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Riders even in the lanes of the Shire – and of the winged terror,
the Nazgûl. He shuddered, and hope seemed to wither. And even at that moment the sun for a second faltered and was obscured,
as though a dark wing had passed across it. Almost beyond hearing he thought he caught, high and far up in the heavens, a
cry: faint, but heart-quelling, cruel and cold. He blanched and cowered against the wall.
    ‘What was that?’ asked Beregond. ‘You also felt something?’
    ‘Yes,’ muttered Pippin. ‘It is the sign of our fall, and the shadow of doom, a Fell Rider of the air.’
    ‘Yes, the shadow of doom,’ said Beregond. ‘I fear that Minas Tirith shall fall. Night comes. The very warmth of my blood seems
stolen away.’
    For a time they sat together with bowed heads and did not speak. Then suddenly Pippin looked up and saw that the sunwas still shining and the banners still streaming in the breeze. He shook himself. ‘It is passed,’ he said. ‘No, my heart
will not yet despair. Gandalf fell and has returned and is with us. We may stand, if only on one leg, or at least be left
still upon our knees.’
    ‘Rightly said!’ cried Beregond, rising and striding to and fro. ‘Nay, though all things must come utterly to an end in time,
Gondor shall not perish yet. Not though the walls be taken by a reckless foe that will build a hill of carrion before them.
There are still other fastnesses, and secret ways of escape into the mountains. Hope and memory shall live still in some hidden
valley where the grass is green.’
    ‘All the same, I wish it was over for good or ill,’ said Pippin. ‘I am no warrior at all and dislike any thought of battle;
but waiting on the edge of one that I can’t escape is worst of all. What a long day it seems already! I should be happier,
if we were not obliged to stand and watch, making no move, striking nowhere first. No stroke would have been struck in Rohan,
I think, but for Gandalf.’
    ‘Ah, there you lay your finger on the sore that many feel!’ said Beregond. ‘But things may change when Faramir returns. He
is bold, more bold than many deem; for in these days men are slow to believe that a captain can be wise and learned in the
scrolls of lore and song, as he is, and yet a man of hardihood and swift judgement in the field. But such is Faramir. Less
reckless and eager than Boromir, but not less resolute. Yet what indeed can he do? We cannot assault the mountains of – of
yonder realm. Our reach is shortened, and we cannot strike till some foe comes within it. Then our hand must be heavy!’ He
smote the hilt of his sword.
    Pippin looked at him: tall and proud and noble, as all the men that he had yet seen in that land; and with a glitter in his
eye as he thought of the battle. ‘Alas! my own hand feels as light as a feather,’ he thought, but he said nothing. ‘A pawn
did Gandalf say? Perhaps; but on the wrong chessboard.’
    So they talked until the sun reached its height, and suddenly the noon-bells were rung, and there was a stir in the citadel;
for all save the watchmen were going to their meal.
    ‘Will you come with me?’ said Beregond. ‘You may join my mess for this day. I do not know to what company you will be assigned;
or the Lord may hold you at his own command. But you will be welcome. And it will be well to meet as many men as you may,
while there is yet time.’
    ‘I shall be glad to come,’ said Pippin. ‘I am lonely, to tell you the truth. I left my best friend behind in Rohan, and I
have had no one to talk to or jest with. Perhaps I could really join your company? Are you the captain? If so, you could take
me on, or speak for me?’
    ‘Nay, nay,’ Beregond laughed, ‘I am no captain. Neither office nor rank nor lordship have I, being but a plain man of arms
of the Third Company of the Citadel. Yet, Master Peregrin, to be only a man of arms of the Guard of the Tower of Gondor is
held worthy in the City, and such men have honour