Chapter 3
"I hear we have a new Marshal."
Eomer looked up as a young man about his age stepped one leg and then other over the bench to his right. He chuckled and shoved his shoulder. "Fengel! You're back!"
"Got in just in time to see you given the spear." Fengel grinned and half shoved Eomer back. "Funny. I thought the Marshal would be better looking."
Eomer laughed and shook his head. "Someone get his man a drink. He's thirsty!"
Fengel rested his elbows on the table in front of him and sighed quietly. A small, tired smile crossed his lips when a large flagon was set down on the table in front of him by a hand that came from somewhere in the crowd. "Thank you." he scooped it up. "To the new Marshal." he smirked and hefted it in Eomer's direction before taking a large gulp of the mead in it.
Eomer scoffed softly and shook his head. "You don't need to drink to my health, Fengel. You've insured it enough."
Fengel smirked and sipped from his flagon again.
"What news?" Eomer wondered, his tone dropping to the level of a private conversation in the middle of the raucousness of the celebration.
Fengel shrugged slightly and bobbed his head. "Much the same, honestly." he bobbed his head.
Eomer nodded. "Fastreddon?"
"Still holds her head high." Fengel smirked. "No need to fear. She's still the jewel of Rohan's crown."
Eomer nodded again, desperately trying not to ask the question that he wanted to ask. With his new position came the gift of the most precious commodity that Rohan could offer. A Fastreddion horse.
Fengel glanced at his friend and sipped his drink again. "And what is the first directive of the newest young Marshal?" he wondered, setting the flagon down on the edge of the table just enough that he didn't have to hold it tightly.
Eomer scoffed and half shook his head. "I don't think we're going to be doing much different right now. At least until I hear back from the scouts that are riding near Isengard."
Fengel nodded and made a thoughtful noise. "So perhaps His Lordship the Marshal would take a ride with a humble rider of the Riddirmark?"
Eomer laughed and shook his head. "Humble?! Is that what you call yourself?" he scoffed and took a sip of the flagon that was set in front of him. He didn't remember when, and he wasn't sure what number it was, but he couldn't muster up the care to worry about it.
Fengel and chuckled. "Fine. I didn't want to remind you that I'm a better rider than you. But if you wanted to bring it up..."
Eomer rolled his eyes and shook his head. "I thought we established that it wasn't the case last summer."
"You had the better horse!" Fengel protested.
"I did not!"
"You did. I saw to it!"
"You...saw to it…"
"You think I was actually going to hurt your chances to become Marshal? Honestly brother." Fengel smirked and sipped his drink. "There was no chance."
Eomer blinked and looked at him closely. "You threw your chance." he accused, suddenly fired up. "You didn't give me a fair chance."
Fengel clicked his tongue and cuffed Eomer's shoulder. "I never stood a chance. You were always going to be the next Marshal."
Eomer hummed and dipped his chin a little. "Kind of you."
Fengel smirked and poked his shoulder. "I'll follow you to Mordor's Gate if the need arises."
"Hopefully that will never come." Eomer looked at him and took a drink.
"To Mordor staying where it belongs." Fengel hefted his flagon and offered it toward Eomer.
Eomer clunked the bask of his flagon against Fengel's. "I'll drink to that."
