The commotion inside the palace quickly alerted the guards outside the gate. The captain of the guard immediately led his men inside, and when he saw his comrades lying scattered across the floor and the hall in utter chaos, his first reaction was rage.
However, when his eyes met those of the Marshal lying on the ground, he seemed to understand something.
Though the noise had been loud, and people were strewn everywhere, it appeared that no one was actually injured.
That legendary sword in Garrett's hand had only been used for parrying, he hadn't struck with it once. Everyone on the ground had been taken down with his fists and feet alone.
"Stop!"
It took the captain only a few seconds to grasp the situation, and then he knew what to do. Shouting, he led his men to charge at Garrett. Unfortunately, it was all in vain.
In just moments, the entire hall was filled with soldiers lying sprawled across the floor, each of them looking oddly peaceful.
The longsword scraped against the stone tiles, marring their patterned surface.
When the hall was left with nothing but that harsh scraping sound, gradually drawing closer, Fengel finally couldn't help but peek out. What he saw was his Marshal, and alongside him, the captain and over a hundred soldiers, none of them still standing. Every single one lay collapsed on the floor, their condition unclear.
"Useless, a bunch of useless fools!"
"You'd be better off stripping off your armor and selling it, then bringing the coin to my coffers. Those treasures would bring me far more joy than any of you ever could!"
"W-wait, don't come any closer..."
After hurling insults at the soldiers, Fengel's expression shifted from anger to terror.
"I was wrong, I admit it! I won't pursue what you did today. Don't come any closer! I warn you, if you lay a hand on me, you'll be defying all of Rohan..."
"Ahhh! Ahhhhhh!!"
The tall, dark figure drew nearer. Fengel screamed, collapsing beneath the throne, his mouth now filled only with cries for help, looking utterly helpless.
Bang! Smack!
The sounds of fists and feet landing silenced his cries.
Garrett grabbed Fengel by the chest, ready to deliver another "corrective blow," when suddenly he froze.
He turned his head, catching sight of two curious soldiers who had lifted their heads to peek.
They quickly averted their gaze, tilted their heads aside, and lay back down.
Bang!
With one final punch, Garrett released Fengel and let him drop to the ground.
"Ugh... my teeth... my teeth... I won't be able to eat meat ever again..."
Clatter.
Just then, Thengel, who had been waiting outside, stepped into the hall.
He spoke sternly, "You should realize how much suffering your actions have brought to Rohan! You've never once cared about how your people live, or what they need."
"You've never cared for Rohan's riders either, nor the warriors who gallop day and night across this land to keep the realm safe."
"What does that have to do with me?"
Fengel wailed, clutching his broken teeth.
Thengel was struck speechless.
Whether it was just his imagination or not, the hall, already quiet, now seemed even more silent. The chests of the soldiers on the ground rose and fell, but no one knew what they were truly feeling inside.
"Enough! You traitor, what right do you have to criticize my kingdom?"
Fengel shouted angrily.
Grinding his teeth, Thengel strode forward, seized Fengel, and glared into his aged face.
Looking at his own father, his gaze grew complicated. Whatever small warmth he still harbored vanished completely beneath Fengel's cold, indifferent eyes, as if staring at a complete stranger.
He hadn't recognized his own son. Thengel hadn't even bothered to disguise his voice, only half-covered his face, and besides, their hair color was identical.
Even the Marshal and the captain had recognized him. But his own father hadn't. He didn't care. He had never cared.
Bang!
Thengel's clenched fist crashed into Fengel's face, silencing him. At last, the greedy, gluttonous old man could endure no more. His eyes rolled back, and he fainted on the spot.
"Father, this is the last time I'll call you that."
Crash.
Thengel released him, turned, and prepared to leave.
"Wait, Your Highness! Haven't you returned to take the throne?"
The Marshal, unable to hold back, propped himself up and asked urgently.
"You've mistaken me for someone else!"
Thengel shouted back, without even turning his head, as he continued walking away.
"But if you don't take the throne, then what was the point of everything we've done?"
Even the captain of the guard could no longer stay down, he quickly got to his feet and asked.
Thengel turned back and looked at the soldiers staring at him with pleading eyes, as well as the many Rohirrim officials who had entered through the side door after the chaos had ended.
For a moment, he fell silent.
He gave no answer, and simply left.
"My lord..."
Just as Garrett shrugged and prepared to leave as well, the Marshal stepped in front of him.
He glanced at Thengel's departing figure, then at Garrett. His expression showed that he had a thousand things to say, but he didn't know how to put them into words.
"Don't worry. When the time is right, he'll return."
The people in the hall looked at one another in silence.
The sun was rising; the confrontation had finally come to an end.
It was said that ever since the incident in the Golden Hall of Rohan, King Fengel had been constantly ill. His appetite worsened, and his body grew weaker by the day.
He appeared less and less often in the palace, spending most of his time recuperating in his chambers.
---
"I want that man hunted down!"
Fengel began rambling, issuing an order to put Garrett on a wanted list.
But the order was poorly executed. The news of the bounty spread only within a small circle, and rather than a formal decree, it became more like a rumor. People whispered, "They say King Fengel has put a bounty on the legendary Garrett," but few could even confirm if it was true.
One day, a hooded figure in a gray cloak passed through a town in Rohan.
Hearing this whispered rumor, Gandalf furrowed his brow.
What in Middle-earth? Garrett stormed into the Golden Hall and beat the King of Rohan?
How did conflict arise between those two? That shouldn't have happened.
After making some inquiries, he finally got the answer from a local resident.
"Utter foolishness!"
"How could he attempt to rob a caravan from Wayfort? No, not just Wayfort, he shouldn't have touched any caravan at all! He must have lost his wits!"
Shaking his head, Gandalf lit his pipe and began thinking.
This current King of Rohan... yes, he was selfish, gluttonous, greedy, distant from his men, careless in governance, and even treated his family poorly, but surely none of that warranted death... right?
Well, whether he lived or died didn't truly matter. What mattered was that he had issued a command targeting Garrett. That was not good for Rohan. Not good at all.
"I'll have to talk some sense into him."
Not long after, the Golden Hall received another visitor.
"Greetings, Gandalf the Grey."
"Ah... wizard, what news do you bring?"
Looking frail, Fengel sat upon the throne and questioned Gandalf.
Gandalf's eyes flicked to the deep scar across the floor of the hall before he spoke, "I heard you issued a bounty against the northern lord, Garrett. Forgive my bluntness, but this was not a wise decision. This order will bring no benefit to Rohan, in fact, it may well bring disaster."
"Hold your tongue, wizard!"
His earnest counsel was met only with the king's angry rebuke.
Gandalf lowered his head and sighed softly, looking resigned.
So be it, yet another king who refused to listen to reason.
Wandering across Middle-earth for so many years, he had encountered many such rulers. If they wanted to shout at him, so be it, words cost him nothing.
"But there is one matter you surely can help with."
After scolding him, Fengel continued, "Ever since that wretched man left, I've been afflicted with an illness. I feel listless, I cannot eat, and at night I suffer constant nightmares. I am certain he cursed me. Come, see if you can lift it..."
A curse?
At the sound of that word, Gandalf's expression immediately turned grave.
If dark magic was involved, that was a very different matter. In comparison, even insults were nothing worth worrying about.
At Fengel's signal, the guards withdrew, making way for Gandalf.
When Gandalf approached and examined him carefully, he quickly understood the truth.
The illness was nothing more than fright.
Simply put, it was a rather severe case of nervous exhaustion.
"Is there a cure?"
Fengel looked at him eagerly.
"No. Farewell."
---
---
Merry Christmas!