Chapter One
The Stranger
I was 12 when I left home. My name is Thorgil and I was born in the town of Esgaroth in the year 2916 of the Third Age. My father was one of the best fishermen in the town, and regularly traded with the elven-king, Thranduil, in Mirkwood. One day, I was helping my father deliver a large cart of fish to Thranduil, but helping the elves who were unloading the cart was a strange man. He was not of Esgaroth or anywhere in the north, in fact he looked more like the elves than me. He was very tall, he had joyous green eyes and brown hair and beard, with specks of grey.
"Child, what is your name?" The stranger asked me suddenly. His voice had a strange accent that I had never heard before.
"It-It is Thorgil, sir," I replied.
"There is no need to call me sir, Thorgil. I am Barahir and I come from a land far to the south from here called Gondor. Have you ever heard of Gondor, Thorgil?"
"Only in tales and stories of long past Mr Barahir."
"Well, young Thorgil, I am a blacksmith and have journeyed for a long time to sell my produce to the Elves of Mirkwood and Men of Esgaroth, but I will return to Gondor. I am in need of a new apprentice and I would desire you to fill that role."
I was immediately taken aback, and so was father. This stranger who I had met for just a minute wished to take me on as an apprentice and take me to live in the legendary land of Gondor, hundreds of miles to the south.
"Thorgil, what do you think?" Father seemed interested by the proposal.
"Well it would be a great honour Mr Barahir. But I must consult with my father."
I walked a few metres away with father. My father was a tall and hardy man, like most in Esgaroth, and he had a kindly face. "Thorgil, this is a great opportunity which you should not turn down. Just think, you will be going to Gondor, a land celebrated in too many songs for me too count. Why would you stay in grimy lake-town?"
He spoke the truth, and without thinking I told him "I will go to Gondor."
Four months later, I was rowing a boat carrying me and Barahir down the River Running. Behind me was the town of my youth, which I had deserted. At the time I believed that I would never again see Esgaroth. It was a mess of wooden structures, built haphazardly on the long lake, of course this was before King Bard rebuilt the town following the Battle of the Five Armies.
After a few hours, I asked Barahir, "How long will it take us to get to Gondor."
Barahir rubbed his beard and replied, "Most likely a year, but this depends on how kind the Valar are to us." His words greatly surprised me. I knew Gondor was far away, but I thought we would be there in two months at the most. That was also the fifth time he had mentioned the Valar, and I still had no idea what they were.
"What are the Valar and why does it take that long to get to Gondor?"
"Thorgil, you ask so many questions," he rumbled with a great laugh. "The Valar are twelve great beings who shaped the world and defeated the first darkness. They can be both kind and harsh. The journey takes so long because it is fraught with danger. Surely you must have heard of the dark shadow of Dol Goldur?" I nodded and he continued, "The great forest is full of the Necromancer's evil creations, making it dangerous to traverse. We could travel to the east of the forest, but that leads us into the Brown Lands, leaves us open to attacks from hordes of Easterlings and worst of all, it takes us far, far to close to the borders of Mordor. I plan on travelling down this river for a short while, then travelling through the Mountains of Mirkwood, rowing again, this time down the great river Anduin, and finally walking the last stretch to the great citadel of Minas Tirith."
That was quite a lot of information for me to digest, but I took it all in. Stories of the terrors released from the dark tower of Dol Guldur had even reached Esgaroth, and every lake man knew that beyond the elven-king's halls, Mirkwood was a very dangerous place. However, I was most interested in this dangers in the east that he mentioned.
"Barahir," I asked yet again, "Why are Mordor and the Easterlings so dangerous?"
He chuckled and then said, "You are full of questions, young one! The Easterlings are a foul and violent people who wish to kill all who are good in the world, especially Men of Gondor, like me. Mordor is a black land, where evil resided thousands of years ago. That evil was a powerful being called Sauron, who was only defeated by a great alliance between the Men of Gondor and the Elven High King. Anyone who goes near that place does not return."
Barahir sounded very ominous as he told me about Mordor, but to me the world was still small at that point, leading to my next question, "so is Thranduil the Elven High King?"
He laughed again after that, "Oh Thorgil, you have much to learn, Thranduil is a weak lord as Elves go, one day you may see the halls of the great Lords Elrond and Cirdan and the Lady Galadriel. So far I have only seen Imladris, the realm of Lord Elrond and Thranduil's halls are no better than Esgaroth compared to it, no offense attended of course.
Over the next week, he decided to educate me as much as possible and told me all the great tales, those of the Noldor, of Beren and Luthien as well as the Tragedy of the Children of Hurin. Then he told me about the Fall of Gondolin and the War of Wrath. I was amazed by his tales of the greatness of Numenor and it's tragic fall, then he continued on to the War of the Last Alliance, the Fall of Arnor, the Ship Kings of Gondor and finally the Battle of Celebrant Field. By the time the great peaks of the Mountains of Mirkwood were in sight, I felt that I knew as much as any Gondorian.