Chapter 5

Fengel stroked the side of his black charger's face. He murmured to him for a moment while he waited for Eomer to finish talking with the king. He checked a couple of buckles out of the sheer habit, not actual need. Just to make sure they were secure. Of course they were. They had been for nearly twenty minutes. He had buckled them himself. The need to do something with his hands outweighed the ridiculousness of it. As he stood and waited, Fengel glanced around, looking over the buildings out of sheer habit.

The blacksmith dropped a horseshoe onto his anvil and started to shape it, the hammer strikes ringing across the stony courtyard. Though it seemed to have no effect on the muscular draft horse dosing, hip-shot, in the overhang of the shop. Content to sleep while it had the chance.

A handful of scouts trotted by, chatting with each other for the next few minutes before they reached the gates and would have to go their separate ways.

Eomer walked down the broad steps and up to Fengel with a tight smile. "He says we need to take more than just the two of us, and only then will he allow it." He half turned his head to indicate his uncle, before looking back at Fengel.

Fengel pursed his lips and looked up at the king. "My lord instructed me to let only you see our herds and pick your steed," he protested quietly.

"I doubt that your lord will mind if Theodred comes with you." Theoden informed, coming down the steps and pausing on a step that was still three up from the bottom.

Fengel looked up and frowned for a moment before schooling his face. "My Lord the King-"

Theoden held up a hand, interrupting Fengel's second protest. "Tell your lord I sent him with you. It will be all right."

Fengel frowned and then dipped his head. "Of course, My King."

Theoden smiled tightly and half turned to watch his son walk up to the small party, leading his horse.

Theodred walked up, not holding the reins of his dark, leggy chestnut. "Thought you could leave without me?" he wondered, jokingly accusing.

Fengel smirked back. "Clearly not."

Eomer stepped onto a stocky bay and adjusted his seat a little. He smiled at his cousin and looked at his horse jealously. It was always so easy to tell Fastreddion horses at a glance. Tall, powerful and strong. But not clunky. His eyes slid over to Fengel's black and his heart yearned.

Fengel stepped up into his saddle and scratched his black's mane where he could reach without having to lean. He looked at his companions and smiled. "Are you ready?" he wondered, sounding teasingly impatient.

Eomer urged his horse forward. "We ride North." he announced, his voice authoritative.

Fengel held up his hands as his horse walked forward to keep up. "I was going to say that!" he protested.

Eomer looked back at him. "Should have said it faster." he pointed out.

Fengel snorted. "You don't even know where we're going."

"I am the Marshal." Eomer sat up a little straighter. "I do so."

"No, you don't." Theodred protested. "None of us do."

Fengel looked between them. "I do."

Theodred looked at Eomer. "If only we had someone who lived in the HorseHall. Who knew where the gates were…"

Eomer laughed quietly. "Fengel? Do you know anyone like that?" he wondered, looking at his friend.

Fengel looked at him blandly. "No," he muttered dully. "I have no such knowledge you speak of."

Theodred tossed his head back and laughed.