Peregrin

This is my realm. I reign supreme. I am rarely challenged.

~~~~~~~

"Peregrin Took, my lad, there is a task now to be done. Another opportunity for one of the Shire-folk to prove their great worth."

He had hurried along. I had been running along. He talked while he hurried and I listened as we hurried. Instructions. Directions. Concerns.

The Enemy had lit his beacon . . . we must light ours.

Then he stopped. I looked up. I knew what I was to do. He turned and dropped to his knee. He looked me in the eye.

"You must not fail me."

I returned his steady gaze. I swallowed hard. I took a breath as I might before diving into the Brandywine River, then off I ran. As he had told me to run. Up some steps, down a back street, up some more steps. Up a path to . . .

. . . a cliff.

I was feeling dizzy enough looking up at it, I decided to make extra sure to not look down as I climbed, for climb it I must.

~~~~~~~

The winds bring to me knowledge of my realm. Fair weather or foul. Good hunting or poor. The reek of yonder land, beyond its mountains. I do not go there. There is nothing there to hunt. The reek has been growing. It has been shifting. It is here. It has dared to touch my realm. I, who am sure of my realm; I am unsure.

~~~~~~

I’m thinking as I climb. I’m finding it a good way to keep myself distracted from realizing where I am and what I’m doing.

". . . one of the Shire-folk . . . You must not fail me."

Rather lucky for old Gandalf that who he has of "the Shire-folk" is me, as I’m the least afraid of heights.

Heights.

Don’t look down. Don’t think about down. Don’t think about up, for that matter. Just climb.

He is trusting me. I pause for a moment, struck by the wonder of that small-huge thought. He . . . is . . . trusting . . . me. Gandalf is trusting his Fool of a Took.

I’m tingling with the wonder of it. I suddenly feel as though I could let go and I would float upon the air with the joy of it. I rein in my thoughts. ‘Twouldn’t do in the least to let go. I inhale deeply the scent of the rock that is nearly touching my nose. Solid rock. Solid. I need to be solid.

I’m climbing again.

~~~~~~

They come and go. I watch them. They sit upon the wide flat space. They hide in the hole in the rock when the winds send the cold, the wet and the wet that is cold and white. They watch the nest they have built on the top of a point of rock. They walk the ledge that joins the flat space to where the nest is. There are never any young in the nest. A small sun hangs above it.

They do not see where I rest. They only see me soaring. They do not interest me as they are too big to be prey.

~~~~~~~~

I’m getting hot with the effort of climbing while I’m being chilled by the wind. The wind and lack of good sunlight. Gandalf said this is no storm of this world but a dimness He has made to aid His orcs.

I start to shiver but it isn’t from the wind. I have seen Him. I have felt Him and heard Him and . . . He saw me.

I spare a moment for a fear filled look over my shoulder at the heavy clouds above His land. Clouds lit red from the mountain. The mountain that my cousin and our friend are heading toward. Frodo. Sam. I turn my face again to the rocks, eyes closed while I swallow. Try to swallow. Not enough spit to move such a large lump. Faramir talked of an evil pass through the evil mountains surrounding that evil land. A pass through mountains means climbing. Maybe they are climbing too.

Climbing.

I’ve stopped again. I start again.

If I do this . . . if I do not fail Gandalf . . . then I’m not failing Frodo. I’m not failing Sam. I’m not failing Merry, who was not happy with me when we parted.

" . . . to prove their great worth."

Climb.

To prove I have worth.

I won’t fail them all.

~~~~~~~

A sudden touch in my mind. A different message on the wind. Perhaps . . . not on the wind at all. I am needed. A fledgling needs watching.

I look.

I take count.

My young ones are here. Not readying themselves to fly as they should be. They smell the reek. They sense they shouldn’t move much this day.

The wind sighs to me . . .

. . . go and watch for the fledgling.

~~~~~~~~

I’m getting tired. This is awfully hard work. Awfully tall cliff.

I stop again.

I’m dizzy.

I shouldn’t have thought of tall. Same as high, tall is. That means down is low. Far away.

I’m feeling the bit of bread and butter I had for my breakfast starting to churn about in my stomach.

I hear a soft noise. I feel something softer than soft brush my hand.

I look up.

~~~~~~~

I easily spot the fledgling. It struggles to make its way up the wall of my realm. It is upon the point of rock. Perhaps it is for this little one of theirs that they built the nest. Perhaps they must wait long years for their little ones. Perhaps they are nestlings in one place and fledglings in another.

It has tired.

I know the signs. It has laid itself against the rocks. It breathes heavily.

"Go to the fledgling," says the wind.

I go near. It has the feel of the First Born upon it. It is not a fledgling of the Nest Watchers. Something strange is here.

I stoop my head.

I touch its featherless flesh with my head.

~~~~~~~~

There is a bird by my hand. A large bird.

The haze in my head starts to clear.

Peregrin.

No, not my own thought, though I know that is what the bird is.

"Peregrin." I hear in my mind.

The falcon and I look at each other and I see myself reflected in its eye.

~~~~~~

"Fledgling." I understand this to be what I’m told it is.

This Other thing. This not-one-of-the-Nest-Watchers and I look at each other and I see myself reflected in its eyes.

~~~~~~

"Peregrin."

I and the bird.

"Peregrin."

The fledgling and I.

She rubs her soft head against my fingers once more. In my mind I see my mother and my aunt, Merry’s mum. I see my nieces and nephews and I hear myself encouraging them to take their first steps. "You can do it! You can do it, I know you can. I know you’ve been trying, try once more. Just take a step."

It needs a nudge. It needs to forget it is tired. It needs to let its heart soar even though its heavy body cannot.

I lift from the ledge.

The fledgling can see me. He can see me land.

I bring back to it a piece of its nest.

I’m nearly there! She’s laid a piece of wood on my fingers. She didn’t go that far to get it because I could see her the whole way.

I’m nearly there.

~~~~~~

Such a strange thing.

They burn their nests.

~~~~~~~

" . . . to prove their great worth."

She soared in the shadowed sky.

She followed me down.

For those I love. For our lives and our world. For the Peregrin.

I did not fail.