A Flight Broken

Young Peregrin Took raced out of his room in the Great Smials and down the main corridor, "It flies! It flies!" he shouted as he ran past the maids in the hallway, nearly knocking one over and sending all the linens in her hands unraveling as a mess to the floor. "It really flies!" he laughed as he ran, down and out the long hall of his family’s private chambers.

He rounded the corner that led to another hallway and collided into his older sister, Pearl.

"Pippin! Watch where you’re running!" She said from the ground, looking up at him. He could hardly contain his energy, and his face was flushed from running.

"I’m sorry, Pearl!" he smiled, and quickly helped her to her feet, dashing away, still shaking with vigor.

"What’s the hurry?" She shouted after her little brother.

She heard him yell as he disappeared down the hall, "It flies!" and rolled her eyes, smiling, and continued along her way.

Pippin ran all throughout the Smials, past the kitchens (which the smell of butter biscuits, his favorite, was wafting out of), past the Great Hall, past the Ball Room and the Dining Room, all the length to the other end of the Smials, which left even his youthful legs a bit tired. Dashing all the distance to his father’s study, he ran up the long intimidating hall to the large door at the end of it, which he normally slowed at, (if he came at all), feeling out-of-place and nervous in front of the importance it seemed to hold behind it. But he didn’t slow today, in fact, it didn’t even cross his mind. He sprinted to the big, round entryway, with a smile as big as he could make with his bow-shaped lips, grinning with pride at the object he held in his hands.

It was a small bird that he had carved from wood, (truthfully, Merry had helped, a lot), but he had painted it, and helped glue it and made sure it didn’t break, or he didn’t decorate it too heavily to weigh down the light wood. His older cousin had promised him if he worked hard enough, and was patient enough, he could make it fly -- which Pippin at first doubted confidently, for how could a piece of wood fly? But he was quickly convinced, cousin Merry never lied.

He recalled Merry saying to him with his lopsided smile, "It will be just like you, Pippin,"  ruffling his hair, before it was finished, and Pippin’s faith hadn’t been completely confident, "A little falcon, and all."

It was dry today, after he had spent the entire previous afternoon painting it, so it looked remarkably like the soaring bird, with its little brown and white-speckled wings spread and dark fathomless eyes staring someplace into the distance. Hopping out of bed that morning without a quarrel to check on it, (which was an amazement in itself, his mother would say, if she had known), he was overjoyed to find it finished. He had carefully, shaking with anticipation, taken it, just as Merry had instructed, and grabbed its underbelly between his thumb and index finger and thrown it ever-so lightly. His eyes lit up with amazement as he watched the small thing glide around his room in the air like its real-life counterpart, (and then soar crashing to the floor – but as Pippin imagined it: looking just like it would it if where preying on an unsuspecting rabbit), he was astonished, it flew!

He burst into his father’s study, at the moment not concerned at all with respectfulness or propriety, which was usually never heeded by him anyways, for his youth, curiosity and unquenchable eagerness would override it, but what always strangely silenced him in the authoritative presence of his father.

"Da, look!" he shouted, his big, green eyes alight with joy and exertion.

Paladin quickly turned in surprise which then instantly changed to aggravation at his son’s unasked for and less-than-appropriate entrance. Paladin sighed, agitated, and gave the grain distributer he was speaking to a look that said: I’m sorry for this.

"Da!" said Pippin running up to his desk, not noticing the important-looking person that was standing, a bit annoyed, at his father’s side. "Da, look at this!" he said shoving the beautifully crafted toy up to his father’s face. His father’s expression turned to disdain as his put his hand on the object and Pippin smiled, only for his happy expression to be wiped away when his father merely pushed the thing, and Pippin’s hand, out of the way.

Paladin didn’t even look at him, but went back to his conversation, ignoring him there, and so didn’t see young Pippin’s face, when his heart sank slowly as realization set in.

"Da... Father, please?" he tried once more, in a small, inferior tone.

"Peregrin," came his stern response, interrupting the lad, as he broke from his conversation, "Don’t you understand that I am busy right now?" His glower was smothering as he signaled to the hobbit beside him. Pippin’s giant green eyes looked up at him, and to his guest, and then back to Paladin, whose expression was even more stifling, if not altogether unchanged.

"I’m sorry, Father," he began in a small and quelled voice, but his father didn't hear him, he had already resumed his conversation. Pippin’s gaze lowered to his feet, and he sighed.

He trailed back to the door of the study, too afraid to disappoint his father even more by saying anything else. He got to the door, and paused, his hand on the doorknob, and looked back, hope somehow rising inside of him that his father would turn and ask him to wait until he was finished. But no, Pippin’s heart sank once more as he saw that Paladin, with his back turned speaking in his business voice, hadn’t even noticed that he was leaving.

The small Took looked back to the toy that had moments before sent him giggling with pride and suddenly saw nothing in it worthy of recognition at all. Dropping it in the wastebasket by the door as he turned once more to leave, it made a sad plop.

And he left, shutting the door behind him.