"You've most likely been exposed."
Garrett turned his head to look at Thengel and shrugged.
"Don't you think the wind really was rather strong?"
Thengel was still being stubborn.
"I left when I had barely come of age. Nearly twenty years have passed since then. With such changes, there's no way they could recognize me."
"Fine, if you say so."
Garrett couldn't be bothered to keep arguing with him, the matter was clear enough already.
After all, a Marshal of Rohan wasn't incompetent. As the king's chief general and supreme commander, if he heard an outsider declare an intention to beat up the king, even if the current king was infamous, he couldn't simply do nothing.
No matter what, that was still their sovereign. A king's dignity could not be challenged. This was the marshal's duty and obligation.
Even if the opponent was Garrett, at the very least he had to make some show of resistance. He couldn't simply surrender without even trying.
But, if it was Garrett together with Rohan's widely beloved prince, the rightful heir, Thengel, then the situation was entirely different.
In a few minutes they finished the still-warm mushroom soup from the pot, mounted their horses, circled around Helm's Deep, and continued westward.
---
A day later, on the plains, Thengel pointed to the towering palace standing prominently on a distant hill and said:
"Meduseld. You could also call it the 'Golden Hall.' That's where the king holds court."
He glanced at Garrett, who looked back at him.
Their eyes met, and they exchanged a small nod.
At midnight, torches blazed, illuminating the roads around the palace.
Even at night, the hall's brilliance did not fade. Firelight leaped across the gold-inlaid pillars at the gates, and glimmered over the jeweled and gilded images of horses and riders upon the great doors, declaring the majesty of the House of Eorl.
"Halt."
When Garrett and Thengel reached the palace gates, two guards crossed their spears to bar the way. Though their grips on the weapons were steady, their uneven breathing betrayed that they were not nearly as calm as they appeared.
Standing before this man, the pressure was overwhelming.
"I have business with your king."
One of the guards glanced at Garrett and said, "Please wait a moment."
Moments later, the Marshal of Edoras arrived with dozens of fully armed soldiers, gathering at the gate.
As soon as they appeared, they sealed the entrance completely.
"Greetings, Lord Garrett the Renowned."
"Forgive me, I..."
The Marshal looked at Garrett, but the words stuck in his throat.
Ordinarily, anyone seeking audience with the king was required to surrender their weapons. But would such a demand have any meaning against the man standing before him?
Would a dragon, stripped of its fangs, truly be helpless before mere mortals?
His throat tightened. He drew a deep breath, but still chose to stand firm in his duty.
"I must take your arms before I can permit you to meet King Fengel."
Garrett raised his hands cooperatively. Seeing this, the Marshal let out a heavy sigh of relief and personally conducted the search.
Nothing, he wore only that suit of dark armor, not a single weapon upon him.
After Garrett was searched, Thengel was also permitted through. At the Marshal's signal, the two followed him into the hall.
"Who comes calling at midnight? Do you not know this is my supper hour?"
On the throne, Fengel, gray-haired and corpulent, slouched lazily even before seeing his visitors, already complaining.
"Garrett, Lord of Wayfort," Garrett replied curtly.
"A lord... oh, wait. I remember you. A rising figure of the North, your name's been everywhere these past years. What business brings you here?"
"I heard you recently tried to seize my merchant caravan."
"Did I?"
Feigning puzzlement, Fengel scratched his head, shifted his gaze away from Garrett, and stared at his own hands.
"My apologies. I don't recall doing such a thing. Perhaps you've made an error."
"My people would never deceive me."
"Then you'd best be careful. There are many whose outward face and inner thoughts don't match."
"No need for your concern. I already investigated the matter on my way here. You really did attempt to swallow up the goods of my caravan, didn't you?"
"So what if I did?"
Seeing that Garrett and the masked stranger beside him carried no weapons, Fengel dropped all pretense.
"Your caravan was selling goods with malicious intent, disrupting the local market. I had every legal right to seize them."
"What law?"
"Relevant law."
"What relevant law?"
"The relevant law that I decreed."
"Lovely."
Garrett clapped slowly. Beside him, Thengel clenched his fists, trembling with rage.
He could not hold back and shouted, "Foolish tyrant!"
"What did you say?!"
"What kind of outsider would speak so to me?!"
Fengel pointed at Thengel and roared, "For the sake of the man at your side, I'll forgive you once. But if you can't hold your tongue next time, it won't end so simply!"
"An outsider... how amusing indeed."
Garrett stepped in front of Thengel and said, "So, the conclusion is you refuse to admit your wrongs, is that it?"
"What wrongs have I committed?"
"Alright."
Garrett smiled, then turned to Thengel. "Step outside for a moment. Come back in later."
"Very well." Thengel glanced at Garrett, then at Fengel, nodded slowly, and withdrew from the hall.
"It seems this king, whose mind is filled only with food, drink, and greed, has indeed lost his way. You need a correction."
As Garrett spoke, he walked forward, flexing his fingers.
"What are you doing?"
A chill seized Fengel's heart. Realizing the danger, he hurriedly shouted: "Stop him!"
"Sir, halt!"
The Marshal stepped forward.
Bang!
In the next instant, he was sent flying by a single punch.
Clang!
As the Marshal reached for his weapon to rise and resist, a sword appeared from thin air, plunging into the floor right against his throat. The shock sent cold sweat pouring down his back, and for one instant, even his breath and heartbeat stopped.
Their eyes met for just a moment.
Garrett withdrew the sword, then turned it with a sharp ring to parry an attack from behind. With one kick, he sent two men crashing backward, toppling a brazier with a loud crash.
Chaos erupted at once. Fengel scrambled to his feet, clutching his head, and ducked behind the throne.
The clash of steel and the sounds of fighting rang out ceaselessly.
The soldiers threw themselves at Garrett one after another, trying to block his path, only to be struck down in turn.
Some of them tried to rise again, but suddenly a powerful hand seized one man's ankle and yanked him back down.
"Stay down. Keep still. That man is Prince Thengel's companion. He won't do anything too severe."
With that said, the Marshal closed his eyes, tilted his head aside, and wore a strangely peaceful expression.