"You do not belong here," the porter hissed. "Go back to your post."
Beyond, Beregond heard his Lord's impassioned exhortations. Pippin was right. His Lord's mind was indeed overthrown.
For a moment, he wavered; and in his heart, Honor battled with Justice. Honor lost. "Stand aside and give me the key, or perish!" Beregond drew his sword.
The sword sang, and the key was claimed. The Closed Door opened. Beregond leapt to stand before the Steward's House, barring others' entry.
He had chosen his path; blood on his sword confirmed his doom. His soul was forfeit.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.