Chapter 36: His Tragic Destiny

Toven took his time getting dressed the next morning. He felt sluggish from a night of restless sleep, and part of him was glad they wouldn't be riding straight into battle. It would take them a better part of the week to reach the Black Gate—and he doubted his feeling of dread would lessen as they drew closer.

He sat down on the edge of the bed to lace up his boots. Straight from the Houses of Healing to a war party…

It was a blessing that they'd been given any time at all to rest and recover, but Toven wished it had been more. The memory of the battle, of Helm's Deep, of the arrow in his shoulder…all of it still hung over him, both in his dreams and his waking hours. He wanted a few days that weren't darkened by those thoughts.

A soft knock on the door made him look up. "Come in."

To his surprise, it was Faramir who stepped inside. He wasn't dressed for battle, and Toven wouldn't have expected it anyway with his injuries. But under one arm, he held a slightly stiff bundle of dark blue fabric.

Faramir's smile immediately faded into concern. "What happened?"

Toven realized he was looking at the bruise on his cheek from where Belekur had struck him. The marks on his neck hadn't faded, either. "It's nothing. I'm all right."

Still frowning, Faramir closed the door. "Forgive me if I do not believe you."

Toven opened his mouth, then sighed. Well, yesterday I was nearly strangled to death by the demon that took the likeness of my mother when she lived in a different world. Then her soul was bound to that of an ancient warrior from yet another world. I had to use a poisoned blade fashioned in Mordor to be able to speak to her again, and nearly got my head taken off in the process. He was fairly sure the worst part about being raised by an undead warrior was having to explain her circumstances to other people.

"It is a very long story." He stood up. "If we had more time, I would tell it to you. But you can rest assured that the people who did this," he gestured to his face, "are no longer around."

Faramir gave a hesitant nod. "I take some comfort from that. If I had known you were bound to get yourself injured in between battles, I would have given you this earlier." He held the fabric out.

Toven unfolded it and held it up. It was a dark blue gambeson with the white tree embroidered on the front, long enough to extend to the knees and elbows.

"It is more flexible than plate, but it will still protect you," Faramir said. "Though it can get a bit hot."

"Well, I'd rather be sweating than dead." He squeezed the fabric as a lump grew in his throat. Again, he wished for more time—with Faramir, with Éowyn, with all the friends he had only just begun to know.

To distract himself, he slipped his tunic off and pulled the gambeson on instead, fastening his belt on top of it. The fabric was thick, but not quite as heavy as the mail shirt he'd worn earlier.

"You make a fine soldier." Faramir moved closer, brushing a loose hair from Toven's shoulder, and his hand lingered.

"I've been told I'm not fit for a king's army," Toven said, unable to ignore the flutter of his heartbeat. "I'm not good at following orders."

"Then you will look the part, if nothing else," Faramir said with a slight smile.

The door opened again, and Toven stiffened before realizing it was Éowyn. Her gaze flickered between the two of them, though she didn't look exactly surprised to see Faramir there.

"I was told the men will be riding out soon," she said, joining them by the bed.

"I was going to come say goodbye." Toven adjusted his bracers, needlessly. "As soon as I was ready."

Éowyn looked him over. "You look ready for battle, indeed."

"I'm not wearing Rohan's colors anymore." He felt hot, and he doubted it was just from the gambeson. "Sorry about that."

"I would give you something to carry with you on your journey," Éowyn said, her smile tinged with sadness.

"That's all right. We're supposed to be traveling light, anyway." His fingers twitched as she moved closer. He wanted to reach out to her.

"I promise it will not weigh you down."

"Okay."

Her hand cupped his cheek, and he closed his eyes as she kissed him. His senses were filled with her scent and her warmth, and it left him wanting more as she pulled away a second later.

Toven's lips moved soundlessly, his face flushing with heat. "I, um…"

Faramir put a hand on his shoulder. "If I may, I would give you one more parting gift as well."

He thought he would be prepared as the other man leaned in, but sparks of exhilaration flared to life beneath his skin as their lips met. The kiss was just as brief, and Toven was left speechless once more as they broke apart.

He glanced between the two of them, taking in their smiling faces, the warmth the three of them shared, the happiness they'd given each other in these few, precious days.

"Thank you," he said quietly. He couldn't bear the thought of saying goodbye, so he took his pack and fled the room.

It was difficult to sort through the emotions swelling and crashing in his chest. There was euphoria in the lingering warmth on his skin, tempered by the dread of what he was about to face. There was the silent resignation of his fate challenged by a new, desperate desire to find a way around it, past it, whatever it took.

Quinn was waiting by the steps leading to the lower levels, and she straightened when she saw him. "You okay? Your face is a little red." She pressed her hand to his forehead. "You feel kind of warm."

"Everyone feels warm to you. You're dead," he said, nudging her hand away. "Where's everyone else?"

"By the stables, I think." She fell into stride next to him as they descended the stairs. "We still have a little time before we ride out."

Not enough. They walked out onto the street, and Toven glanced back at the white stone buildings above them.

Briefly, the tension in his chest eased. He knew his purpose. If this was going to be the end, he would fight like hell to make sure the two of them had a happy ending.


Quinn clasped her hands behind her head and gazed over the chasm at the dark spires that lay beyond. "Man, this place brings back memories."

The first day of their journey had taken them all the way to the crossroads, and a small part of the company had broken off to ride the few miles to Minas Morgul. Quinn hadn't been here in decades, since Belekur had chased down the Nazgûl and she'd made her deal with Saruman.

Looking at the fortress now gave her the same eerie feeling she'd had before leaving Rivendell. This was the place where she'd first really started acting like a warrior, where she'd chosen to help the people of Middle-earth. She'd come full circle again.

If I had known in that moment all the crazy shit that would happen in the next eighty years…

She didn't even need to look behind her. She could easily picture the faces of her friends, and she smiled.

Worth it. A hundred times worth it.

Boromir joined her at the edge of the chasm, arms crossed. He, along with Aragorn and Éomer, formed the main command group of their army. The men listened to him without question, and the other two captains had deferred to him when it came to planning their route to the Black Gate. Quinn had a feeling his expertise was one of the main reasons everyone was holding together so well.

She gestured with her chin to Minas Morgul. "Are we taking the city tomorrow?"

"Gandalf has counseled us against it," Boromir said. "That place has been cursed with the evil dwelling there. If our men attempted to enter it, their minds would turn to madness."

She shrugged. "I could always help. I didn't feel anything more than a general discomfort last time I was there."

It felt like the right thing to do, offering to help, but the idea still made her uneasy. She didn't want to risk another confrontation with the Nazgûl, not after Toven had risked so much to get her back. Not to mention her last one-man assault (or Belekur's, technically) hadn't gone great.

"The city will stand for now," Boromir said. "Faramir told me that Frodo and Sam were set upon this road when he left them. If they have taken this way into Mordor, we would do well not to draw the Eye in this direction."

"Right." Quinn scanned the craggy slopes on either side of the city, still visible in the light of the setting sun. It was a relief to know Frodo and Sam had made it this far, but it was driving her crazy not knowing if they'd made it much further. "I wonder how they're doing."

"If they had been captured by the Nazgûl, we would know it by now." Boromir clasped her shoulder briefly. "Take heart in that."

"Thanks." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Merry and Pippin approaching, and turned to smile at them. They looked like a couple of mini soldiers, Merry in the green and leather of Rohan and Pippin in the dark blue and silver mail of Gondor. She greeted them with a salute.

"Is this the Black Gate?" Pippin asked, pointing to Minas Morgul.

"No," Boromir said, his gaze softening as he looked down at the two hobbits. "We will find that to the north. It will take us the better part of the week to get there."

Quinn looked away. She wasn't completely comfortable with Merry and Pippin coming with them, though they'd argued so fiercely about fighting for their friends that no one had actually stopped them.

But there was no denying the fight at the gate was going to be ugly. It was going to be a loss for them, even if no one had said that out loud yet. Even if her friends understood that, she wanted more than anything for them to be able to go home when this was all over.

She wanted Toven to be able to go home.

"This was once a city of Gondor," Boromir was saying to Merry and Pippin. "Named Minas Ithil, Tower of the Moon. Its twin was Minas Anor, Tower of the Sun."

"Where is Minas Anor?" Merry asked.

"You have seen it already. It was named Minas Tirith after Minas Ithil fell to the wraiths. Now it stands as the Tower of Guard."

"Are there any other towers like that in Gondor?" Pippin asked. "Or great cities?"

"There is Dol Amroth to the southwest, where my uncle and cousins live," Boromir said.

"I've been there," Quinn said, shaking herself from her reverie. No sense in getting depressed when the battle was still days away. "Amazing weather. You ever get the chance to go, take a boat out in the summer."

"I think I'll pass on that one." Merry scratched the back of his head. "I was nervous enough riding those boats down the river from Lothlórien."

"You will find no better seafarers than those in Dol Amroth," Boromir said with a smile. "You would have nothing to fear."

"I'll tell you something," Quinn said. "You go cliff diving once, you'll never be afraid of the water again. Knocks the fear right out of you."

A group of men were approaching the bridge with hammers and other tools. They were going to destroy it, she realized—and cut off any chance of Mordor's forces coming this way.

"I assume cliff diving would cure you of just about any fear, once you hit the bottom," Boromir said.

"Well, you do it into the water, silly." She gave him a light punch on the arm, and the four of them began walking back to the horses. "It's a good rush, actually. Though one time I went cliff diving, and a second after I jumped, I realized I had some important letters in my pocket…"


Mordor stank like hell.

It was one of the first things Quinn noticed on the fifth day, as they circled around to come at Mordor from the northwest. It smelled like ash and rot, and as the land grew dead and dry, they passed pools of mud that gave off a foul odor. They weren't close enough to see the Black Gate yet, but Quinn was already picturing a massive black wall with tooth-like spikes and jets of flame shooting out. Maybe a few dead bodies hanging from the top, in between statues of Sauron flipping them off…

The men in the camp were restless. Night had fallen, but most of them were huddled around fires of burning brush, talking in low voices.

Yesterday, an group of orcs had tried to ambush them. They'd been ready, having been warned by scouts, and Éomer's riders had made quick work of the enemies. But it hadn't boosted anyone's morale. Aragorn had pointed out that the attack was probably nothing more than an attempt to lull them into a false sense of security.

Quinn stopped kicking rocks down a nearby hill and walked back into camp. She'd wanted to give the others some time to rest, but she had a feeling very few of them were going to get any sleep before the big day tomorrow.

The first person she saw was Legolas, standing in the shadows with his head tilted back.

"The wraiths have been following us since yesterday," he said. "On the backs of their winged mounts."

She copied his movement and looked up, but she could only see a few wispy clouds. Even the stars seemed particularly dim tonight. "You can see them?"

"They block out the light." Legolas lowered his head. "They bring despair to the men."

"Well, that explains why everyone's been so down." Quinn put her hands on her hips. It had been exhausting, trying to cheer everyone up the past few days. Toven had grown increasingly irritable, and even Merry and Pippin had trouble keeping their spirits up.

Legolas raised an eyebrow. "That is not the only reason."

"I know. I know. I'm just thinking about the feast in Edoras. Some good old-fashioned celebration might get their spirits up."

"Quinn—"

"You're right. We have to conserve our supplies." She tilted her head, surveying the scattered campfires. "Open mic night, maybe? I know some of these soldiers must have a good comedy routine."

"They need to preserve their strength for tomorrow," Legolas said, sounding slightly reproachful. "They are not so resilient as you and I."

Quinn nodded. "That's a good point. In that case, did you want to…do something?" She frowned. "I just realized we've never done anything fun together."

Legolas looked away.

"It doesn't have to be something I would enjoy," she said, surprised to hear desperation in her voice. "Just…" She spread her hands. "Whatever you want. Something for the road."

"I will see you tomorrow." He inclined his head and walked away.

"Okay." She shrugged, though the motion felt forced, and walked in the opposite direction. Legolas was an elf, and most elves weren't the touchy-feely type. That was fine. That was okay.

She found Merry and Pippin sitting next to one of the campfires, sharing some travel rations, and joined them with a smile.

"How's it going?"

"I miss lembas," Pippin said, wiping some crumbs from his chin. "This stuff isn't half bad, but it's a bit…"

"Mealy," Merry finished for him, examining his own travel biscuit. "And dry."

"It's mealy and dry?" Quinn propped her elbow on her knee. "Man, that's some second rate stuff. I oughta have a word with whoever's handing out these rations."

"They left most of the good food in the city," Pippin said. "They'll need it more than us. And the army from Mordor burned most of the cropland around Minas Tirith."

He said it so casually, it took a moment for Quinn to find her voice. "Wow. You learned a lot while you were there, huh?"

Pippin nodded. "Denethor named me Guard of the Citadel. I'm not sure if I still am, since he released me from my service before he…"

Right. The guy who set himself on fire. Quinn drummed her fingers against her knee, trying to think of a way to steer away from that topic. "Still, that's pretty impressive. You're really rising in the ranks. Maybe we can get a little nameplate for your door back home."

He nodded again, less enthusiastically then before, and both hobbits went back to eating in silence.

Wrong thing to say, I guess. Probably shouldn't have brought up the Shire. "Um… I think I saw a guy carrying a flute or something earlier. We could ask him if he wants to play us a song, or something."

"I think I might get some sleep soon," Merry said, and Pippin mumbled an agreement.

"Quinn?"

She turned around. Toven was standing there, frowning.

"Can I have a word?"

"Of course." She stood up and followed him into the tent he was sharing with the hobbits. It was too dark to see more than the silhouette of his features. "Is something wrong?"

"Yes," he said sharply. "And you know damn well what it is. The problem is you pretending that it doesn't exist."

Quinn blinked. "I'm confused. I feel like I'm pissing everyone off today."

"Probably because you've been pestering everyone in sight for the past five days, trying to cheer them up. We're riding to war. We're all going to die. Why won't you acknowledge that?"

"Hey." Tentatively, she reached out for him, and pulled him close when he didn't resist. "I'm sorry. I just…I was trying to keep morale up. If you just want to feel what you're feeling, that's okay."

Toven hugged her back and let out a hoarse laugh. "I know it is. You seem to be having some difficulty with that concept." He pulled away. "You need to stop pretending that you're okay."

She scoffed. "What, you want me to sit on the shower floor and cry while listening to Evanescence? I haven't done that since I was, like, thirteen. Besides, I'm your mom. I'm supposed to be strong for you."

"I'm not a child anymore," he said in a softer voice. "I'll be okay if you need to…let it all out."

"Well, I usually wait for that kind of stuff to surprise me." She sat down, and he joined her. "Maybe I'll start crying in the middle of the battle. That would be kind of funny."

"I'll wait with you." Toven reached for her hand, and she squeezed it.

Quinn rubbed a hand over her face. She could really go for a drink right now. Her brief return to a living body had reminded her of all the coping mechanisms she'd been missing—food, alcohol, sleep, sex. It had been rough, losing those after she'd died the second time, but she'd made it work. Being with her friends made her happy.

And now she was going to lose that, too. Tomorrow, they were going to be outnumbered, and most of her friends were probably going to die. Her son was probably going to die. Maybe Frodo and Sam had failed, and this battle would be the start of the end of the world.

Worse than all of that was the thought that she would still be standing once they were all gone.

She became aware of the tears streaming down her face, and wiped them away. Toven shifted closer and wrapped his arms around her. She leaned against his shoulder as her own began to shake with small sobs.

She wasn't okay. She was fucking terrified. It was all she could do to hold on to this tiny moment here, with the one person who meant the most to her in the world.

This chapter was…kinda depressing to write. Even if we the readers know it's gonna be okay in the end, our heroes still think this is going to be their last stand. The books touch on this a bit more (in fact, LOTR is eighty percent people being miserable about the weather or their impending deaths tbh). So…we'll see how things go next time. Pretty much everyone's fate will be decided by next chapter, and then things will be winding down from there. I'm gonna apologize in advance for any emotional trauma caused by the next chapter lol...until then!