Where Faramir is Forced to Be Sacrificed and Pippin is Forced to Sing

Or they turn their heads embarrassed, pretend that they don't see

That it's one misstep, one slip, before you know it.

And there doesn't seem a way to be redeemed...

-Sarah McLachlan, Fallen

13 March 3019, of the Third Age

23 Rethe 1419, Shire-Reckoning Time...

I sighed at the uniforms we were to garb. "Adamanta Bolo," I said miserably. "Hobbit of the Shire, One of Ten Companions of the Fellowship of the Ring, Prisoner of Uglúk, Scourer of Isengard, Guard of the Citadel, Lighter of the Beacons of Gondor, and now…" I picked up the mail in disgust. "Wearer of Black and Silver."

"Come on now, it can't be that bad," Pippin said with a weak smile in his black and silver. "Maybe they'll let us wear our cloaks. And your scarf."

"Don't think so, Pip," I sighed, pulling on the mail and the dress. I untied the scarf from my neck and lovingly set it next to my traveling dress and cloak, but I left the necklace around my neck. The green beads seemed to glow in such a colorless and green-less place. Suddenly, having so much green with me did not seem so ridiculous, for there was a definite lack.

"I don't like this mail," Pippin said stuffily after a few moments. "It pinches and it's heavy."

Somehow, Pippin and I, walking to the citadel in our new outfits, began to talk about all we'd been through.

"I think I live in the past more than present day, Pip," I said apologetically. "I can't help it, though. Anything I do I always look back on all I've done before…"

Pippin stopped walking. His eyes were full of sadness. "I miss the Shire," he sniffed. "And I just want to go home…with Sam and Frodo and Merry and you, and pretend none of this ever happened…" He hung his head and sank onto a white stone bench. "I'll wait for you." After a few moments, as I walked slowly towards the door that Denethor had told me to go through, I heard Pippin behind me. "What were you thinking, Peregrin Took? What service can a hobbit offer such a great lord of men?"

I pushed open the door to reveal a small room not unlike the rest of the city, except it was empty save a chair, a mirror, and a small window. A soldier twice the size of me stood holding a sword. I could feel my palms sweat as I stared up at his face. He looked kind.

"Sit, if you please," he said, gesturing towards a chair prepared for me.

I did so, hesitantly. Whatever was about to happen to me did not seem like it was going to be pleasant or quick. What, in his madness, did Denethor want of me?

The soldier took a thick lock of my curly hair in his hand, and pushed the back of my head gently, so that I was bowing towards the floor. The room seemed to spin. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the flicker of the blade coming closer…

Thick tresses of my hair fell to the floor, and the soldier evened the cut with a swipe of the sword. I lifted the palm of my hand, in both relief at not being beheaded and anger towards having my hair shorn off. It was practically shorter than a boy's! I looked up to see a mirror and startled myself, glaring at my reflection. The soldier continued his work until two-thirds of my hair lay on the floor. Wordlessly he swept it up and tossed it away. And I was left with cropped hair somewhere between my shoulders and earlobes, all one length, looking ridiculous with curls left in it. I turned on my heel, hatred seething for Denethor, and pushed the door open.

Pippin and Faramir stood facing each other, Pippin speaking. He did not see me and so I shut the door quietly.

"I think you have strength of a different kind," Pippin said softly. "And one day, your father will see it." Pippin stood a little taller as Faramir gave him a look full of emotion.

I took a step forward and Pippin's eyes widened but he didn't make a sound. He looked just as miserable to see me as I had. "This was without my consent," I protested. It was all I could think of to say.

"Perhaps," Faramir said, whether it was in response to me or to Pippin's speech, I did not know. "Follow me, now. They're ready for you."

Faramir followed behind us as we plodded the stone hall and approached Denethor's throne. Pippin spoke the oath for both of us as Denethor watched with distaste.

"Here do I swear fealty and service to Gondor," he began slowly, eyes cast down, while we knelt in front of the throne. "In peace or war, in living or dying, from..." He stumbled on the words and he looked up, his voice trembling. "…from this hour henceforth, until my lord release me, or…death…take me."

Poor Pippin looked like he was about to cry as Denethor stood up and spoke. "And I shall not forget it," he said cheerfully, looking down at us. We cringed. "Nor fail to reward that which is given…"

He held out his ring to our faces and waited. Reluctantly, I touched my lips to it, and Pippin the same, avoiding eye contact with everything except the floor. Denethor took his face in his hand and lifted it so that he could see his eyes. I didn't take my eyes off Pippin. Eventually, he slid his hand slowly over to touch mine, and squeezed it softly.

Denethor looked at me and then away again, a flicker of disgust in his eyes from seeing my new hair-cut. I felt my face fill with shame.

"Fealty with love, valor with honor," Denethor said to us, and then looked to Faramir. "…disloyalty with vengeance."

Faramir's face hardened.

With a last look at his son, Denethor left us to sit and eat at his table, swishing his long robes as he went, and Pippin sighed with relief.

"I do not think we should so lightly abandon the outer defenses, defenses that your brother long held intact," Denethor said bitterly to Faramir as he plucked food from the different plates on the table.

"What would you have me do?" Faramir retorted.

"I will not yield the river and Pelennor unfought. Osgiliath must be retaken!" Denethor snapped back.

"My lord, Osgiliath is overrun!"

The stone under my knees was growing rather uncomfortable. I noticed Pippin had already stood up and I hurried to do the same. I wanted to scream from humiliation, though Denethor didn't notice. Could I do nothing right?

"Much must be risked in war. Is there a captain here who still has the courage to do his lord's will?"

"This is too unfair," I whispered to Pippin. "They barely escaped with half their men. A suicide mission is what it would be, to return. None would survive."

Pippin nodded gently and mouthed "Shh."

Faramir, still staring numbly at his father, got straight to the point. "You wish now that our places had been exchanged. That I had died and Boromir had lived."

Denethor took a sip from his cup. "Yes," He said quietly. "I wish that."

At first, Faramir did not say anything, but he controlled his emotion and said calmly, "Since you are robbed of Boromir, I will do what I can in his stead."

He began to walk out of the citadel, his head high but hung, until he turned back. His eyes were red and tears glittered. "If I should return, think better of me father," he said helplessly.

Denethor did not turn his head, but raised his eyes. "That should depend on the manner of your return," he said, and continued eating.

After Faramir departed, Pippin and I stood at attention next to Denethor's table, burning in anger.

"Can you sing, Master hobbit?" He asked Pippin.

I glared at Denethor when he turned away. He could not ask me to sing. I would have gladly, for Pippin did not wish to share his songs with the unemotional types. In fact, Denethor hardly addressed me at all, except to wait on him like a simple house maid. He and Boromir were not so unalike. I touched my hair tenderly and stared dejectedly at the mirror. It didn't look so terrible anymore, but I couldn't help but wonder if Denethor was as disgusted with it as I was.

"Well…yes…" Pippin said uncomfortably. "At least, well enough for my own people. But we have no songs for great halls or…" Pippin watched Denethor with a death stare. "Evil times."

"And why should your songs be unfit for my halls?" Denethor asked, returning the glare. "Come, sing me a song."

Denethor's word was law, so Pippin was forced to obey, though he flinched and shifted his weight around some. As Denethor took noisy bites from his meal, Pippin opened his mouth reluctantly, looking at me. I nodded, and, taking a breath, he began his song.

"Home is behind," he sang. "The world ahead…" His voice shook a bit at the beginning, and he stumbled on the words as he tried to make it beautiful.

I shut my eyes and heard a horse's whinny down below us, where Faramir's soldiers were riding back to Osgiliath.

"And there are many paths to tread…" Hoof beats echoed and metal swords were drawn as the soldiers rode forth. "Through shadow, to the edge of night, until the stars are all alight…"

Suddenly a vision of that night of Weathertop forced its way into my mind. I let Pippin sing in my head, lying next to me, under the stars, so I wouldn't have to pretend that I was home anymore. I was living in a memory, I knew, but living in the present was too hard to do. I couldn't stop thinking of all there was that happened before us.

"Mist and Shadow, cloud and shade…all shall fade," he sang, more confident now. "All…shall…" The sound of orc arrows being released jolted us as Pippin's last note rang around the citadel. "…Fade…"

Pippin looked at Denethor, who was still silently eating, and then at me. He shook his head and, looking down, began to cry.