Chapter 20: The Sword and the Shield

The next morning, they left one of the boats behind, and Toven took the empty spot in Legolas and Gimli's boat.

He found himself glancing toward the west bank as the river pulled them south. Quinn was probably miles away by now, but he felt her absence more acutely than he'd expected. This wasn't the first time they'd been separated—when he'd been living with the rangers, she'd sometimes been gone for months at a time.

But there had always been the certainty that she would come back. Now, with the end of their journey drawing ever closer, he was beginning to fear that she wouldn't. If the Ring was destroyed, then she would be gone. He would never know her fate or be able to give a proper goodbye. The words they'd exchanged last night had been too brief, but he hadn't been able to bring himself to say more and fully acknowledge what the moment truly was.

Toven closed his eyes and took in a calming breath. He needed to be strong for the others, now. Quinn would want him to stay his course and finish the quest.

A shadow passed over the boat, making him look up, and his eyes widened.

They'd rounded a bend in the river, and looming on either side were two massive statues. They looked like kings, not just from the stone crowns on their brows but the grim majesty of their faces. Each had a hand extended forward, as if in warning.

The others were looking up at the statues in awe. Toven caught sight of Aragorn's face for a moment, and it seemed to him that the weariness was lifted from it for a moment, and pride shone in its place. A small smile lifted his lips.

"Impressive stonework," Gimli said behind him. "But clearly of mannish design, nonetheless."

"And how is that?" Legolas said, his tone marked by gentle amusement.

"You can see the layers." Gimli pointed as they drew nearer. "They've taken big slabs of stone and stacked them atop one another."

As the statues loomed overhead, Toven was more concerned with the sheer size of them. He was sure he would need help to climb onto the little toe of the one on the right.

"It's all right for the intended purpose, but it is far more pleasing to the eye to simply carve the whole from solid stone," Gimli continued. "And that is the benefit of living within a mountain."

"So you are surrounded by that which you need to built your homes and crafts," Legolas said. "I suppose I can see the benefit to that."

Toven turned around and narrowed his eyes. "All right, what is this?"

Legolas looked at him blankly. "What is what?"

He made an impatient gesture between the two of them. "You two were ready to strangle each other when we reached Lothlórien. Now, all of a sudden you're fast friends. What happened?"

Legolas only raised his brows slightly, while Gimli took out his pipe. "We were able to set aside our differences."

Toven frowned at both of them, but they acted as if that was all there was to be said. Eventually, he turned around with a sigh. He was beginning to think Quinn's suspicions were correct. She would have lost her shit if she were still here…

"Well, whatever it is, I'm glad you two are getting along," he said. "We don't need any more infighting in this group."

Even as he said it, his eyes drifted to Boromir's boat. He tore his gaze away, focusing on the river's current. He had to keep reminding himself what Aragorn had said, that these suspicions were likely not his own. But surely Galadriel had been warning him of something, and he didn't know what else it could be.

Toven frowned at the water, resting his hand briefly on his sword.

He just had to keep his guard up.

By nightfall, they'd crossed most of the great lake Nin Hithoel, and made camp on the western shore. Everyone was weary from their escape from the orcs and the increased time they'd spent traveling. Though riding in a boat required less exertion, sitting in the confined space made Toven's legs cramp and left him feeling both restless and exhausted.

He stepped onto the sand and stretched. A little ways to the south, a small island jutted from the water like a jagged tooth, and just beyond was the low roar of the Falls of Rauros. They wouldn't be able to take the river any further, unless they found a way to carry the boats to the bottom.

And that was assuming they were going to continue south to Gondor. Toven glanced at Aragorn, and unspoken question in his eyes, and Aragorn nodded.

"We'll rest here for tonight," he said. "Tomorrow we'll have to choose a path: south to Gondor, or east to Mordor."

"I have said my piece on this matter already." Boromir crossed his arms. "Whatever the rest of you decide, I will leave tomorrow to join my people."

Toven raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. It would definitely be better for his peace of mind if Boromir left.

"If we do not go to Gondor, then we will cross the lake and continue on foot. From there we will turn south to Mordor," Aragorn said.

"Oh, aye?" Gimli said, resting against a rock and stretching out his feet. "Just a simple matter of finding our way through Emyn Muil, an impassable labyrinth of razor sharp rocks? And after that, it gets even better. Festering, stinking marshlands, far as the eye can see."

Toven frowned. "It's not as if we've been strolling through a peaceful woodland since we left Rivendell."

"But now we have a choice," Gimli said. "I'd take a city of solid stone any day over the perils that await us to the east."

Pippin, whose eyes had grown wider at the description of Emyn Muil and the marshlands, gave a small nod.

"Frodo?" Aragorn turned to the hobbit, who was sitting next to Sam. "You are the Ring-bearer. Whatever path you choose, I will follow you."

"As will I," Legolas said.

"And I," Gimli added, with a slight grumble in his voice.

Frodo looked up at them. His gaze had seemed distant for a moment, as though his thoughts had been miles away. "I don't know yet," he said quietly. "Give me the night to think it over."

"Very well." Aragorn nodded, then lifted his gaze to the others. "Get some rest, all of you. We'll continue in the morning."

Toven helped Gimli bring the rest of their supplies from the boats, then settled down to eat a quick meal as darkness fell over their camp.

"You should eat something, Mister Frodo," Sam said softly. "You need to keep your strength up."

"It's all right," Frodo replied, speaking in the same low tone. "I'm not hungry."

"You said that yesterday," Sam said, a hint of exasperation in his voice.

Toven turned to face them. "Tired of lembas already?"

"It's not so bad," Frodo said, finally taking the square that Sam was offering him.

"It's not so bad compared to that other stuff we were eating," Sam said. "But I wouldn't mind a bit of variety now and then. Some bread and jam with a couple of fried eggs…" He was watching Frodo closely as he spoke, as if trying to gauge his reaction.

Taking in Frodo's somber expression, Toven felt worry twinge in his chest. He'd changed after Moria, after losing Gandalf, and even their time in Lothlórien hadn't shaken him out of it. He was already so different from the hobbit he'd first met—composed and reserved, but still cheerful and kind. Maybe it was the Ring or grief or both affecting him. Toven didn't know for sure.

Quinn would have known how to pull a smile from him. He had no doubt she would be able to make a man on his deathbed laugh.

"We could probably find some eggs," Toven said. "It's not hard to find a bird's nest if you know what to look for."

"But we've no fire to cook them on," Sam said, his expression falling slightly. "I brought my nice frying pan with me, and so far it's only been good for whacking orcs in the head."

Toven smiled slightly. "Perhaps you can name it. All good weapons need a name."

"Just like Sting, right?" Sam nudged Frodo with his elbow.

"Yes, I suppose so." Frodo glanced at the blade at his hip. "Bilbo named it while he was battling the spiders in Mirkwood."

"I wonder what mine would be," Sam said. "Sting and…"

"Smack," Toven said.

Frodo let out a small chuckle at that, and Sam's face lit up. "You know, that might work."

Toven laughed along with them, some of his worry abating for the moment. He supposed he could count that as a small victory.

At least he could still make them smile.

The sun was up when Toven woke. He sat up and brushed his hair out of his face, wondering if he'd overslept.

But the others were lounging around camp, looking strangely unhurried. He rolled his neck and grabbed his waterskin from his pack.

"Finally awake, laddie?"

Toven glanced over his shoulder as Gimli approached and handed him a piece of lembas. "You didn't have to let me sleep so late."

"Aye, but you looked as if you needed it, snoring up a storm over there."

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Was I?"

Gimli chuckled and patted his back. "At first I thought someone was sawing logs. You'll make a fine woodsman one day."

Toven laughed and took a sip of water. The water of the lake rippled gently a few feet away. "It's so quiet without her."

He grunted in agreement. "Never a moment's peace with your mother around, eh?"

"No." His gaze flickered to the sand. How much ground had she been able to cover by now? Had the orcs been able to catch up to her? "I hope she's all right."

"I wouldn't worry too much." Gimli took out his pipe and began chewing on the stem. They'd all run out of pipeweed weeks ago, but the pipe itself seemed to have some of the intended effect. "Fool she may be, but Quinn is tough as mithril. She's likely to have a better fate than us."

Well, that's a comforting thought. Toven finished the last of his lembas and threw his waterskin back into his pack. He turned to see if the others were getting ready to leave just as Merry stood up.

"Where's Frodo?"

They all looked around, but there was no sign of him.

"I think he's taking a walk," Sam said. "Just to clear his head."

Toven's eyes landed on Boromir's shield, resting against a tree with its owner nowhere in sight. He turned to Aragorn, who seemed to have noticed the same thing.

"None of us should be wandering alone." Aragorn grabbed his sword and fastened it to his belt in a swift motion. He beckoned to Toven. "We'll search for them. The rest of you stay here."

Toven grabbed his own sword, and they set off into the forest. Aragorn took the lead, searching the ground for any sign of Boromir's passing. A hobbit's trail would be much more difficult to find.

"I know what you said earlier," Toven said, scanning the trees. "But I have a bad feeling about this."

Aragorn nodded. "I know. Let us hope your feeling is unfounded."

As they continued up the hill, Toven realized they were no longer just in a forest. There were ruins buried in the brush—slumping remnants of white stone buildings, statues so covered in vines and lichen that they were nearly unrecognizable.

"People used to live here?"

"A long time ago." Aragorn paused to study an imprint the mud, then set off towards the south. "In the days of the great kings, when Gondor's power was far greater than it is now."

They came to a clearing, where the carpet of fallen leaves had been scuffed and disturbed. Toven hissed through his teeth. It was clear some kind of struggle had occurred here.

Aragorn straightened. His expression was calm and clear as ever, but his posture was riddled with tension. "Search the northern part of the hill. I'll climb to the summit and see what I can find."

Toven nodded. A dozen questions were clamoring for release, but he knew better than to ask them when they needed to act. "I'll meet you back at camp afterwards."

The two of them split up. Toven kept one hand on his sword as he hurried through the trees. His heart was pounding painfully in his chest. He prayed that Frodo was all right, that whatever had transpired back in that clearing, he'd been able to get away safely.

And Boromir…if it came to it, would he be able to fight him? Their sparring match at the beginning of their journey didn't instill a ton of confidence in him.

Toven pushed aside a low-hanging tree branch and steeled himself. He would have to do whatever it took to protect his friends.

Movement in the distance made him stiffen, and he crouched low. Several dark shapes were moving through the forest, sending up dust and broken branches in their wake. The low growls of a pack of orcs reached his ears, and the blood froze in his veins.

"Shit." Toven pushed himself up and sprinted up the hill. The orcs had found them. Even from a distance, he could see the white hands branded on their armor. That had to mean Quinn had failed, that she had—

An arrow whistled through the air, and Toven dropped to the ground. It flew past him and embedded itself in the ground, followed by several more that punched deep into the bark of a nearby tree.

More orcs were spilling over the top of the hill, and beneath their footsteps Toven could hear the clash of steel. He pushed himself up, every instinct screaming to find Aragorn and help him.

But the others still didn't know what had happened. He needed to get the hobbits to safety. Aragorn would want him to do this.

Clenching his jaw, he turned away and started down the hill. The rumbling footsteps of the orcs pounded in time with his heartbeat. More arrows spattered the brush, but Toven didn't slow his pace. It was only when he heard a familiar cry that he stopped.

"Hey! Over here!"

"This way!"

Toven turned and looked down the slope, toward where Merry and Pippin were waving at him. He started forward, then realized they weren't calling out to him, but the orcs. At least a dozen were charging towards the hobbits, who stopped waving and ran.

"What the fuck are they doing?" Toven drew his sword and ran down the hill, his boots slipping on dead leaves. He let the momentum carry him into the group of orcs, and raised his weapon.

The first two he was able to cut down with ease before the others turned on him. He dodged a sword as it swung downwards towards his shoulder and sliced through another orc's neck. This was far more enemies than he'd ever faced alone, but he pushed himself to ward off their strikes, hoping Merry and Pippin would take the opportunity to run.

Toven took several steps back as the orcs began to flank him. Even if, by some miracle, he managed to defeat the ones left, the entire hill was likely swarming with them by now.

He blocked another orc's sword, pushing its blade to the side, then swung his weapon in a horizontal stroke. The orc he'd been aiming for stepped back, but the tip of the blade still cut through its armor. Droplets of black blood flickered in the air.

As he dodged another strike, a fist struck the side of his head, staggering him. Toven fell to one knee and lashed out wildly. His sword connected with another, the impact rattling up his arm, and this was enough to send him off balance. He gripped his sword and tried to push himself up, his ears ringing.

The orc closest to him fell, black blood spilling from a hole in his gut. Someone gripped his arm and pulled him upright.

"Come on!" Boromir struck down another orc with his free hand. "On your feet!"

Toven nearly recoiled, but decided against it. For now, they were allies against the orcs, and he was grateful to have someone fighting by his side.

He slashed another orc in the leg, sending it to the ground before it could attack. It took another moment to get his bearings, and he realized the orcs around them had been driven back.

"This way!" Boromir grabbed his arm again, pulling him away from the remaining orcs, and the two of them ran towards where Merry and Pippin were standing.

Boromir took the white horn hanging from his neck and blew into it, releasing a deep bellow that echoed across the hill.

Toven spread his hands. "Isn't that going to give away our position?"

"We need help from the others." Boromir turned to Merry and Pippin. "Run! We need to keep moving."

Already, more orcs were pouring down the slopes towards them. They numbered at least fifty now, and Toven exhaled a shuddering breath.

Boromir nudged Toven's arm. "Keep them safe."

The hobbits were already running, and Boromir followed a few feet behind. The orcs were coming at them from the sides, too, and Boromir stopped to cut the legs of one from beneath it. Toven leapt forward and drove his sword through an orc's chest. He glanced back at Merry and Pippin, at the short swords in their trembling hands, and threw himself into the fray.

He didn't know what strange luck or skill kept him upright for so long. All he could feel was the blood rushing in his own ears, the clash of orc armor and rending steel, the slick black gore sliding down his blade and onto his hands. When he finally found Boromir in the chaos, and stepped so they were fighting back to back, he was nearly breathless with relief.

He didn't want to die here alone.

Too late, he caught sight of the orcish archer standing on a ridge a little ways away. A blade flashed in his vision, and he pushed it to the side and downwards.

There was a sensation like a shove to his shoulder that sent him to the ground, a ringing in his ears, a burst of pain in his chest—then nothing.

Hiding out in a bunker so drwatsonn doesn't strangle me in my sleep for this chapter, see you guys next week

...sorry