Chapter 16. Executing Justice

They did not see much of Strider these days, outside of the feasts and celebrations. 'He's too busy being king, you know,' Pippin opined, several days after the Coronation.

'And what exactly do kings do?' Frodo asked him.

Pippin shrugged. 'O I don't know. Kingly stuff, I suppose. Polishing his crown, practicing walking without tripping over his royal robes and whatnot.'

Merry laughed. 'Pippin, you are impossible.'

His cousin regarded him gravely. 'I know,' he said. 'It's taken years of practice.'

Merry was glad to see Pippin so much better, though he was not fully recovered by any means. The younger cousin had suffered a breathless fit only a day earlier, the result of a cloud of dust that enveloped him when he’d helpfully pulled down an ancient stack of written sheets for Frodo to peruse, in the Hall of Records. He had protested that it wasn’t his fault, was it, that what Frodo wanted was near the bottom of the stack? And what was so important about the information, he’d wanted to know (once they’d got him breathing again, rather than coughing and gasping for air), when evidently it was so very unimportant no body had wanted it for years, centuries, perhaps!

His cousins worried what would happen if Beregond's execution were to take place before they left Minas Tirith to return to the Shire, an event that seemed more likely with each passing day. Merry had heard the murmurs of the guardsmen, had seen the strain on Beregond's face though he always greeted the hobbits with a smile.

Pippin had been assigned to guard the Ring-bearers, not that they needed guarding, but it was a way to keep him under the watchful eyes of his cousins. As a result, he did not come in much contact with the guardsmen of the City these days, making it easier to keep the secret from him. Merry had told Frodo and Sam, of course, for he was counting on their help to deal with Pippin if and when the day for Beregond's hearing came.

***

The day came when Merry's fears were realized. The four hobbits had been strolling down a corridor on the way to the Hall of Records, where Frodo wanted to look up yet more dusty information. Sam came, of course, as he went everywhere that Frodo did. Pippin was along as the Ring-bearers' guard; he took his duty very seriously, and besides, you never knew when another tray of food would pop out of nowhere to tempt Frodo's appetite. (Pippin had promised to tie a cloth over his nose and mouth during any unearthing to be done.) Merry was with them for want of anything better to do; Éomer did not require his attendance at the moment

They heard brisk footsteps approaching behind them, and turned to see Beregond, Targon marching by his side, the Captain of the guard behind them as if an escort.

Merry noted that for the first time since he'd met the guardsman, Beregond was dressed in full uniform, wearing the black surcoat with the Tree broidered in silver on the front, instead of the plain black surcoat Merry had always seen him wear. He had not been allowed to wear the uniform of a guardsman since that terrible night when he abandoned his post to save Captain Faramir from the flames.

Pippin greeted his friend with delight. 'Beregond! You're a guardsman again!'

At that moment, Merry noticed that Beregond's scabbard was empty; he bore no sword. The sudden, sick certainty hit him, and he knew where the escort was taking the guardsman.

As Pippin moved to walk with them, Merry pulled him back by the arm. 'Pippin, no!'

Pippin tried to shake him off, but Merry gripped more tightly. 'Pippin, you mustn't--you don't know what is happening.'

'What's the matter with you?' Pippin demanded, still trying to pull free.

'Pippin, he's going to his execution!' Merry said bluntly as Frodo took Pippin's other arm.

'What do you mean?' Pippin cried out. 'No, I don't believe it! Beregond!' He stared after the three guardsmen, who did not break stride nor look back at his shout.

'He didn't want you to know,' Merry said miserably. 'He was hoping we would leave for the Shire before this, and you would never know.'

'But why?' Pippin cried miserably, then sagged in his cousins' grip. He knew why. He knew very well.

'Pippin?' Frodo asked gently.

The younger hobbit shook his head. 'It's my fault,' he said brokenly. 'If I had not stopped to talk to him that night, he'd never have left his post.'

'Faramir would have died,' Merry said softly.

'No,' Pippin said, still shaking his head. 'No, I could have found Gandalf, he could have been in time.'

'Faramir would have died,' Merry repeated. 'You know that, Pippin. It was Beregond's life... or Faramir's. Beregond made that choice. You must respect that.' He didn't have to like the laws of Men, but he could understand that they were better off to have laws to live by.

'Come, Pippin,' Frodo said. 'You need to sit down.'

'I don't want to sit down!' Pippin protested. 'I want...' he sagged still further and Merry feared he was about to faint. 'I want...' he said more softly, then, 'I don't know what I want...' He took a few sobbing breaths and straightened again.

A hand touched Merry's shoulder, and he turned to look up into the face of a guardsman who was not one numbered among Beregond's company.

The Man seemed ill at ease, but said, 'So you know about the hearing...'

'Yes,' Frodo said quietly.

'It is tradition for such executions to take place at midday. When the silver trumpet sounds...' The Man did not finish the thought, did not have to, as a matter of fact. He looked grimly at Pippin. 'Are you well, Sir?'

Pippin laughed without humour. 'As well as can be expected.'

Merry was surprised at the question, but the guardsman continued, 'There is a garden, where the friends and family wait to receive the body.' Pippin nodded, and the soldier continued. 'Beregond charged me to find you, to tell you, if you were still in the City when his hearing was called.' He gave them directions to the garden, saluted, and marched away.

They found Beregond's older son--Beregond’s younger son had been left with his grandfather, at Lossarnach, to be spared this very ordeal--and the widow he’d have married, under different circumstances, and her son, all waiting in the little garden set aside for families to receive the bodies of their dead, to take them to the final resting place. Birds sang, a spring breeze blew, the day promised to be fair.

Merry and Frodo supported Pippin as they entered the garden. Sam hovered solicitously, helpless to do more. Pippin shook off their hands and went to greet Bergil and the widow Gilwyn, whom Beregond had refused to make a widow twice over, and her son Fargil.

'I'm sorry,' Pippin said, but could find no other words to add.

Gilwyn's face was pale, but calm. 'He didn't want you to know,' she said softly. 'He set great stock by your friendship. He would do nothing to jeopardize your recovery.'

'Can we do anything?' Frodo asked.

She shook her head. 'You can wait with us. You can honour his memory.' Her voice broke, and she turned away for a moment to compose herself.

Bergil slipped an arm about her waist and faced the hobbits. 'Thank you for coming,' he said soberly.

Bergil's arm still about her waist, Gilwyn took Fargil's hand, and held out her other hand to Pippin. The four walked together to the little fountain, stood watching the water cascade into the bowl in a never ending stream. Time seemed to stand still, until the peaceful murmur of the water was broken by the sound of a silver trumpet that rang out above the City.

The mourners stiffened. Pippin returned Gilwyn's intense grip on his hand, wishing he had more comfort to offer. He wondered as a great shout was heard, but the widow said only, 'His comrades honour his passing.'

It was not long before they heard the sound of a cadence call and booted feet marching in the street outside the garden. They heard the company called to a halt. Gilwyn straightened with an effort, and turned to the gate.

Beregond’s fellow guardsman Targon entered alone, and the mourners walked to meet him. Targon held out his hands to Gilwyn. 'The King's justice has been done,' he said flatly, and she nodded. He looked intently into her face. 'The verdict was not death,' he said.

Pippin stood wondering as Gilwyn caught her breath. 'Exile?' she demanded, in horror. Exile... to be cast ceremoniously out of the City, bringing shame and disgrace upon his family.

Pippin had heard Beregond say, when the soldiers had been discussing justice under the Lord Denethor, that such a fate was worse than quick death by sword.

Targon shook his head, and to their wondering eyes, began to smile. 'No, lass, not exile. The King has shown justice, and mercy, and infinite wisdom.' He turned, and behind him they saw Beregond walk into the garden.

Gilwyn gasped, broke free of Targon, and ran to him.

Tears came to the watching hobbits’ eyes as Beregond smiled down at Gilwyn. 'I told Targon to break it to you gently,' he said. 'I didn't want it to be too much of a shock to you, when we all expected the worst.'

'By rights...' she said.

'By rights, I'd be dead now,' Beregond said. 'By justice... I am appointed Captain of the White Company of Ithilien, guard to Faramir, prince.' He held his arms open, and Gilwyn and the boys hugged him all at once in a glad throng.

He looked past them to Pippin. 'Well, Master Perian,' he said. 'It seems our friendship has not been cut short after all.'

'Beregond...' Pippin murmured, wiping at his eyes with a hand that trembled, for some reason. 'I don't know what to say.'

'You, speechless?' Beregond laughed. 'This is an historic occasion!' He gave a last hug to his family, then gently shook them free. 'Come, let us leave this place,' he said. 'We don't belong here.'

He looked at Pippin. 'Master Perian, are you still sick of celebrations, as I heard you say the other day?'

'No,’ Pippin said huskily, and cleared his throat. ‘I think I could manage one more,' he added, his voice clear, strong and glad.

The guardsman grinned. 'Good. We have something to celebrate after all.' His gaze encompassed the other hobbits. 'Bring your friends; we'll show them how we guardsmen make merry.'

As they walked from the garden, Merry joined in the laughter. He fully intended to live up to his name.

~*~*~*~* The End *~*~*~*~

Related stories to be found on Stories of Arda: Choices, Duty, There and Back, He Died With His Boots On, All's Well That Ends Well, Memorium (found in "This and That"), and To See Justice Done. Links available upon request. No time to put them in here; my computer's about to crash again.