Good Old Forlong, Forlong the Fat

There is nothing wrong with my hearing: “Good Old Forlong, Forlong the Fat, Hoorah!” Dûrroch must brighten his step. It is years since we marched in anything but a Yáviérë-day parade and we are fat … and old.

When I was young the sky was still dark, before the flames of Mordor dimmed the stars. When I was young I strode the realm calling upon farmers and huntsman alike to store away some portion of their yield, and each year ensuring it was done.

Now I am too old, too fat.

Behind me stride men of Ringló and Blackroot – each one leaner and tougher than the next. Were I young, and thin as they … they would not be marching so jauntily.

It is the fat of Lossarnach filled their bellies last night and weighs down their packs today. It is the fat of Lossarnach will succor their folk in the lean years which surredly must come. It is the age of Lossarnach which has made it so.

It is many seasons now I have watched Springtime’s bounty grow from last year’s death. And should I fall? Well … I am old, and I am fat, and will yield great harvest.

















Notes:

The cheers are what Bergil cries when he and Pippin go down to the gates to watch the forces from the southern fiefs march into Minas Tirith.

Dûrroch would mean 'dark horse' in Sindarin. Forlong's horse is described as dark and thick.

Yáviérë is the harvest celebration day, as per the Steward's Reckoning.

Since Forlong is described as an old man at the time of the War of the Ring (3018 ) I imagined he would be older than Theoden, so made him 80, born in III 2938 (coincidentally as old as Denethor but, probably, with less Numenorean blood). Mt. Doom burst into flame again in 2954.

Lossarnach is a fief of river valleys extending from the White Mountains in the North down to the flood plains of the Anduin in the south. It is described as a land of flowers and it made sense to me, with that geography, that it would be a rich land with a broad wealth of natural resources.