Chapter 32: From the Sun to the Moon
"So the sixth circle is on the bottom, right?"
"No, the first is on the bottom. The sixth must be near the top."
Quinn groaned. "You've got to be kidding me."
She'd been informed that the Houses of Healing were on the sixth circle of Minas Tirith, which had made sense for a city that was constructed of various layers stacked on top of each other. Then she realized how high they would have to climb to get to the upper levels.
"I'm gonna be honest." Quinn adjusted her grip on Toven's waist as the two of them began walking up the street. "I'm no city planner, but doesn't it make more sense to put the healers at the bottom, where it's easier to get to?"
"I have no idea," Toven mumbled.
Quinn frowned. Normally he would have made some kind of comment about how Erebor did things better, but she guessed the battle had taken its toll on him. She just hoped none of his injuries were serious—it was bad enough that he was having to walk up six city levels just to get some treatment.
She perked up as she spotted a horse-drawn cart full of soldiers heading their way. "Hey, maybe—" She stopped as she realized none of the soldiers were moving. "Never mind."
"It's all right," Toven said. "I can make it."
"We can stop and rest on the way," Quinn said. "How are you feeling?"
"Like a building fell on top of me," he said with a wince. "Hurts to breathe, a little."
"Okay, that's not good. Just hang in there." She glanced up at the top of the city, which seemed incredibly far away, and sighed. As much as she was worried for Toven, she was glad to be there for him. After everything that had kept them apart, from orc packs to getting possessed by some weird slimy demon, she was more determined than ever to be there when he needed her.
They were getting close to the upper levels when Toven's steps faltered and he sagged against Quinn. She immediately caught him and looked up in concern.
"Hey, talk to me. Are you okay? Are you having trouble breathing?"
"No," he said, his eyelids drooping. "I'm just really fucking exhausted."
"We're almost there." She squeezed his hand and nudged him to keep walking. "You get yourself checked out, and then you can rest."
If she were still an ancient warrior, she could have scooped him up and carried him up to the Houses of Healing. As it was, she was feeling the weight of the day's events in her own limbs, and she was looking forward to getting some rest herself.
She tried to distract herself by reminiscing on old memories of when Toven was younger, of lifting him into trees to climb and teaching him how to swing and telling him stories late into the night. She kind of missed the playful kid he used to be, but she was so proud of the man he'd grown into.
"Hey." She nudged him as he stumbled again, and began to sing quietly. "Toven, don't you know that you are cool as fuck on the inside? You just won a battle now, we're gonna get you feelin' right…"
Toven laughed quietly. "I'd forgotten about that song."
"Well, I thought you needed a pick-me-up." She'd started singing it to him back when he was a teenager and his insecurities had been especially bad, but it had been a long time since then. "Toven, don't you know that you kick so much ass on the inside?"
Her voice was starting to get hoarse by the time they reached the Houses of Healing, a series of white marble buildings that smelled of herbs and linen, and she only had the energy to let out a sigh of relief.
"Okay. Home stretch, T."
Inside, several pallets had been lined up in the main room, and healers dressed in light blue were making their way among the wounded with bandages and medicine.
Aragorn stood up from where he'd been tending to a Gondorian soldier and approached them. "Toven. How are you feeling?"
Quinn blinked. The last time she'd seen him, he'd still been on the battlefield outside. "How did you get here before us? Actually, don't answer that. If there was a faster way to get up here, I don't want to know about it."
"Well, to begin with, I had no one to carry," Aragorn said with a slight smile. He led them into a small room off to the side, and Quinn helped Toven onto the bed in the center.
"He almost got crushed by a war tower that fell off the back of a Mûmak," Quinn said as she helped Toven take off his tunic and mail shirt. "And the thing was almost on fire, so we both almost burned to death." She glance down at the burns on her hands, which were beginning to swell and throb. "Did I miss anything?"
Toven shook his head. "Just a few bruises and scrapes besides that. I can't believe I managed to stay on my horse for so long, after…" He trailed off, his expression growing distant.
Quinn stepped forward and rubbed comforting circles on his back. In her experience, fighting in a battle never got easier—she just found new ways to keep going until it was over. She remembered the blood pouring from Fastred's throat, the life leaving his eyes, and she shuddered.
"It seems you have some natural talent as a rider." Aragorn came over and knelt down as Toven removed his undershirt.
Quinn hissed through her teeth. There was already some pretty nasty bruising forming over his ribs where the wooden beam had pinned him down. "Are his ribs broken?"
"I do not think so." Aragorn ran a hand over the bruises, lightly, but the touch still made Toven wince. He looked up at Quinn. "If he has any trouble breathing, you must let me know right away."
"Got it."
He turned back to Toven and raised an eyebrow. "Do you think you can tolerate a few days' rest?"
"As long as you don't go running off after any more Uruk-hai," Toven replied.
Aragorn laughed softly at that and stood up. "I will find something to relieve your pain."
He walked out, closing the door behind him, and Toven slipped his undershirt back on.
Quinn frowned at the jagged scar on his shoulder before it was concealed, and nudged his arm. "Seriously. I want you to rest until you're completely better. You don't have to push yourself like you were doing earlier. The others might let you get away with that, but I have absolutely no problem grounding you."
Toven suppressed a yawn and nodded. "I hear you."
A moment later, Aragorn returned with a tonic for pain, and shortly after drinking it, Toven was fast asleep. Quinn drew the covers over him and stepped back with a sigh.
"Let me see your hands," Aragorn said, and she sat on the foot of the bed.
He'd also brought a bowl of water, a cloth, and some bandages, evidently anticipating that she would need her own wounds taken care of. This was the first time in years she'd had someone tend to her like this, and she found it comforting, in a way. She didn't have to rely solely on her own healing anymore.
"You were right, earlier," she said softly. "I completely lost my temper, and I…I wasn't thinking straight. I'm sorry."
"I do not blame you for being angry," Aragorn said, and his brow tensed for a brief moment. It was enough for Quinn to catch on—beneath his calm exterior, he'd taken Belekur's actions just as personally as she had. "But we have not won this war yet. After today's losses, we will need every ally we can muster."
"Yeah." She let out a calming breath out through her nose. "Speaking of, how'd you get all those ghosts to fight for you? I got the impression they were kind of…hostile."
Aragorn busied himself with the roll of bandages. "The Army of the Dead would answer only to one of Isildur's line, one who could call upon them to fulfill their oath. I was the only one who could command them."
"Oh, right. The whole king thing. Well, good for you. That army really came in clutch."
Aragorn didn't look exactly relieved as he began winding the bandages around her arm. "I would lead these people to victory, but I do not know if I have the strength to do it."
"Hey." She put her free hand on his shoulder, making him look up. "You remember when Gandalf died in Moria? You were the one who led us through that. You had to wrangle me, a couple of stoner hobbits, an elf and dwarf who hated each other's guts…and everyone else was okay, but the point is, you're a natural at this. I've seen some leaders in my old world who were total shitbags, but you're doing this because you care. You're gonna be fine."
His gaze softened. "I can always depend on you to speak plainly, Quinn."
"You know it." She placed her hands in her lap as he finished. "Thanks for patching me up. And him." She nodded towards Toven.
"And thank you for your counsel." Aragorn gave her shoulder an affectionate squeeze and left the room.
Quinn let out a sigh and flopped backwards onto the bed. Relief instantly flooded her body. She was ready to pass out right then.
"No. Nope." She sat up, blinking rapidly. Last time she'd passed out, she'd been possessed by some weird demon for who knows how many days. There was no way in hell she was letting that happen again, at least until she figured out what exactly was going on.
Caffeine. I need caffeine. She hadn't been able to find coffee in this world, so she would have to settle for the strongest cup of tea she could brew.
Quinn pushed herself off the bed and checked that Toven was breathing all right. She readjusted his blankets, then headed outside. She wasn't sure where she'd find tea, especially in a city that had been under siege a few hours ago, but walking around would help her stay awake anyway.
She went to rub her eyes, then remembered her bandages and dropped her hands back to her sides. "Tea seller. I'm going into battle, and I need your strongest teas."
"Quinn!"
She looked up, and her eyes widened as she saw Pippin running towards her—wearing a small set of Gondorian armor, of all things.
Shaking aside her confusion, she grinned and said, "Hey, man! What are you doing here? Are you okay?"
"I can't find Merry," he said breathlessly. "N-No one's seen him in the Houses of Healing, and I searched the battlefield, but—"
"Wait a second, slow down." She gestured for him to catch his breath. "Merry was in the battle?"
"I found his cloak in the field," Pippin said, his eyes filled with unshed tears. "But I couldn't find him."
"Shit." Dread condensed in her stomach, but she tried not to show it. She needed to be strong for her friend. "Okay, let's go find him." She put a hand on his shoulder, and the two of them started down the street. "I'm sure he's fine. He probably just got knocked out, or he might just be…resting…"
She couldn't think of any decent alternatives to Merry being dead that didn't involve him being grievously injured, so she decided to just keep her mouth shut as they hurried towards the front gate.
The sky was darkening, the mountains behind the city throwing everything into shadow as the sun set. Quinn was beginning to regret not bringing a couple of torches.
"Let's split up," she said. "We've got a lot of ground to cover, so don't lose hope, okay?"
Pippin nodded, his jaw tight, and the two of them set off in opposite directions.
Quinn put a hand up to her nose as the smell of death permeated the air. Everywhere she looked, there were fallen bodies—horses, Rohirrim, orcs, and the occasional bulk of a fallen Mûmak. A handful of men were walking among the fallen, retrieving the bodies of their comrades. The blank faces and bloodied limbs made her nauseous, but she forced herself to look.
Merry couldn't be dead. She'd come to accept that most of her mortal friends would die eventually—some of them already had—but this world wasn't supposed to take him. Her memories of Merry and Pippin were all laughter and smoking and carefree nonsense. There was a light and peace in the Shire that she'd never found anywhere else, and her friends had left it to help people they'd never met. Merry and Pippin and Frodo and Sam deserved absolutely none of the shit the world had thrown at them.
"Quinn! He's over here!"
She turned towards the sound of Pippin's voice and sprinted over to where he was kneeling beside a dead Mûmak. Merry was lying on his side, his face frighteningly pale, and Pippin rolled him onto his back.
"Merry?" Pippin said, his voice trembling.
Quinn fell to her knees beside him, reaching out to take his pulse, but Merry's eyes fluttered open. His gaze was unfocused at first, but when he looked up at Pippin, a small, weak smile touched his lips.
"I knew you'd find me." He turned his head a fraction. "Quinn?"
"I'm here." She took his hand. "Talk to me. Are you hurt anywhere?"
"M-My arm feels cold."
That's not good. Quinn took off his glove and rolled up his sleeve, and a curse shot from her lips. His skin was pale and cool to the touch, and his veins had darkened to a purplish-black.
"What is that?" Pippin asked.
"Looks like Morgul venom." She rubbed his fingers to try and get some warmth back into them. "Where did the Nazgûl cut you?"
Merry shook his head. "Didn't cut me. I…I stabbed it, and it hurt my arm. I don't know how."
"Oh. That's new."
"Éowyn killed it. I saw her." He stirred, as though trying to sit up, but didn't make it more than a few inches. "Where is she? Is she all right?"
"Wait, Éowyn killed the Nazgûl?" She straightened, a fresh wave of rage rolling through her. "Belekur is such a fucking— Whatever. It's not important." She slipped Merry's glove back on and helped him sit up. "We're gonna get you to a healer."
Praying she had the strength to actually carry him, she hooked one arm behind Merry's shoulders, the other beneath his legs, and stood up. He was small, but definitely heavier than a child, and his armor wasn't helping.
"Oof. You gotta lay off the lembas there, buddy."
Merry let out a weak chuckle and rested his head on her shoulder.
"Just stay with me." She set off towards the gates, Pippin at her heels. Frodo had lasted for days after he'd been poisoned, though they'd been long, painful ones. She just hoped the healers in Minas Tirith had the right skills to help Merry.
It was slow going. She couldn't manage more than a brisk walk, and her pace was slowed as she tried not to trip over any dead bodies. Pippin fell into step beside her, though she could tell he was anxious to be moving faster.
When they passed through the gates, he asked, "C-Can I help you carry him?"
Quinn adjusted her grip with a grimace. "I don't think that would make things go faster. Just, uh, get me something. Horse, cart, man with big muscles—whatever you can find."
"All right." Pippin hurried up the street.
Trying to catch her breath, Quinn followed him at a much slower pace. She was really missing those ancient warrior muscles now. "How are you holding up?"
"It's dark," Merry said quietly.
"Well, the sun's going down. Hang in there. We'll get you warmed up soon enough."
"Are you going to bury me?"
The question shocked her, then put a lump in her throat. "No. Bury you in blankets and good vibes, maybe. But you're gonna be okay, you hear me?"
Merry mumbled something she didn't catch.
"Merry? Stay with me, okay?" She tried not to let her voice shake. "You're gonna make it through this. Who else is gonna keep me and Pippin in line, huh?"
"You'd be doomed."
"Exactly. So you keep your eyes open. We're almost there."
That wasn't as close to the truth as she wanted it to be. They weren't even on the third level yet, and her legs were already shaking with exhaustion.
When Pippin arrived with help, she almost dropped to the ground in relief—but she managed to stay upright for the sake of the injured hobbit in her arms. To her surprise, it was Gandalf who accompanied Pippin. His longsword swung at his hip, but his staff was nowhere to be seen.
"Good to see you, man," Quinn panted. "Merry's injured. We think it was a Nazgûl. He just needs a healer—"
"I will take it from here," Gandalf said, none of the usual irritation in his tone as he lifted Merry from her arms with ease.
"Thanks." Quinn shook out her aching arms, wondering if Gandalf was secretly ripped, Iroh style, beneath his robes. "You go on. I'll, uh, catch up."
Pippin shot her a grateful nod and followed Gandalf towards the upper levels. Quinn rested her hands on her knees and sighed. She could have dropped onto the stone and taken a power nap there, but she pushed herself upright.
"Just keep going." She wiped some sweat from her brow with the edge of her sleeve. "Work's not done yet."
Toven found himself drifting in the haze between sleep and wakefulness, absently aware of his sore muscles and the sharp ache in his ribs. When he heard the low creak of a door opening, he finally opened his eyes and blinked drowsily.
"Hey." Quinn set something down on the bedside table and took a seat on the edge of the bed. "Did I wake you up?"
"Sort of." His throat felt sore and raw, and he winced slightly as he tried to swallow. "How long was I out?"
"Uh…" She tilted her head. "Maybe sixteen, seventeen hours? How are you feeling?"
"Like a slightly smaller building fell on top of me." He tried to sit up, and hissed through his teeth as the pain in his chest flared up.
"I got you." She helped him into an upright position, propping a couple of pillow behind him. "Drink this. It'll help with the pain." She retrieved a tonic from the bedside table and pressed it into his hand.
Toven drained the small bottle as quickly as he could, grimacing at the bitter aftertaste. When he was finished, Quinn traded the bottle for a cup of water, and he let the cool liquid soothe his throat. "Where are the others?"
"Mostly helping out with the cleanup or recovering from injuries. Almost all of our friends made it out okay, so that's good news."
He frowned. "You said almost."
"Merry was injured fighting the Nazgûl, but Aragorn said he should pull through." She began counting on her fingers. "Legolas and Gimli are okay, and so are Pippin and Gandalf. I saw Boromir earlier today, and he's doing fine."
He relaxed slightly at that. "Have you seen Éowyn?"
Quinn nodded. "Also injured. She hasn't woken up yet."
"What happened to her?"
"Same injuries as Merry, plus a broken arm." She leaned closer. "She actually took out that Nazgûl. No idea how she did it, but I really want her to wake up so I can ask her."
"Right." He lowered his gaze to the bedsheets, a tightness in his throat. He'd lost sight of her and Merry during the first charge, but he'd still promised her that they would stick together.
"Hey." Quinn reached over and squeezed his hand. "She'll be okay. Merry woke up early this morning. I'm sure it's only a matter of time before Éowyn does, too."
Toven nodded, still not meeting her eyes. There was so much left unsaid between them, but more than that, Éowyn deserved to see the victory she'd fought so hard for.
"Éomer is also alive," Quinn continued. "He's king now, I guess. Théoden didn't make it." She sat up straighter. "I actually do have some good news. Faramir, Boromir's brother, was scouting out Ithilien a few days back, and guess who he ran into."
He finally looked up. "Frodo and Sam?"
She nodded, eyes bright. "He said they were still on their way to Mordor. So we know they were alive about a week ago."
"That is good news." But his relief was tempered by dread. Frodo and Sam still had a long road ahead of them, and he had a feeling the most dangerous part of their journey was yet to come. "Is there any way we could reach them?"
"We're still deciding what to do next. Gondor is having a little bit of a leadership crisis right now because, uh…apparently the Steward went crazy, set himself on fire, and burned to death. So I guess that puts Boromir in charge."
"Shit." Toven winced. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to experience that kind of loss. He made a note to himself to get the full story from Boromir later.
"Believe me, I'd like nothing better than to run off to Mordor and try and catch up with Frodo and Sam, but…" She gestured to herself. "I'm not exactly in the best shape to be running cross country."
"That reminds me." They'd fallen so easily into conversation, he'd almost forgotten she'd been possessed by some creature until yesterday afternoon. "What happened to you?"
"I'm still not one hundred percent clear on that." She scratched the back of her neck. "I just remember getting really drunk the night of the feast, getting back to the room, and hearing some creepy voice in my head. And then things got really weird."
She described the visions she'd had of living her old life back in her world, and how the memory of the bandit attack had eventually snapped her back to reality.
"I woke up a few minutes before we charged into battle, and that's probably been the most confused I've ever been in my life," she finished. "What about you? Did you notice I was, uh, gone?"
"I knew something was off the next time I spoke to you. But I waited too long to act on it."
Quinn lightly smacked his leg. "Hey. There's no way you could have known what was going on. I'm just glad no one got hurt."
Toven nodded, thinking back to the cold smile the creature had worn on his mother's face. "Still, you should know what happened while you were…away."
He described the events after the feast, starting with Pippin's encounter with the Palantír and ending with the confrontation he'd had with the creature.
"So this thing has been eating my memories or something?" Quinn tilted her head back and squinted. "I don't feel like any of my memories have disappeared."
"Well, you wouldn't."
"Oh, right."
Toven searched her face. "Have you gotten the sense that you're missing anything? Maybe you've run into someone you don't recognize but seems to know you?"
"Nothing like that." She shook her head. "Everything was a little hazy while I was dreaming about being back in my world, so some of those memories might be gone. But I guess I need those the least."
She kept her tone light, but a shadow passed over her face. Those memories were the only thing she had left of her old life, and Toven knew that was still an important part of her.
"We should talk to Gandalf about this," he said. "There might be a way to free you from this."
Quinn scowled. "Belekur did it during the battle. You wanna know what happened then? I was just a spirit, watching the battle, watching you nearly burn to death, and Belekur turned their back instead of saving you." She raised her hands. "This isn't ideal, but at least I can still help people like this."
"And how do you know it'll be you who is in control?"
"As far as I'm aware, this thing can't get to me while I'm awake." She shrugged. "So I just won't sleep."
He raised his eyebrows. "Is that even possible? I thought you needed human things, now."
"I have been getting as close to a caffeine overdose as possible in a world without Five Hour Energy. I've peed three times in the last hour and my heart rate is probably higher than what's healthy, but…" She spread her hands as if to say, What can you do?
Toven sighed and leaned back. "Why did I think being resurrected would make you less reckless?"
"Records show I'm not very good with maintaining living bodies. Which reminds me, I have to go pee again." She stood up. "Before I go, I brought you some food." She picked up a plate from the bedside table and passed it to him—slices of apple drizzled with honey.
Toven smiled. It was one of his favorite foods, something he'd grown up eating in Erebor. "Thank you."
"'Course. Aragorn also brought this." She gestured to a bowl filled with what looked like dried herbs. "Said to fill it with boiling water and inhale the steam, and it should help with any damage to your lungs. I can get that set up whenever you want."
He chuckled. "You're acting like Dori, now."
"Yeah, well…" She shoved her hands into her pockets. "I feel like I need to make up for running off and almost getting incinerated by a wizard and then getting possessed by some weird gooey demon." She met his gaze, an apology in her eyes. "These past few months have been hard. I should have been there for you more."
It hit him then, the aching relief that he really did have her back, that he still had her unconditional love and support to lean on after what had been an endlessly tiring series of events.
"You're doing all right, Quinn," he said with a soft smile.
"Thanks, T." She leaned over and kissed his forehead. "I'll check on you later."
Quinn kept her word, visiting him a while later and bringing more food as well as bits of news about the aftermath of the battle and the progress of his healing friends. With her attention was the unspoken expectation that he would stay in bed and rest, but Toven found himself growing restless after a few hours. The medicine had eased the pain in his chest somewhat, so once he was alone in the room, he dressed himself and ventured outside.
The main room was brighter now, and most of the wounded were resting or talking amongst themselves in low voices. Toven recognized Éomer sitting on a raised dais on the other side of the room, and made his way towards him.
Éomer looked as if he hadn't slept at all, wiry strands of hair framing his face and dried orc blood clinging to one cheek. His hollow gaze was focused on the cot beside him, and Toven's heart stuttered as he turned his gaze to Éowyn.
Her face was almost as pale as the bandages wound around both arms. If not for the slow rise and fall of her chest, he would have thought she had already passed.
"She has not woken yet," Éomer said hoarsely, causing Toven to look up.
He didn't have it in him to offer any words of comfort or hope. Instead, he said, "I heard about your uncle. I'm sorry. He was a good man."
Éomer nodded once, his gaze never leaving his sister. Toven stepped back. This was a man that had nearly lost the remainder of his family, and had the new burden of kingship on top of it. It was a grief Toven knew he didn't understand, and he didn't think it would help either of them if he stayed.
He made a silent promise to check on Éowyn later and left the hall.
The sun was out, but the air was cold and left him feeling exposed. From up here, Toven could see for miles past the gleaming stone of the White City. The fields below were scarred with flattened grass and rent earth, though a good portion of the bodies had been cleared away. Beyond was the dull gleam of the Anduin cutting through a city shrouded in smoke. And looming on the horizon were the jagged mountains of Mordor, partially concealing a red glow like fire about to spill from a dragon's maw.
He sighed and crossed his arms. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to live here, to look out every day and see impending doom on the horizon.
"Toven?"
He turned around, and his face broke into a grin as Boromir crossed the distance between them and pulled him into an embrace. His ribs protested at the impact, but he didn't mind.
"I heard you had come into the city yesterday," Boromir said, pulling back and looking him over. "Are you injured?"
"Not too badly." He returned the gesture, searching for bandages or stiff movements, but Boromir seemed mostly unharmed. "Did you fight in the battle?"
"I took charge of defending the city." His brow tensed, as if plagued by a dark memory. "And our defenses would have been broken had reinforcements not arrived. We owe a great debt to Rohan."
"I'm just glad we got here in time." Toven hesitated, then said, "Quinn told me about your father. I'm sorry. I-I can't imagine…"
Boromir nodded, his expression falling. "I did not learn about his passing until after the battle was won. But perhaps I should have foreseen what this war would drive him to do."
"You shouldn't blame yourself," Toven said, trying not to let his frustration enter his voice. Adding guilt to the burdens he already carried was the last thing Boromir needed to do.
"I will tell you the full story, and then you can decide what I should have done." Boromir gestured for Toven to join him as they began walking.
They ventured across the upper level of the city, beneath tall white archways and echoing stone corridors, and Boromir explained how he had arrived in Minas Tirith shortly after Osgiliath, the city on the Anduin, had been lost to Mordor. How Denethor his father had blamed his brother's weakness and demanded they try and retake the city, even as Boromir insisted it was a lost cause. How his brother had attempted an attack anyway and had returned close to death. How Denethor, driven by madness during the siege, had nearly burned both of them alive.
Toven listened silently, and still couldn't find it in himself to blame Boromir for what had happened. If anything, he saw more clearly than ever the desperation that had plagued the Steward's family, and he was grateful that madness-driven desperation and cruelty had only affected Boromir while he'd been under the influence of the Ring.
"Is your brother all right?" he asked once Boromir had finished.
"He is still recovering from his injuries, but he was not harmed by the fire." A small, ironic smile touched his lips. "You know, it was Pippin who pulled him to safety. I owe more to that hobbit than I can ever repay."
"I think a lifetime supply of pipe-weed might be a good start," Toven said, and the two of them laughed.
Boromir placed a hand on his shoulder. "I want you to meet him. My brother."
Toven blinked. "Right now?"
"If you are willing."
"All right." He let Boromir lead him back towards the Houses of Healing, feeling slightly nervous. Boromir had mentioned more than once that there were some similarities between Toven and his brother. He hoped he was able to live up to whatever those similarities were.
They reached an open-air courtyard that overlooked the city below. There was space for a small fountain and a bed of flowers, though the latter was only filled with green sprigs for the moment.
At the far end stood a man dressed in a loose cotton shirt, watching the movement in the streets below. He turned at the sound of their approach, and a small smile graced his lips.
"Faramir." Boromir put a hand on Toven's shoulder and guided him forward. "This is Toven, the Ranger I spoke of earlier."
Toven swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. Faramir bore a resemblance to his brother, in the color of his hair and the shape of his nose, but the rest of his features were softer and rounder. A sharp sensation of recognition jolted through him, and Toven finally understood why Boromir had thought the two of them would find kinship in each other.
"It is an honor to finally meet you, Toven." Faramir smiled and reached out to shake his hand. "My brother has told me of your bravery in battle."
Toven accepted his hand, his tongue still stuck to the roof of his mouth. Say something! "I-It's an honor to meet you as well."
"I have something I must attend to," Boromir said, giving them each an affectionate pat on the shoulder. "Forgive me, but I must take my leave."
He didn't look very apologetic at all, and Toven tried not to feel betrayed as the two of them were left alone. He scratched at his palm, eyes flickering from the flowerbed to one of the far columns.
"I feel I must apologize for the state of the city," Faramir said. If he sensed Toven's awkwardness, he didn't show it. "It is usually not so dismal as it has been in recent months."
Toven meant to say that there was no need to apologize, since the city had just been under siege. Instead, he blurted out, "I've never met anyone like me before. I mean, I've met dwarves. Dwarves who were like me. But n-not another man."
Faramir's eyes widened slightly, and Toven's cheeks flushed as he realized he was being presumptuous.
"Unless I'm wrong. I'm sorry if I've offended you." He shut his mouth. Mahal, I shouldn't have gotten out of bed today.
Understanding broke over his gaze, and he laughed. "I've taken no offense. You just surprised me. I've…never met anyone like me, either."
His face still burned, but it was accompanied by a happy, relieved flutter in his chest. It felt as though some barrier in his heart had finally been broken down, to know that he was not alone in something he had carried all his life.
"I am glad to meet you, Toven," Faramir said, and stepped forward to pull him into a one-armed embrace.
Toven returned the gesture immediately, warmth swelling over him. He didn't fully understand what he was experiencing, how he could feel such kinship with someone he had just met, but everything suddenly felt new, like he was really seeing the sun for the first time.
When they broke apart, Faramir touched his right shoulder, where his arm hung stiffly at his side. A few bandages were visible at the edge of his collar. "Forgive me. My shoulder was pierced with an arrow, and I have been advised not to move it until it is fully healed."
A laugh escaped his lips, and Toven shook his head. "Sorry. It's not funny that you got shot. But I received the same injury a few weeks ago." He touched the same spot on his left shoulder.
A smile crept onto Faramir's face. "It seems you and I have much in common."
They sat on a bench overlooking the city and fell into easy conversation. Faramir told him stories of skirmishes in Ithilien, and Toven recounted his own experiences as a Ranger. They talked about music and folk tales and life in the wild. They stayed away from the topic of the war, and Toven was glad to not have to think about it for a while. It felt like talking to an old friend, and it wasn't long before he let it all spill forth—his abandonment at birth, growing up among dwarves and discovering himself, living among men for the first time.
"I did not know dwarves were so…open to such things," Faramir said. "But it is good that they were there for you when you needed it."
Toven nodded, tempted to ask him about his own experiences, though he was hesitant to ask anything too intrusive. "And you had Boromir, right?"
Faramir let out a soft laugh, though there was a glimmer of sadness in his eyes as he looked out over the city. "Not at first. He did not understand how I felt, and for several years he sided with my father. He thought I should…deny that part of myself."
Frowning, Toven thought back to Boromir's words to him at the inn. "But he changed his mind."
"Eventually, yes. And then he became my most steadfast defender. My father…" He sighed, and Toven could detect a multitude of emotions in the movement. "I eventually became Captain of the Rangers. I defended our lands from Mordor. But it was never enough for him to see me for who I truly was."
Toven grabbed his hand and squeezed it. "I see you. So does Boromir. And there are many more people you'll meet who will give you that. You deserve it, Captain or not."
Faramir smiled, glancing down at their joined hands. "Thank you, Toven."
He released his hand, heat creeping up his neck and onto his cheeks. "Well…here's to surviving arrow wounds and everything else the world decides to throw at us."
Quinn found a quiet spot in the upper levels where no one would notice her talking to herself (or at least appearing to do so) and started pacing.
"Okay. I know you're in there, you…weird demon thing. It's time you gave me some answers."
What would you like to know?
She blinked. "Thought that would take more convincing on my part."
I'm willing to answer your questions. But it won't change the inevitability of your situation.
"We'll see about that." She sighed and crossed her arms. "Toven told me you're trying to eat my brain, or something. Or at least my memories."
That is true.
"Have you thought about…not doing that?"
It is in my nature to consume. And I have spent a long time in the dark. Hungering.
Quinn frowned. "So you chose the chick with a bad memory. Besides, I haven't even lived that long compared to some of the other people here. Not that I want you possessing anyone else."
You were an easy target. She could almost hear a shrug in its voice. You have no body to return to, no physical vessel to act as a defense.
"Huh." She leaned against the wall. "So you're like Venom from Spiderman."
I don't know what that is.
"Well, you can always eat my memory of watching Spiderman 3. I liked the first two better, anyway." She drummed her fingers on her bicep. "I don't think Venom is a good name for you. I'm gonna call you…Goopy."
I object to that.
"Well, y'know, I object to you trying to possess me." She straightened, reminding herself that Goopy was not a friendly creature. "And I'm not going to let it happen again. I'll stay awake for as long as I need to."
And how long do you think that will last?
Quinn wondered if it could sense the headache pulsing between her temples or the exhaustion dragging on her limbs. "So far, my record is three days. And if there's one thing I've done a lot of while I've been here, it's testing the limits of my body." She narrowed her eyes, wishing she could look the thing in the face. "It's game on, you slimy motherfucker."
Before Goopy could respond, a noise like a thunderclap made her jump. Quinn spun towards the sound. It had almost sounded like a firework going off, but she doubted Gandalf was taking part in some post-battle celebration. She sprinted towards the source of the noise.
She found a group of people gathered in the open space outside the main hall—mostly soldiers and healers. They were all staring at the tall, armored figure standing in the grass. Quinn felt her stomach drop.
The warrior was close to eight feet tall, dressed in black and gray armor with a wicked-looking broadsword strapped to their hip. They looked out over the anxious crowd of people with cold eyes and sharp features, then spoke in a resonating voice.
"Where is Belekur?"
The song that Quinn sings is "Danny Don't You Know" by NSP (with the lyrics changed because she's CRINGY). It's a really sweet and silly song, so feel free to give it a listen.
I decided to keep most of the plot with Denethor and Faramir the same, mostly because I don't feel confident enough with these characters to do a full analysis on how things could've gone differently if Boromir had been there. This isn't really their story anyway, so hopefully y'all don't mind.
Also at the very top of my outline for this fic I have "Trans guy Faramir" followed by the mind blown emoji, so…this is something I've been excited to get to for a while lol. I really liked writing their meeting scene, there is absolutely nothing like that "wait so i'm NOT the only one" feeling.
But more importantly...a new player is on the field now! I've been waiting for a long while to finally bring in more ancient warrior stuff, so I'm really excited to get into that subplot. Until next time!
