Got two songs for this chapter. I imagine "Holding out for a Hero" by Bonnie Tyler is playing for Quinn while "War of the Universe" by Luca Turilli is playing for Belekur.

Chapter 34: Where Heroes Lie

Interdimensional travel wasn't nearly as dramatic as Quinn thought it was going to be. As soon as Gandalf brought his staff down, she closed her eyes on instinct. She felt the air change around her, growing drier and warmer, and when she opened her eyes, she was somewhere new.

The sky boiled with storm clouds above her, though there was no rain. In fact, it looked like no water had touched the earth in years. It was all cracked, uneven rock that occasionally dipped down into deep crevices, and it was all tinted red, like it had been stained permanently with blood. Overall, it seemed like she was only a few flaming pits and tortured souls away from being in hell.

Quinn spun in a circle, taking in her surroundings. "Wow, this is actually pretty close to what I was expecting."

But there was no sign of Belekur—or anyone else, for that matter. The only sign of life she could see was a tower of dark stone in the distance. The warrior who had taken Belekur had mentioned something about a citadel, and that seemed like a good starting point for now.

She took off at a run towards the tower, and groaned as her footsteps faltered. She was already fighting exhaustion from days without sleep, and she would need to be in her best physical condition if she was going up against an ancient warrior.

Quinn rubbed a hand over her face. "God, I'm gonna get there and immediately get snapped in half." She hadn't thought to bring supplies, or even a weapon. "I am such an idiot."

Perhaps I can help.

She frowned at Goopy's voice. "I don't know if you and I define 'help' the same way."

I can make you stronger.

She hesitated. "Okay, I'll bite. What does that—"

An overwhelming nausea rolled through her body, making her double over. Her fingers dug into the dry earth. It felt like her bones were shifting, her muscles swelling around them. She wanted to claw at her skin, anything to make the feeling stop, but her entire body had gone rigid.

When the sensation finally subsided, she blinked tears out of her eyes and looked down at herself. She instantly recognized the body she'd first inhabited when she'd arrived in Middle-earth. She was bigger and stronger now, wearing plate armor—but unfortunately no sword.

"First of all…" Swallowing down the last of her nausea, Quinn pushed herself to her feet. "Never do that without warning me first. Second of all, you could've done that the whole time?"

Yes.

"So when Toven was getting crushed under that burning wreckage, you could've turned me into the Hulk or something?"

It's difficult to manifest forms you're not familiar with.

"I'm about to manifest my foot up your ass."

You realize the irony of that, don't you?

Quinn groaned and started walking again. "You know, I'm honestly beginning to prefer Belekur over you."

She was in a living, breathing body (or at least the illusion of one), so she couldn't rely on unlimited stamina. But she already felt lighter, more able. When she pushed herself into a run again, her feet moved more swiftly across the cracked ground.

It wasn't until she reached the top of a ridge that she slowed her pace. Just below was the remains of a battlefield, littered with bleeding bodies. Swaths of the ground had been scorched or gouged a foot deep. As Quinn descended the ridge, she realized these were more ancient warriors, some of them wearing grayish armor like her, and others with bronze-gold armor.

"Shit," she muttered, stepping over one of the bodies. She'd seen Belekur fight, and she could only imagine what kind of violence it would take to bring an ancient warrior down.

A low, snuffling growl made her turn. A creature had climbed to the top of the ridge behind her, leaning forward on four legs. The thing was at least five feet tall, its skin mottled with sores and dirt. Muscles knotted its clawed limbs, though she could clearly see the outline of its ribs. Where its eyes should have been were only shadowed sockets rimmed with dried blood, and for a moment Quinn hoped the creature wouldn't see her.

Then its nostrils flared, and it turned towards her and opened its jaw, revealing a set of wickedly sharp teeth.

"Nope. Nope!" Quinn spun around and ran, flinching as she heard the creature leap down and begin chasing after her. "Of course this world also has flesh-eating creatures from hell."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the creature lunge, and dodged to the side. Its claws caught her shoulder and sent her stumbling forward. She tripped over a dead body and managed to catch her fall with both hands.

The creature was already turning and preparing for another attack. Quinn rolled onto her back and brought her knee to her chest, and when the monster pounced, she slammed her foot against its chest. She heard a couple bones crack, and it tumbled backwards.

"Hey, Goopy," she panted as she pushed herself to her feet and started running. "You sure you can't manifest a machine gun or something like that?"

Unfortunately not.

"Well, if you're going to try to possess me, you gotta pull your weight somehow." Quinn glanced over her shoulder and swore as she saw the creature galloping towards her.

She finally realized she was in a battlefield, and even if she didn't have her own weapon, she could probably find one. The hilt of a sword caught her eye, and she rushed toward it. Muttering an apology to its previous owner, she slid it out from underneath the dead warrior and raised it just as the monster slammed into her, jaws wide.

Her bracer protected her from the worst of its bite, but its fangs still sunk into the inside of her forearm, and she cried out in pain. She thrust her right arm up and punched its exposed throat. This was enough for the creature to let go of her arm and back off. She staggered to her feet, ready this time as the creature came at her. She slammed her sword down, hearing the bones in its neck crack, then hacked its head off for good measure.

Breathing hard, Quinn wiped some sweat from her forehead and turned her arm over to inspect the damage. A row of puncture wounds were oozing black blood, though it was thicker than what she would see from an orc. It was another reminder that even though she looked like an ancient warrior, she wasn't one—or a human, for that matter.

The sword in her hand was vibrating slightly. Quinn raised it, remembering how Belekur's sword had glowed when ready to unleash its power. She lined up her shot, making sure she wasn't about to desecrate anyone's body, then swung a powerful downward strike. A wave of force shot out, leaving a deep groove in the earth.

"I like this thing," she said with a slight smile. After a moment, the sword began to vibrate again. "I wonder if they ever use this to…eh, never mind."

She decided against tending to her wound and started running towards the tower again. She came across a few more groupings of dead bodies, but thankfully no more monsters.

The sky boiled with dark, dry clouds. Quinn wasn't sure how much time had passed by the time she reached the tower. It was only the pinnacle to a much larger building, constructed of dark stone with high, sheer walls.

What immediately caught her attention was the gaping hole in one of said walls. It looked like something had blasted through from the inside, and she could see a trail of destruction leading from it. There were a few scorch marks in the earth, and a few damp splatters of what might have been blood. Quinn walked closer and scuffed one of the scorch marks with her boot. She wasn't totally sure, but they looked like they might have come from Belekur's sword.

With a sigh, Quinn began following the trail at a run.

"Belekur, you'd better still be alive when I get there."


"I fear if you continue pacing like that, you will wear a hole in the grass."

Toven looked up as Legolas approached him. He was still standing outside, where Quinn had left—and admittedly, he had been pacing for a long time.

"Quinn's gone," he said. "She went to save Belekur. I don't know if she's coming back."

Legolas clasped his hands behind his back and looked up at the white tree. Its branches were gnarled and bare, its uppermost branches blackened as if touched by fire. Toven brushed a hand over one of his bracers. The real thing didn't have much of the majesty of Gondor's emblem.

"I lost my own mother this way," Legolas said. "She led the assault on Gundabad, and I never saw her again. There is no grave to speak of."

"I'm sorry," Toven said softly. He knew the elf a little better now, enough to understand the significance of Legolas telling him this at all, and the grief that was no doubt hidden beneath his steady voice.

"Do not grieve her yet." Legolas turned to him. "Especially since there is a chance she will come back."

"Is that what you wish you had done?"

"I know it is what Quinn would want, if she were here," Legolas said with a slight smile.

"Right." She would have berated him for worrying—and for avoiding the task she'd assigned him in her absence. He wasn't sure he would be able to relax before she returned, but there was nothing else he could do. "Thanks, Legolas."

He nodded. "I believe some of the others are in the pavilion by the gardens."

Toven fell into stride next to him as they left the grassy stretch. "Are you joining them, too?"

"I have other matters to attend to."

"Would those matters happen to involve Gimli?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Legolas's cheeks turned a fraction darker. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"Whatever's going on between you two, I hope you know you don't have to hide it from the rest of us. Quinn might poke fun at you, but that's about it."

"I know." His chin lowered slightly. "I'm sure the others are aware by now."

"Well, I think Quinn is still oblivious, or she would have bothered you about it already," he said with a soft laugh. "For what it's worth, though, I'm glad you're happy with him."

"Thank you, Toven." Legolas turned to him and offered him a genuine smile for the first time. "And I wish you the same fortune."

His face heated slightly, and he wondered if Legolas knew about his own situation. Perhaps he was just speaking generally. "Well, I won't keep you any longer."

The two of them parted ways, and Toven set off toward the gardens. It wasn't yet warm enough for there to be any flowers, but the greenery still brought him a measure of calm. He didn't mind living in a city, but part of him still longed to be back in the forest.

A familiar voice reached his ears, and he followed it to its source.

"Now, Southlinch is no good at all, though the Bracegirdles will swear up and down that it's superior to Old Toby. I suppose there's no accounting for taste. I have to say I've acquired more of a taste for Longbottom Leaf, though that might be because Merry and I found a couple of barrels in the storerooms of Isengard…"

Toven found Pippin and Faramir sitting at one of the tables in the pavilion. A few half-eaten platters of food were spread out on the table, and Pippin was gesturing animatedly with his pipe as he spoke.

Faramir noticed him first, and waved him over with a smile. "Master Peregrin was enlightening me on the varieties of pipe-weed."

Pippin turned to Toven as he sat down. "It grows here in Gondor, apparently, but Faramir tells me it's nothing more than a weed to them. Can you believe that?"

Toven leaned his elbows on the table. He'd never had much interest in smoking, and Quinn had forbidden him from doing it out of some fear that it would make him sick. "Well, people use plants for different things. Hobbits think of athelas as a weed."

"Well, when I get back to the Shire, I'll plant a garden of nothing but athelas and grow it for the rest of my days," Pippin said, popping a piece of cheese into his mouth halfway through his sentence. "That was the herb Aragorn used to heal Merry, you know."

"Then perhaps I will start smoking pipe-weed," Faramir said. "After all, I owe you a great debt, Master Peregrin."

Toven remembered what Boromir had told him—that Pippin had saved Faramir's life. He imagined he was probably the only person that could say that about the hobbit.

"Just call me Pippin, if you don't mind. Only my distant relatives call me Peregrin."

"Not counting me, of course," came a new voice, and Merry came into view with Éowyn in tow. He sat beside Toven and plucked a bunch of grapes from the table.

Éowyn took the place on Pippin's other side. Her left arm was in a sling and her right arm was still bandaged, but she looked brighter and healthier than yesterday. She smiled at him, and Toven swallowed as his throat went dry.

"Um." He shook himself. They'd been able to speak comfortably with each other before, and now should be no different. "I'm surprised to see you walking around so soon."

"It was Merry who persuaded me to get some fresh air," Éowyn said. "And it feels as though I have been lying on that cot for an age."

"It felt the same for me," Merry said. "I was in some long dark dream, and I thought I'd never wake from it."

"I would have thought you were dreaming of supper," Pippin pointed his pipe at Merry, then looked around at the rest of them. "His first words when he woke up—'I'm hungry.'"

They all laughed at that.

"I'm fairly sure those were your first words when you were an infant, Pip," Merry retorted. "Why do you have your pipe with you, anyway? Do you still have the Leaf I gave you before you left?"

"No, it's more for comfort than anything," Pippin said, twirling his pipe to show it was empty. "And if Faramir is to be believed, there's not an ounce of it in the city. Dried, that is."

Faramir gave him an apologetic pat on the shoulder. "I will have to see that amended at once."

"Are you sure about that?" Toven asked Pippin. "I could have sworn I saw Aragorn smoking the other day. I assumed he got it from you two."

Slowly, Merry and Pippin turned to look at each other.

Toven suppressed a sigh. "What are you planning?"

"Nothing at all," Pippin said, raising his brows in feigned innocence.

"We're just off to have a chat with our dear friend Aragorn," Merry said as he and Pippin stood up.

"You'd better not tell him I told you," Toven called after them as they hurried away.

And then he became aware that it was just him, Faramir, and Éowyn.

"My lady." Faramir turned and offered a hand to Éowyn. "I do not believe we have been introduced. I am Captain Faramir."

Éowyn took his hand and clasped it gently. "I am Éowyn, sister of Éomer. I have heard your name before, though it is a pleasure to finally meet you."

"If I am not mistaken, it was you who slew the Nazgûl on the battlefield. My city owes you a great debt."

Éowyn blushed at that. Toven thought perhaps he should have been jealous, but he didn't feel anything like that. He was more relieved that the two of them seemed to like each other.

Even so, his skin felt hot, nerves buzzing in his stomach, and he occupied himself with picking apart a piece of bread. He hadn't had time to think about what he wanted to say to either of them, and now he wasn't sure he could scrape together more than a sentence. Part of him wished he had Quinn's gift for speaking without thinking first.

"What news is there of the war?" Éowyn asked, glancing between the two of them. "The healers could tell me nothing, and Éomer refused to speak of it."

"I believe Gandalf will be holding a council tomorrow," Faramir said. "We have time yet. Mordor will not be able to launch another attack soon, not with the defeat they suffered."

His voice was soothing, but the crust between Toven's fingers crumbled. There were so many uncertainties ahead. If Quinn didn't return before the next battle, before the war was over, if they lost the war without her—

"Toven," Éowyn said, brow furrowed. She'd seen the worry on his face plain as day. "I'm sorry. Now isn't the time to speak of such things."

"It's not your fault," he said, brushing a few crumbs from his fingers. "Sometimes it feels like it's the only thing to speak of."

"Fortunately for us, that is not the truth," Faramir said with a slight smile. "Things would be very different if we lived in a world dominated only by war. In any case, we are safe behind these walls—even if you sit as though we've just made camp."

Toven glanced down. He was sitting with one knee up to his chest, his other leg bent perpendicular to it. Faramir and Éowyn had both feet on the ground. He blushed. "It's more comfortable to sit like this."

Faramir copied his pose. "I see what you mean."

Éowyn laughed, and Toven couldn't help but crack a smile. He knew what Faramir was doing, and he was grateful for it.

"I think the hobbits might have had it right all this time." Toven picked up a small, round pastry and inspected it. "Only thing on their minds is food, smoking, drinking…" He took a bite, and tasted dried fig.

Faramir turned to Éowyn, who hadn't touched anything on the table. "Are you not hungry?"

Éowyn straightened, as if remembering herself, and reached out for a piece of cheese. "It has been rather difficult for me to eat, because of my injuries."

Toven noticed instantly how her right hand trembled slightly as she lifted the food to her mouth. He hoped it was only physical injuries, which would heal in time, that were discouraging her from eating as much.

"I think I have a solution for that." He picked up a berry and held it up. "Open wide."

Éowyn raised an eyebrow, but opened her mouth obligingly. The berry sailed through the air and landed on her tongue. She bit down on it, and her cheeks flushed slightly as she stifled a laugh.

She was beautiful. It was a fact he had absently acknowledged before, but seeing it now was like watching a gem catch the light for the first time. All her joy and sorrow, the courage she carried against her fears, shone through and warmed him.

Feeling slightly emboldened, he grabbed a handful of nuts. "Throwing food is an ancient dwarvish tradition. I had an uncle who could catch a whole boiled egg in his mouth."

Smiling, Faramir broke off a small piece of bread. "And do you share his talents?"

They took turns throwing and catching, and though more food ended up on the ground than in their mouths, they were all breathless with laughter by the end. Toven found it a little easier to breathe—his anxiety from earlier wasn't gone, but it had been loosened up a little.

He felt happier than he had in a long time.

"Well," Éowyn propped her chin on her hand, "we have made an absolute mess of this pavilion. I hope you will forgive these unruly outsiders who have invaded your halls."

"Especially the uncivilized Ranger, who sits as if he has never seen a table before," Toven said.

"You forget, I am also an uncivilized Ranger," Faramir said, brushing some crumbs from the front of his shirt. "And I have found entertainment in the courts of Minas Tirith to be lacking as of late."

"Is there music?" Éowyn asked, a slight wistfulness overtaking her gaze. "I have not heard anything but mourning songs in a long time."

Toven supposed she wasn't counting any of the drunken ditties during the feast.

"There is music, sometimes." Faramir hesitated. "Occasionally, I have contributed to it myself."

Her eyes gleamed. "Well, you must play something for us! Or do you sing?"

"I play the lute," he said bowing his head slightly. "But I am not very skilled."

"I'd still like to hear it," Toven said. "Unless you want me to keep throwing food at you."

"Very well. I will indulge the both of you." Faramir stood and left the pavilion.

Toven watched him go, smiling absently. He felt Éowyn's gaze on him, and some of his earlier nervousness returned.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, letting his voice fall into a more serious tone.

"I am…" The cheer in her expression faltered. He wondered how long she'd been masking the sorrow that lay beneath. "I am restless."

"So am I," Toven said softly, his gaze drifting to the dark bulk of Mordor in the distance. Quinn was gone. And the war wasn't over yet.

"It feels as though we are back in the caves beneath Helm's Deep." Éowyn stared at the table, her gaze far-off. "And I am to await the end without a sword in hand."

"This isn't like Helm's Deep," Toven said. The quiet despair in her voice unnerved him. "We're safe, at least for the moment. And we might still have a fighting chance."

"Do you truly believe that?"

He moved around the table so he was sitting next to her and took her hand. Her skin was cool, and he pressed his fingers against hers to try and lend her his warmth. "I know we've made it this far. Maybe it's been sheer, dumb luck, but…there are a thousand ways I could have died since I've started this journey. I'll probably encounter another thousand more before this is over. But I'm not going to stop fighting if it means I get another day, another year, with the people I care about."

Éowyn searched his face, eyes shining with something he couldn't quite identify, then leaned forward so her head was resting on his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her.

After a long moment, Éowyn drew back. "What will you do? When this is over and there is no more fighting to be done, what then?"

"I'll take a nap, probably," he said, but she didn't laugh. She wanted a serious answer, but he wasn't sure he could give her one. He hadn't allowed himself to really think about it. "I think I'd want to…"

He stopped as he noticed Faramir coming back down the path. Toven gave Éowyn's hand one last squeeze before releasing it.

If Faramir noticed the change in mood, he said nothing of it. He sat down on the bench, on Toven's other side, and rested the lute in his hand on one knee. He strummed it a few times, then began fiddling with the knobs at one end of the instrument.

Toven sat back and watched as he began to play, just a scattering of notes at first before a melody began to form. His fingers stumbled over the strings a few times, but as he continued, the music began to flow more smoothly.

And then Éowyn began to sing, her voice soft and shaky. The words were unfamiliar, likely in the Rohirric language, but Toven could detect a hint of mourning in the notes. Faramir changed his melody to meld with hers, and Éowyn's voice grew clearer and louder.

Toven closed his eyes, letting the music wash over him like a warm breeze. He still ached with grief, with uncertainty and fear, but he could feel himself relaxing, too.

This was okay. This was good, just being here with the two of them. Perhaps, for this moment, he could allow himself a small measure of peace.


Quinn knew she was getting close when she caught several flashes of light up ahead. The terrain had become more uneven as she'd followed the trail of scuff marks and blood, and she'd had to cross a few deep crevices and climb some short cliffs.

As she reached the top of the ridge she was ascending, she looked down into the narrow gorge between two rock faces. Two figures were fighting at the bottom, moving so fast they almost blurred in her vision.

The Lieutenant towered over Belekur, striking with powerful blows that the other warrior was only barely managing to deflect. Belekur already had several bloody wounds on their arms and torso, which might have taken down a human, and seemed to be favoring their right leg, though they tried to hide it. Whatever, the case, Quinn wasn't going to wait around and see how much longer they could last.

She rose to her full height and called down to them. "It's over, Belekur's boss!" She spread her hands. "I have the high ground."

They both turned to look at her, and the Lieutenant's lips curled into a snarl. "What is this?"

With a fierce cry, Quinn raised her sword and leapt off the cliff. The Lieutenant readied their sword, and she realized her mistake midair.

She fell right onto the blade, and pain speared through her stomach as the Lieutenant tossed her aside. Blood streamed through the air, and she rolled to a stop.

"That was dumb." She propped herself on one elbow with a groan. "Probably shouldn't have given up the high ground."

Belekur moved up almost silently and struck out at the Lieutenant. They turned and parried the blow, then went on the attack again.

Quinn gingerly pressed a hand to her stomach. Black blood was oozing out, but in her new form, she wasn't sure if this counted as a fatal injury. She pushed herself to her feet, gritting her teeth against the pain.

"All right. Just walk it off." She raised her sword and charged.

The Lieutenant blocked her strike easily, and the shockwave from her sword discharged harmlessly against their weapon. Belekur moved forward, and the Lieutenant spun out of the way of a beam of light.

Even with two opponents, the Lieutenant didn't so much as back down. They were incredibly fast for someone so big, and it didn't help that their blade neutralized the powers of hers and Belekur's swords. Quinn ducked as the Lieutenant tried to cut her head off, and their sword cut through the rock behind her like it was butter.

"Fuck me." They weren't going to be able to beat this warrior through sheer skill, especially since Quinn felt like a new recruit in front of two highly trained ancient warriors. She dodged another strike and took a second to scan their surroundings.

A little ways away, the rock face created a slight overhang. Quinn hadn't had much time to test her new sword's powers, but she figured a well-aimed strike could create a pretty decent landslide.

There was no way she would be able to drive the Lieutenant towards it, but maybe she could still lure them in that direction.

Switching tactics, Quinn hit the ground in a roll to dodge a horizontal slash, coming up behind them. She tried for an upward thrust, but the Lieutenant knocked her blade aside with one armored gauntlet, dealing another gash to Belekur's arm in the same motion.

"Come on!" Quinn lashed out again. "That all you got?"

She took a step back, feigning exhaustion as she let her parries grow clumsier. The Lieutenant got in a few hits on her, eyes flashing with vengeance. As Belekur pressed in from the other side, the three of them inched toward the overhang.

Once they were directly beneath it, Quinn swung her sword upwards, missing the Lieutenant entirely, and a wave of force struck the rock. The side of the cliff shuddered. She dove out of the way, gripping her sword with bloodied fingers. A massive chunk of rock slid downwards, crashing over the Lieutenant and sending up a wave of dust.

Quinn coughed and waved the dust away with her free hand. "Belekur? Please tell me you didn't get crushed under that." She breathed out a sigh of relief as they stepped out from behind the pile of rock. "Thank god. I didn't have time to warn you, I thought—"

Belekur lunged forward and slammed her against the opposite wall. "Why are you here?"

Quinn shoved at them, forcing them to step back. For once, they were evenly matched in strength. "I just saved your ungrateful ass. I don't know if it's in your vocabulary, but a 'thank you' might be nice."

They glared back at her. "My fate was to die in battle here."

"I know. That's all you ever fucking think about. You might not have anything to live for, but I do." She jabbed her finger into their chest. "And I risked all of that just to come here and get you out of this mess."

"Why?"

"Because it's my fault! I haven't forgotten I was the one who put you in this position in the first place." She spread her hands. "You're free to choose now. Are you gonna stay here and die in this endless, meaningless war, or are you gonna come back to Middle-earth with me and fight for something that actually matters?"

Belekur was silent for a moment, their expression unreadable. After a moment, they said lowly, "My oath still stands."

"Okay." Quinn nodded. Belekur's agreement didn't exactly relieve her. She wasn't sure what she was feeling. "So, how do we get out of here?"

"The gateway between worlds is in the Citadel."

"That big building with the tower? Let's go."

They set off at a jog. It took some climbing to get out of the gorge, but Quinn managed it with her sword tucked into her belt. Belekur was right behind her, brow furrowed in concentration—or maybe pain. The blood from their wounds had covered their armor in a gruesome red. Quinn pulled herself up and touched the hole in her stomach. The bleeding had stopped somewhat, but a sharp ache throbbed around the wound.

"We should not stop," Belekur said as they pulled themself up beside her.

"I was waiting for you, pal," Quinn muttered, but Belekur had already set off at a run.

They hadn't made it more than a few steps before they stumbled and fell to one knee.

"I don't need your help," Belekur growled as she went to pull them up.

She looked down at their calf, where a deep gash had cut the leg almost to the bone, and winced. "Your leg is all fucked up." She grabbed their arm and draped it over her shoulders, and held fast when they tried to pull away. "Listen to me. You are going to let me help you, or I will smash your fucking kneecaps and leave you here."

Belekur met her gaze. "Your threats are empty."

"Oh, but you know just how temperamental I can be, and you specifically are on my last goddamn nerve. Lean on me or we'll find out just how empty my threats are."

To her surprise, Belekur complied, and she helped them limp along. She wondered if she'd actually intimidated them to a certain degree. Or maybe being in a war-torn hellscape was just making her grouchy.

They were almost at the Citadel when something shiny caught the corner of her eye. Quinn turned to see a pair of golden banners, torn and spattered with blood, rising over the slope.

"Uh, what is that?"

"Our enemy is here," Belekur said. "They mean to take the Citadel."

She glanced towards the massive building. "Is anyone in there?"

"They would have met the enemy in battle already."

"Fuck me." Quinn tensed as she noticed warriors in golden armor advancing beneath the banners. "Okay, double time."

They moved at a stilted jog towards the hole in the wall where Belekur and the Lieutenant had busted through. As they climbed inside, Quinn glanced over her shoulder and swore. The enemy warriors had definitely seen them, and were starting to break formation towards them.

Belekur broke free of her grasp and started limping ahead. "This way. Don't let them follow us. Break the stone if you have to."

"Right." Quinn slid her sword from her belt and swung it at the ceiling above the hole. The bricks crumbled over the entrance. "Let's hope I don't bring this place down over our heads."

Belekur was already halfway down the hallway, not even bothering to wait for her. Quinn trotted behind, her sword at the ready.

The inside of the Citadel consisted mostly of narrow corridors that met at sharp angles, though there were a few heavy wooden doors along the walls. Quinn resisted the urge to peek inside.

She couldn't help herself, though, as they neared the bottom of a staircase beside a wide doorway. Just beyond was a massive room, the floor lined with still, pale bodies. They looked like dead warriors, but none of them had any wounds.

"Quinn!" Belekur barked, and she shook herself and followed them up the staircase.

Absently, she realized it was the first time they'd used her name.

The entire fortress shuddered as a blast roared down the corridor, and Quinn jumped. "The hell was that?"

"They've broken through." Belekur set off at a run up the stairs, their limp growing more pronounced.

Already, Quinn could hear the footsteps of the other warriors, and broke into a sprint as well. They headed down another series of corridors at the top of the stairs before finally reaching a narrow spiral staircase. Quinn guessed from the shape that this led to the top of the tower.

They hurried up the stairs, spiraling endlessly upwards. Quinn was panting before long. Belekur stumbled again, but waved her off before she could help them up.

Armor clattered behind them, and Quinn turned to see a warrior coming up behind them. With a yell, she slashed her sword at them. The blast hit the warrior directly in the chest, slamming them against the wall. She sent a second strike, which burst through the stone and sent broken bricks sailing through open air. Part of the stairway crumbled, and a second warrior tumbled through the gap.

"Whoever built this tower, please be a good architect," Quinn muttered as she hurried after Belekur. The last thing she wanted to do was bring this tower down while they were still in it.

Thankfully, it was only a couple more turns before they reached the top. Belekur was already in the tiny cylindrical room, which was empty except for what looked like a stone doorway set in the wall. The inside of it swirled with a purple light.

Quinn slammed the door behind her and leaned against it, trying to catch her breath. "Why does that look exactly like the nether portal from Minecraft?" She shook her head. "Not important. Do we just jump through, or what?"

"There's no way to tell where this gateway might lead," Belekur said.

"What?"

They shot her an impatient glance. "This gateway connects to several different worlds besides Middle-earth. I do not know how to determine the destination."

"And you waited until now to tell me this?" Quinn resisted the urge to start punching things (preferably a certain ancient warrior) and strode towards the gate. "Okay. We can figure this out." She waved a hand over the purple energy. It was slightly cool on her palm. "Um…set destination to Middle-earth."

Nothing happened.

"Fuck. Two tickets for Middle-earth, please?" Still nothing. "I wish I wish with all my heart…" She kicked the doorframe.

Footsteps sounded outside the door, and Quinn darted across the room and plastered herself against the door. The wood shuddered as something slammed against it, and once again she found herself praying for the architectural integrity of this place.

"Come on, Belekur, you gotta give me something," she said, digging her heels into the stone floor. "W-What happened last time you went to Middle-earth?"

"I was not present when the destination was determined." Belekur looked at her coldly. "I do not know how to change it."

Desperation welled in her throat. Maybe they could jump through the portal and hope it would take them back, but what if it didn't? There was no telling where they'd end up. How long had she been gone already?

Quinn bit her cheek as the door shuddered again. She'd promised Toven she would return to him, whatever it took. Everything came down to this tiny room, and she had a matter of minutes to figure it out. There had to be a way to get back home.

Her eyes widened. "The rock! It's in my…" She patted herself down. "No, it's in your pocket." She turned to Belekur. "The stone Galadriel gave me. Do you still have it?"

Belekur retrieved the smooth, round stone, and Quinn let out a sigh of relief.

"Galadriel said it would guide me home, or something. That has to be it. This'll take us back to Middle-earth."

"How?"

"Well, I don't know!" Quinn snapped, irritation eclipsing her relief. "Maybe you could figure something out instead of just standing there. I would do it, but I'm a little busy keeping this goddamn door shu—"

The aforementioned door came off its hinges, and Quinn darted forward before it could fall on top of her. She spun around, raising her sword, but something slammed into her chest and sent her flying back against the opposite wall.

Her head cracked against the stone, and she was unconscious before she hit the ground.


"What do you mean, they've started the council already?"

Toven let out an irritated sigh and brushed his hair out of his face. He'd woken after a restless night of sleep to find that Quinn had still not returned. It hadn't even been twenty-four hours since she'd been gone, but he couldn't shake the feeling that she was in danger.

And now he'd found Merry and Pippin in the gardens with a rapidly-shrinking pile of cakes between them and the news that the council to decide their next move was happening without him.

Merry nodded. "At first, we thought Aragorn was just using that as an excuse when we asked him about his pipe-weed again, but then we saw Legolas and Gimli heading towards the great hall as well."

"If it makes you feel any better, they didn't invite us, either," Pippin said.

"That is a great comfort to me," Toven grumbled, and walked away. It wasn't as if he had any real expertise to offer, but seeing as most of his friends were attending, he would have thought at least Aragorn would have asked him to come along.

He made his way towards the great hall, hoping he would be able to catch at least part of the meeting. He was halfway up the stairs when a crackling noise made him turn. The air above the grass shimmered, and his heart leapt as two figures appeared.

Toven sprinted down towards them. Out of habit, he turned his attention to the warrior, but their cold expression was enough to indicate that it was Belekur, so he ran to embrace the woman beside them.

"You came back." He wrapped his arms around her neck, her unusually short hair tickling his nose. "I can't believe it."

"Of course I came back." She returned the embrace.

Something about the tone of her voice, the way she held him, made Toven pull back. When he looked into her eyes and saw a flimsy imitation of affection, his stomach dropped.

"It's you," he hissed, stepping back, but the impostor was faster.

The thing that looked like Quinn shoved him to the ground with surprising force, and he gasped as he slammed into the dirt. The creature was on top of him before he could recover, one hand wrapping around his neck.

"You've become a real nuisance to me, you know that?" The thing didn't even budge as he struggled, and it placed one knee over his hip to keep him down. "Perhaps I'll take your form next, see if your friends can tell the difference."

Toven choked against the hand pressing painfully on his windpipe. Desperately, he gripped the creature's wrist and tried to pull its hand away, but he may as well have been trying to lift a column of stone. Already, his movements were growing clumsy and weak. He fumbled for the dagger on his belt, grateful he'd kept wearing it even while healing.

"What do you think you're going to do with that?" The creature chuckled and leaned in closer. "Would you stab your own mother?"

It's not her. It's not her. Toven plunged the knife into its side.

The thing didn't let up. It didn't even flinch. It only laughed and gripped his hand, keeping the dagger embedded. The laugh, so distant from Quinn's warmth and cheer, made him shiver. His vision darkened.

"At least take some comfort from the fact that she's not watching this. In fact, she may never know that you died…"

Something white flashed in his vision, and Toven gasped for air as the pressure on his neck lifted. He froze, taking in the tip of the glowing blade inches from his face, the length of it protruding from the creature's chest.

Belekur stood behind it, one hand wrapped around the hilt of the sword. They twisted the blade, and a flash made him flinch. A viscous substance splattered against his face.

When he opened his eyes again, only Belekur was standing there, sword pointed at the ground. A dark, slimy substance was splattered over him and across the grass.

And Quinn was nowhere to be seen.

I have been waiting so so long to use that "high ground" line. In all honesty this fic is just a series of bad jokes with plot in between to get me from one joke to the next.

But yeah, we got a little bit more on Belekur this chapter. There will be more of a discussion next time, with the final piece of foreshadowing (from FOREVER ago) getting resolved as well as an answer to a mystery from the very first chapter of PTH. Thanks for reading, and stay tuned for the next one!