Chapter 48. Caught between a Rock and a Hard Place

‘My Lord King,’ Bergil said deferentially, drawing the flap slightly to the side, only enough to speak through. He’d been given strict orders by the guardsman he’d relieved, when he took over the post of guarding the entrance to the King’s pavilion, that the King’s conference with his Counsellors was not to be disturbed, for any reason, by any means.

‘Yes?’ the quiet voice of the King came in reply. Too quiet. Bergil quailed within, though outwardly he gave no sign. He was too well-disciplined for that. But… Flogging, at the very least, he thought dismally. Reduction in grade, perhaps? He found a sort of morbid pleasure in imagining the consequences of disobeying a direct order. And yet… What could he do? He was caught between two difficult decisions, neither of them palatable.

‘Sir,’ he said, straightening further to attention, though he’d already been at muscle-straining, near-to-quivering attention before. ‘The missing Messenger mount has returned…’

‘Ah,’ the King said, unhelpfully, but Bergil repressed a shudder at the mild tone. He couldn’t see Elessar’s face, as he’d opened the flap only wide enough for his voice to carry within, and not enough to see the inside of the pavilion. He wondered what sort of secret dealings had been going on within. Whatever the business was, it must be serious. They’d been at it since the previous night, throughout the day, and into the middle of this night.

‘The guard at the Bridge have urgently requested the King’s presence,’ Bergil went on. He’d already disturbed the conference, earning some dire but unspoken punishment. How bad could it be, if doubled?

‘Urgently?’ the King said. Monosyllables were bad, Bergil knew that much, though he’d only been assigned as part of Elessar’s personal guard for a relatively short time, and perhaps not very much longer, as matters stood. He summoned a deep breath, unsure of what to say next, when he was (gladly!) interrupted by the Queen’s gentle tones.

‘Perhaps you ought to go out, my dear, to see what is the matter? Perhaps they’ve found evidence of Orcs, or wolves, or some such? Perhaps the beast has returned with serious injuries, and requires your attention…?’

‘If one of my Messengers’ horses Is seriously injured, there’s going to be the king of the Easterlings to pay,’ Elessar responded. His voice grew louder as he approached the entrance, warning Bergil to jump back and assume his previous position as guard, his back to the entrance and a few feet away, that he might not hear the conversation within.

The King emerged from the tent and stalked past Bergil, his face grim. Had the guardsman not been standing at strict attention, he’d have let out a pent-up breath once Elessar was past. As it was, he felt himself growing dizzy a moment or so later, and had to force himself to breathe.

***

Elessar suppressed a grin as he made his way to the Bridge. He was sure the guardsman on duty would spread the word of his attitude at being interrupted, thus reinforcing the general idea that he had been in an important conference with his Counsellors of the North Kingdom, one so important that it had lasted more than a day without apparent rest or respite. (Except, perhaps, for the evidence provided by denuded platters that were piled inside the tent, obvious proof that the hobbits had replenished their energies at regular intervals.)

The guards assigned to the Bridge snapped to attention at his approach. They, too, had heard the decree that the King was not to be disturbed, under any circumstances. (It had been a matter of discreet talk in the mess, speculating on the important matters under discussion.)

‘As you were,’ he said. ‘Berion. Hador,’ he added, looking from one guard to the other. ‘Now, why have you disturbed our discussions?’

‘Sir,’ Berion said uneasily. ‘The Ernil i Pheriannath charged us most urgently to summon you.’

‘The Ernil i Pheriannath,’ the King said slowly.

‘Sir,’ Berion said, exchanging glances with his companion. He didn’t want to add that the Prince of the Halflings outranked the two guards, but he didn’t have to, for the King – to the surprise of the two guardsmen – began to smile.

‘The Ernil i Pheriannath,’ he repeated, and paused to scrutinise the two guardsmen, until they had a difficult time resisting the urge to fidget. At last, he said, ‘Does he happen to be riding a horse?’

Hador’s mouth opened in surprise, and then he shut it with a snap. He wanted to ask how the King had divined such information, but he restricted himself to a mere, ‘Yes, my Lord King.’

Berion, having nothing better to say, stood mute.

‘Would it be the missing Messenger?’ the King added.

The guards did not have to answer this question – though they had identified the beast by the light of the lamps on the Bridge when the Ernil rode forward to identify himself, and called for the King.

The King forestalled any answer as he strode past, onto the Bridge, and stopped mid-span. ‘Peregrin!’ he called.

‘Strider!’ came the ringing reply from the Shire end of the Bridge. The clopping of hoofs was the next sound, and Pippin moved into the light from the first of the lamps on the Shire side of the Bridge, atop a tall horse, Hilly riding at his side on a pony.

‘I see you found yourself a horse.’

‘And I’m riding it, as well!’ Pippin said with a laugh.

‘I can see that,’ Elessar said drily.

‘And I did not fall off,’ Pippin added.

‘He did not,’ Hilly felt the need to put in. ‘I was a bit concerned that he might, but it appears the old stories about Bandobras the Bullroarer were true.’

‘Of course they were true!’ Pippin said. ‘Every word, including the part about the goblin chieftain's head…’ He bowed on the saddle. ‘And thanks to your fine Messenger mount, I was able to fetch my errant escort…’

‘Hi!’ Hilly said, startled. ‘As to errant, I think it is the pot calling the teapot “black”.’

‘That’s “kettle”,’ Pippin said.

‘I think not,’ retorted Hilly.

‘I think I agree with Hilly, here,’ Elessar said, and the two shared a look.

‘I only borrowed him,’ Pippin said. ‘I brought him back!’

***

The talk in the guardsmen's mess was lively for the rest of that night, if hushed, as guardsmen came from their duty or prepared to go on duty. There was much laughter, and many stories of Pippin's exploits some years earlier in Minas Tirith.

In the King's pavilion, in the meantime, before they finished their discussion and sought their beds, the King and his Counsellors enjoyed the fine ale ordered by the King, and despite the terms of the wager, more than one mug each.

A good time was had by all.