Title : Falcons In the Dive Author : Marie Noire Summary : Taking place in ROTK, immediately after Pippin pledges his loyalty and service to Denethor. He and Faramir find hope in something very small and seemingly insignificant.   Pippin sat in a long hallway off of the main court, his legs dangling off of the bench, staring at his feet pensively. Fool of a Took, Gandalf had been known to call him on frequent occasions… and never before had Pippin felt so inclined to agree with him. Offering his service to a man like Denethor. Even were the man not clearly a bit unhinged, what could a little Hobbit possibly do in such service? He was no warrior… no clever planner… he was not even all that interesting without Merry around to lead him into trouble. What possible good could he do in Boromir’s memory? Boromir, noble man that he was, had given his very life to spare him and Merry… he deserved only good to be done in his name… and thus far, all Pippin felt he had accomplished was utter foolishness. Faramir stood in the doorway, watching the little Halfling clearly berate himself, despite being silent. He felt oddly moved by this little one’s desire to express his gratitude. He’d heard of how his brother had perished by now, saving two Halflings from a band of Uruk-Hai, and he had no doubt in his mind that his brother must have cared for these two deeply in order to risk and lose his life in such a way. There had never been a question in faramir’s mind whether or not Boromir would have risked his life for his country and people… but that his beloved brother had risked his life for two creatures *not* of his city spoke to Faramir more eloquently than any of Boromir’s words ever could. “T’was a brave thing you did back there, Master Halfling.” He said softly, walking towards the Hobbit with a slow step, knowing that with his greater height, the little one might be intimidated. “There are few outsiders who would swear allegiance to Gondor based solely on another’s sacrifice.” Pippin looked up, a little startled by the appearance of a Man, the very same one he had seen flee into the city earlier. Faramir, that was his name. He was Denethor’s son and Boromir’s younger brother. Indeed, he had been originally surprised by how much they had looked alike. Though Boromir’s face and form had been more broad… his hair straight and his voice more assertive. This man was of a more slender build, though he was still obviously a soldier, his hair had a bit of a wave to it, like wet Hobbit hair… and his eyes and voice were softer than Boromir’s… gentler. “Brave perhaps.” He replied softly, standing. “But perhaps foolish as well.” “Foolish?” Faramir repeated, sitting on the bench the Halfling had vacated and gesturing for him to sit again, if he so wished. “How is desiring to repay a kindness foolish? I admire it.” He said softly. “Well… *that* isn’t what I thought was foolish. Foolish was my choice of method… offering myself up as a soldier. I’ve barely wielded a sword… except against those Uruks at Amon Hen. Even then, twasn’t very effective. I was up and carried off along with Merry.” “Merry?” Faramir repeated, though he assumed this was the name of the other Halfling Boromir had saved. “My kinsmen… a cousin, like Frodo.” Pippin explained, smiling briefly at the thought of his family. “I miss them terribly…” “I would imagine. I always missed Boromir when he was away or when we at separate posts.” Faramir nodded. “But forgive me, I have not yet learned your name, Master Halfling.” “Oh! It’s Pippin, sir.” The Hobbit stood once more, bowing at his waist. “Peregrine Took, at your service.” “Peregrine, you say? Like the bird?” Faramir tilted his head curiously, his blue eyes shining with interest. The peregrine was his favourite bird for falconing, though his father and brother had always preferred larger birds for themselves. “Bird?” Pippin repeated, once more wondering if he was being made fun of. Merry had gone through a few months of calling him “mouse” since he was the smallest and he nibbled on everything given half a chance. Being referred to so as some sort of bird could be the same sort of condescension. “Yes… we have a bird called a peregrine… a falcon. I have two myself for hunting.” Faramir said softly, a smile on his lips. “Would you like to meet them?” he asked, standing. “It’s a bit of a climb, but I am certain they will be happy for the exercise.” “Falcons?” Pippin repeated, a bit of his youthful enthusiasm returning. “Aren’t they like… small eagles?” “Well, *very* small eagles.” Faramir laughed gently, as they started towards the stairwells and hallways that would lead them up to one of the many tower balconies. “But their basic design is the same… sharp beak, talons, broad wings…” “Are they… friendly?” Pippin asked a little warily. He’d not even seen the eagles of Bilbo’s stories, but he knew that they were big enough to hold and carry around creatures as large as Men. “Friendly enough to those they know. But they won’t hurt you.” Faramir assured him as they stepped out into the light of day, dimmed somewhat by the fiery cloud proceeding ever closer from Mordor. Faramir contrived not to notice it as he walked towards a collection of large cages lining the upper reaches of the tower, each one possessing an open door. Without warning, the ranger placed two fingers in his mouth and whistled shrilly twice in succession. And answering shriek trilled back and a small shape swooped down in the blink of an eye. Pippin ducked instinctively, for a moment thinking that a dull-feathered blue jay had decided to attack them. He’d had that happen enough as a youngster thanks to a jay building her nest so close to the best wild berry bush in the forest. But this bird pulled back at the last second and landed gently on Faramir’s arm, twittering and chirruping at him in what seemed to be a happy manner. “Pippin… this is Swift, she is a peregrine falcon.” Faramir introduced the Halfling to the bird in a low, soft voice. Pippin looked the bird over with interest. At first glance, she didn’t seem that flashy, just a grey and white bird. But on closer inspection, he could see bands of light and dark feathers along her body and wings, giving her mottled, marbled appearance. Her face was very white with a dark mask over her eyes, which were a gleaming copper colour. Her beak with delicate and very sharp, as were the little claws that dug into Faramir’s leather sleeve. “She’s beautiful.” He whispered, barely resisting the urge to reach out and pet the bird. “That she is… but just wait and see what she can do. This little bird may not be as impressive as an eagle… but she can do things an eagle can not.” Faramir assured him. He suddenly straightened his arm and the falcon hurtled into the sky, her wings kept tight along her body so that she streaked through the air like an arrow. Then she snapped her wings up and soared high over their heads. Faramir whistled at her again and took a strange tool out of his pouch. It looked like a bowstring, but it was very long and had a bit of rabbit fur and pheasant feather tied to on end. “Stand back… watch her dive.” He instructed Pippin, sending the Hobbit to sit on a bench out of the range of the cord. The ranger began to swing it in great loops over his head, catching the bird’s attention as she soared ever higher into the fiery skies. Without any warning, she dropped out of the sky like a stone, speeding down upon the city in apparent freefall. Pippin was about the shout a warning when she reversed her curse, swooping back up into the skies, a mere sword-length away from Faramir’s head. Pippin watched in utter amazement as the little bird proceeded to perform the same maneuver over and over, each time coming even closer to collision, moving so quickly through the air that the little Hobbit’s eyes could barely keep up with her. She finally landed on Faramir’s leather-clad arm, chirping and making soft chittery noises at him. Faramir smiled and spoke to her softly in praise, giving her a few scraps of what looked like rabbit meat. “She’s… so fast!” Pippin exclaimed, edging closer to the pair. “Like lightning!” “That she is. I’ve raised her from a fledgling, just like all of the other birds here. But she is the smallest and the fastest. Among birds… and most other creatures… stature has no real meaning.” Faramir said, looking at Pippin keenly. Pippin nodded in understanding, taking the Man’s words to heart. Small though he was, he supposed there were some overlooked skills in his repertoire that could prove useful. He was rather clever, he thought. Given enough time and motivation, he could plan rather complex and unexpected ways of getting into and out of trouble. Perhaps this had a practical application beyond pilfering cabbages and potatoes. He could be quite quick and light on his feet when the need arose. Certainly that could be of use among all these armor-clad Men. Swift finished chomping down her last sliver of meat and began to preen her feathers with her dainty little beak. Suddenly, she froze, eyes focused heavenward. Without warning, she let out an ear-piercing shriek that caused both Man and Hobbit to wince. “What’s the matter?” Pippin asked worriedly. “I am not sure.” Faramir replied, searching the fiery clouds for the source of Swift’s excitement. “Valar… look!” he gasped, pointing to a tiny pinprick of black among the red-orange sky. Pippin squinted, his heart thumping painfully in anxiety. “What is it?” he asked, swallowing. “It’s not a… Nazgul… is it?” Faramir shook his head. “No… ‘tis another falcon. A peregrine by the angle of his wings.” “Oh!” Pippin started, somewhat chagrined at thinking a small bird had been a Nazgul’s fell beast. Faramir did not notice Pippin’s blush. He stood transfixed. “I never believed… a *wild* peregrine! This must be a good omen! Peregrines never fly over the plains; they live in forests and thick mountains. Gondor is too sparse for them. For a wild falcon to appear to us must mean some good fortune.” Overhead, the wild bird screamed, circling around the citadel of Gondor. Down on the ground, Swift called back, wings spread triumphantly, as though assuring her wild kin that Gondor was good and ready to defend itself. The bird in the skies abandoned his circles and dove, seeming to skim the tower tops of Gondor before sliding effortlessly back up into the clouds. Pippin felt oddly comforted. They, meaning himself and Faramir and every soldier of Gondor, were much smaller than the enemy, both in individual size and in sheer number. But they had unseen advantages… just like falcons in the dive. THE END   Back to Other Fiction