
For Gallan, there had been enough work in those ten years to build a thriving business, due partly his reputation for quality and fair dealing. So much so, in fact that he employed several smithies and apprentices to fill the orders, always approving any work himself before delivery to a customer.
Greatest among his apprentices was his eldest son, Gallan, whom he affectionately called “my son”. Gallan the son was eighteen years old and had shown interest in his father’s work since he was a toddler. He picked up the hammer at five. Being especially talented in the forging of arms and armour, he forged his first sword at the age of ten. Soon after, he began to show promise with all manner of swords, daggers, axes, mail and helms.
During the luncheon break on the day in which our tale begins, he had presented his father with a magnificent sword – made of an alloy that was light and strong; it would never rust and never break under any but the most extraordinary conditions. A sword such as this would hold its edge longer than any blade of ordinary iron and would not notch, even if its edge were struck dead-on with a dwarven axe. Its hilts were wrapped with black leather and the round pommel and cross bar were inlaid with mother-of-pearl.
Upon receiving the sword, Gallan the father declared, “My son, you have surpassed me. From this point you are no longer an apprentice, but a greater craftsman than I have ever been. Will you consent to stay on at our family’s forge and some day, when I am old and can longer lift a hammer, will carry on our family’s business?”
“I will,” said the son.
“And will you promise to teach our trade to your sons so that our craft may continue?”
“I will.”
“It seems,” his voice quavered, “that today my son has become a man. From this point on, you shall be our chief armourer. No knight or soldier will bear arms from our forge that does not meet with your standard.”
With that, Gallan the father called an end to the workday (which was unusual, for there was much work to be done) and invited all the smiths and apprentices to a celebration feast that evening. Messengers bearing invitations were sent to his best customers and friends. The innkeeper (whom Gallan had supplied with pots, pans, pewter flagons, and all other manner of metal work necessary to feed men and quench their thirst on credit until such time as his inn, The Plate and The Tankard, or the “P and T” to the locals, became prosperous enough to repay the debt) replied that he would be honored to hold the feast (free of charge of course) in his pavilion behind the inn. The smithy accepted, so on that warm evening, just after midsummer of the tenth year of King Aragorn’s reign, a feast was held in the new city of Fornost to commemorate the passing of the torch from father to son in the Smith family.
***
Gallant the Smith had also another son, Tallan, whom he called, “boy”. Tallan was taller and fairer than his brother and father. In his features, he took after his mother Corrine: Chestnut hair and eyes as blue glacier-ice, whereas the other men had jet black hair and eyes of the darkest brown. Tallan’s father and brother were not short, at least six feet tall, but Tallan was able to see over both men’s heads. Gallan the father and the son both had barrel chests, exceedingly broad shoulders, and giant arms covered with black hair and ending in extremely powerful hands with short fingers. In short, they both looked the part of the great metal workers they were. Tallan, on the other hand looked more like a noble of Dúnedain blood, again after his mother’s side. His shoulders and arms were well-muscled, from his own apprenticeship, but he was lean and lithe, and his strength wasn't so evident by the look of him as his father and brother.
Even though Tallan had apprenticed in his father’s shop for over three years, he never quite mastered the arts of metallurgy. In fact, when his father came to realize that Tallan would never be a metalsmith, his duties in the shop were relegated to fetch-work: deliveries, stoking fires, gathering wood and the like.
But Tallan had other talents. His mother taught him to read and write at a very young age, and he had a gift for language. Once the castle was nearly complete, its libraries and archives and galleries began to be filled with literature, history, and art sent up from Gondor. He had been allowed, owing to his father’s good reputation and his mother’s heritage to study in those libraries. He continued to study language with an old scribe there, who, after becoming quite fond of the exceedingly bright boy, took to calling Tallan “son” – as a cleric might. When he learned that the scribe knew the Black Speech, he became intensely curious, but the scribe refused to teach it to him. For two years the scribe refused, until one day, in the spring of he same year in which his brother’s coming-of-age feast was held, he convinced the scribe to teach him.
“Old father, many of the languages, Sindarin and Quenya and Adûnaic, are they not also useless in daily life? And yet have you not taught me that we must learn them and pass them on to the next generation, for they are as important to the history of the world as scrolls and books?”
“I have,” said the scribe tiredly, “Tallan, we have had this discussion before. The Black Speech of Mordor,” he hesitated, even in that golden age the name of that dark land still struck fear into the heart of the old man, who had lived in its shadow in Minas Tirith for over sixty years, “ The Black Speech is different. It is evil unto itself and to utter its words is to strike fear into the listener. Here, son, is history that would be better forgotten.”
“But sir, have you not taught me that the reason we learn history is so that we do not repeat the mistakes of the past? Therefore, I would learn the accursed language only that the lessons of those evil times not be forgotten.”
The old scribe raised his eyebrows and turned to stare out the south-facing window, but took no notice of the comings and goings of the city streets below, “You would learn the Black Speech only to keep it to yourself,” he stroked his long white beard, “until such time as it be needed or until you taught it to another so that it is not forgotten?”
“Yes, old father.” Tallan could see now that he had made progress where his past arguments had fallen short, “The Speech will never pass my lips, unless I am called upon some future dark day when my country needs such knowledge, or until such time as I pass my knowledge to my own sons when they are ready.”
It worked, Tallan was very adept at persuasion. But that was not the first time he had used the skill. There was a retired Swan-Knight of Dol Amroth, a former captain under Prince Imrahil, who had settled to a quiet life on a small farm outside of the city. Tallan endeared himself to the captain as well. And the captain began to teach him to ride a horse and to wield a blade - though he was only twelve at the time. At first the captain argued that he was too young and that there was no need, as the world was now at peace.
"What if a new threat to peace attacks?" quipped the younger Tallan, "What then if you and others like you are too old or gone and cannot fight? Won't there be need for your excellent skills? Shouldn't you pass them on, even though hopefully they won't be needed? Musn't we not forget those that died to give us the peace we have now?"
The old Knight gaped. He might have been angry at the mention of his fallen comrades, but for some reason, the logic of the boy could not be refuted.
And so it was that whenever Tallan could steal away from the forge, he spent his early teen-age years either in the library with the scribe or with the old Knight in the fields of his horse farm.
***
Tallan, son of Gallan, sixteen year old scholar and swordsman, watched and listened to the luncheon-time exchange between his father and brother and decided to leave his home and his family to seek his own fortune.