Warning for a brief mention of transphobia in this chapter.

Chapter 39: Proud Heart

The next day, Toven found the four hobbits sitting on the grass, the remnants of a midday meal spread out in between them.

"How on earth can you stand being so high off the ground?" Sam was saying as he approached.

The hobbits gave him smiles of acknowledgement as Toven leaned against a tree, but their attention was on Merry as he spoke.

"It's not so bad once you get used to it. And I'd take riding a horse over nearly being trampled by one any day. Don't you agree, Pip?"

"I'd prefer neither, if I'm being honest." Pippin was sitting against a tree, legs stretched out and hands crossed over his stomach. "And you don't have to pretend to like horses just because they made you a squire."

"That's esquire to you," Merry said.

As the two of them began to bicker, Toven turned his attention to Frodo. He was sitting next to Sam, a small smile on his face as he watched his friends. The two of them were thinner, old scratches and bruises healing on their skin, though Aragorn had tended to their injuries personally. Frodo's left hand, resting in his lap, was still swathed in bandages—and most of his index finger was missing. He hadn't spoken of what had caused such an injury, but the sight still made Toven's skin crawl. Even if Sauron's emissary had been lying about his torture, the journey had clearly been hard on both of them.

"Toven," Merry called, bringing him back to the present. "You're friends with a king or two. Couldn't you get one of them to make me a knight?"

"I'll buy you as much ale as you can drink if you make them knight me first," Pippin said.

Toven held his hands up. "First of all, you're friends with the same people as me. And second of all, I don't have the authority to get anyone to knight you."

Pippin straightened and puffed out his chest. "I think I have a few favors I can ask of the good king."

Sam stood up. "All right, I can't keep quiet about it any longer. It's been bothering me the whole day." He gestured for Merry and Pippin to stand, and they did so with twin dumbfounded expressions. He looked Pippin up and down. "You're three inches taller than you ought to be, or I'm a dwarf."

"I don't know about that," Merry said, furtively trying to compare his height with Pippin's.

Sam made Pippin stand back to back with him, then looked at Toven for confirmation.

"You are taller," Toven said. He hadn't noticed it at first, since all the hobbits were so much shorter than him, but the comparison made the difference clear. "Has that always been the case?"

"Well, that would be ridiculous, especially for their age!" Sam compared heights with Merry, then had both of them stand back to back with Frodo. Both Merry and Pippin were noticeably taller than the other two.

"Did you eat something you weren't supposed to?" Toven asked, thinking back to the amount of lembas they'd consumed in the week after leaving Lothlórien.

"Drank, actually," Pippin said, fiddling with his suspenders. "There was this strange sort of water we had when we were with the Ents, and it made us grow taller."

"There you go about Ents again," Sam said. "Seems to me you've run into all manner of strange creatures." He let out a wistful sigh. "I'd give just about anything for another glimpse of an oliphaunt."

"What exactly is an oliphaunt?" Toven asked.

"It's a great horned beast, twice as tall as a tree." Sam stretched his arms for emphasis. "We saw one when we were passing this way. Right, Mister Frodo?"

Frodo nodded with a smile. "Oliphaunts are only a children's story in the Shire, but I believe men call them Mûmakil," he said to Toven.

Right. The thing that nearly crushed and killed me. "If I never see another one again, it'll be too soon."

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to agree with Toven on that one," Merry said, stretching. He patted his stomach. "Do you think they have any more of those seed cakes lying around?"

Toven looked down at the various empty platters and wrappings lying at their feet. "You keep this up, there won't be any food left for the feast." All four hobbits gave him various wounded and perplexed looks, and he was quick to add, "I think I know where they're cooking most of it, though."

"Well, that sounds like a two man job, as you tall folk like to say." Merry turned and winked at the others.

Toven shrugged, and the two of them left the clearing. "You really are taller," he observed as Merry ducked under a low-hanging branch. "Did it hurt, when you were…growing?"

"Not at all. It sort of felt as if I were stretching after a long nap." He fiddled with his sleeves, which were rolled up to his elbows. "I suppose I'll have to get some new clothes when I'm back in the Shire." A small smile grew on his face at the thought.

"Are you eager to go back?"

"I'll be happy to sleep in my own bed for once, see my family again, but I'll miss all the friends I've made here." He looked up at Toven. "Will you visit us in the Shire?"

"Of course." He glanced around at the people moving about as they entered the camp. "Now that this is all over, I think I should do some more traveling. I'd like to see Erebor again."

"I don't know that I'd want to set foot outside Buckland once I'm back home," Merry said. "But if you are ever passing by, you're welcome to tea."

"I'd like that." He let out a small sigh and relaxed. This wasn't so difficult, thinking about things in his future that went beyond his immediate survival.

They both looked up as a gray horse passed through camp at a trot, and Toven's eyes widened as he caught sight of its rider.

"My lady!" Merry waved to get her attention.

Éowyn turned to them, and her face broke into a grin. She dismounted gracefully, even with one arm in a sling, and went to meet them.

"I didn't know you were coming," Toven said, reaching out for her.

Éowyn threw her good arm around her neck and kissed him on the cheek. "I wanted to see you," she said, pulling back. "And I am glad to find you unharmed."

He could feel his face flush as he struggled for words. Thankfully, Merry saved him from another moment of awkwardness.

"But what about you? How did you ride here with a broken arm?"

"Very carefully," she said, releasing Toven. "And I am on the mend, though I am not so swift to heal as a hobbit."

"Well, it's good to see you up and about." Merry stepped forward to embrace her.

Toven turned away, acutely aware of the handful of people watching their exchange. But some of his unease abated when he noticed another familiar figure.

Faramir was speaking to a couple of soldiers, but when he caught sight of Toven, he bid farewell to them and headed towards him with a smile. "I see my gambeson served you well."

"It did." Embracing him felt so natural, like he'd been doing it all his life, but Toven pulled back a moment later. "Wait, this was yours?"

"During my earlier days in the army. I have taken to wearing plate in battle, but I did not know if that would suit you."

"I don't prefer to rattle when I walk, so…no." They shared a laugh, and Toven looked him over. "How are you? I hope the journey here wasn't too difficult."

"I'm all right." Faramir glanced at Éowyn, who was still talking to Merry. "She wanted to come here as soon as we received news of Gondor's victory. We did not know who had survived the battle."

Toven nodded. They'd lost a good amount of men, but it was nothing compared to what Mordor had lost after the destruction of the Ring. "It was a miracle any of us made it out alive."

"And I suppose we all owe our lives to Frodo and Sam," Faramir said with a slight smile.

He remembered now that Faramir had met the two hobbits earlier in their journey. "I think they'd be happy to see you again." He tilted his head towards the forest. "Shall we?"

"It would be my pleasure." Faramir slipped his arm through Toven's, and his heart was light as they went to join the others.


Quinn was impressed with what the Gondorians had managed to put together after holding off a siege and making a last-ditch effort at the Black Gate. The field was full of light and color from glowing lanterns and bunches of flowers stuffed wherever they could fit. There were long tables lined with meat and wine and fruit, most of which had been polished off during the feast.

Aragorn had given a moment of recognition towards Frodo and Sam, who were the real men (technically, hobbits) of the hour. Now, everyone was chatting with wine goblets in hand or dancing to the music from a group of musicians tucked away in the corner.

The crowd was a mix of soldiers still wearing their armor and other people in finer clothes who had come from the city. Quinn had donned her own armor, though Merry and Pippin had added some embellishment to her outfit. They'd taken her breastplate and stuffed a bunch of flowers into the gap in the center. It was a nice touch, though she hoped she wouldn't get any questions as to why she was walking around with evidence of a stab wound that should have killed her.

She spotted Aragorn standing by the high table where he and the other important people had been seated during the feast. He'd really stepped into the role of a leader, both during the march to Mordor and afterwards, but she could tell he seemed slightly uncomfortable with the party scene.

She leaned against the table next to him. "What up, your majesty?"

Aragorn raised an eyebrow at her. "I was not expecting you, of all people, to begin addressing me formally."

She grinned. "I mean, I could come up with some embarrassing nicknames, if that's what you prefer." She tilted her head. "Now that the war's over, I'm kind of out of a job. Maybe I can be your court jester."

His other brow joined the first. "And what does a court jester do?"

"I would wear this really silly outfit, preferably with a lot of little bells, and I would just…do funny stuff. I got a lot of skills under my belt." She started counting on her fingers. "I could insult any nobles that are rude to you, I could be your anger translator, I'm a pretty decent singer, currently working on my acrobatics…"

"It sounds like you are well suited for the role," Aragorn said, smiling. "But I do not think there is a place for you in my court."

Quinn shrugged. "Your loss." She glanced over at the dancing couples whirling about on the grass. "But I think you're still missing someone from your court."

"And who is that?"

"A queen." She gave him a meaningful look. "I know it's been a while since we talked about it, but I think you should try and get in touch with Arwen."

The humor faded from his gaze, and he nodded. "There has not been a day when she has not been in my thoughts."

"So write her a letter or something!" She grabbed his shoulder and shook him a little. "You just won two impossible battles in a row. There's no reason you shouldn't be with your girl. I still don't see why she would want to get on a ship when she could be jumping your bones, especially now that you're a whole king."

Aragorn looked slightly perturbed at her rant. "You feel very strongly about this."

"I just want all my friends to be happy." She shrugged. "And who doesn't love a good romance?"

"Perhaps you should be more concerned with your son," Aragorn said with a slight smile, and nodded towards the edge of the field.

Quinn followed his gaze. Toven was standing with Éowyn and Faramir, laughing at something one of them had said. His cheeks were flushed, the smile never leaving his face as he spoke.

Her heart warmed at the sight. He was usually so serious and introverted, and it was a real comfort to see him so happy and relaxed. It seemed he'd taken some of her advice to heart.

She turned back to Aragorn and smiled. "I think we did good."

Aragorn nodded, his expression softening. "I think we did."

Quinn pushed off the table. "Well, I would be remiss as a parent if I didn't embarrass the hell out of him, so…" She punched him lightly on the arm. "Catch you later."

Toven was the first to see her as she approached the trio. He waved at her, seeming perfectly at ease. "Are you enjoying the feast?"

"Not as much as you, looks like," Quinn said with a smirk, going to stand next to him. "I just wanted to drop in and say hi."

Éowyn looked up at her with wide eyes. "Forgive me. I do not believe we have been introduced."

Faramir was studying her with a similar expression. "You were in Minas Tirith after the battle, were you not?"

Quinn blinked. "Yeah, but we…"

She shared a confused glance with Toven, and it hit them both at the same time. When she'd briefly met Faramir and Éowyn, she'd been in her Quinn-from-Earth form, and Belekur had been walking around in her current body.

Quinn cleared her throat. "Hi, I'm Terry, Toven's mother. You might have met my wife, Quinn—"

Toven threw his hands up. "Stop it! Why are you confusing them more?"

"I don't know!" she retorted. "I'm pretty sure I would need a whole freaking Powerpoint to explain my situation in full, and I don't want to scare off you boyfriend and girlfriend before they even—"

"Quinn, for Durin's sake, stop talking." Toven pinched the bridge of his nose, then turned to the others. "I'm sorry. It's a long story."

"You seem to have quite a few of those," Faramir said, looking at him with a quirk of his lips.

Toven sighed, the tension leaving his shoulders. "I suppose I have the time to tell them, now."

"Perhaps some wine might ease the conversation." Faramir nodded to Quinn, and the three of them began walking away. He slung an arm over Toven's shoulders, and Éowyn linked arms with him on his other side.

As Toven glanced back at her, Quinn gave him a double thumbs up and mouthed, Score. He flipped her off behind his back.

Yeah. She watched him go with a smile. I think he's gonna be all right.

"I like what you've done with your armor."

Quinn jumped—she hadn't heard Frodo approach—and patted the flowers on her chest as she faced him. "It's neat, huh? Merry and Pippin did it for me. I guess it's sort of symbolic or something."

"It is." Frodo had his hands in his pockets, casually surveying the crowd. He looked tired, but he was gaining back the weight he'd lost, and his wounds seemed to be healing up.

She hesitated. He'd greeted her happily after he'd first woken up, and he seemed more at ease now that he wasn't carrying the Ring anymore, but she got the feeling there was more to it than that. Even if Frodo didn't put any blame on her, she still felt the sting of guilt that she hadn't been there for him.

"So, um…" She shifted her weight. "How are you doing?"

"I'm all right. I was relieved to see everyone again. Especially Gandalf."

Quinn laughed. Thinking back, it was kind of a miracle that their whole Fellowship had made it through to the end—even the people that had technically died. "We sure were lucky." She paused and searched his face. "You know it's okay to not be all right?"

For just a moment, his exterior cracked, and she caught a glimpse of pain and grief in his eyes. Frodo blinked it away and said, "I know. But this is a time for celebrating."

She opened her mouth to argue, then stopped. If she'd been in his (nonexistent) shoes, she would have been drinking and dancing and doing whatever else she could to distract herself. She couldn't tell him not to do that without looking like a complete hypocrite. Besides, he more than deserved some time to relax and enjoy himself.

"Well, just remember…I'm here for you," she said. "I'm no therapist, but I've actually been working on keeping my mouth shut if you just want me to listen."

"Thank you, Quinn." Frodo reached over and squeezed her hand. "I appreciate it."

"There you are!" Pippin came bounding up to them, his hair disheveled and the first three buttons of his shirt undone. "I have a mission of utmost importance."

Quinn almost laughed at him. He looked like the medieval version of a frat bro. "What is it?"

Pippin lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Call it a hunch, but I've got a suspicion Gandalf has some fireworks hidden somewhere."

Frodo raised an eyebrow. "Where on earth would he have gotten fireworks?"

Quinn rubbed her chin. "You know, there was that period after Moria where no one knew where he was. Maybe he stashed them somewhere…his robes, possibly. I have no idea what's going on under there."

"Merry's keeping him busy for the moment." Pippin looked up at her. "Will you help me look?"

"Like you have to ask! Frodo, you coming with?"

"I think I'll pass on this one," he said with a smile. "I'm going to go find Sam."

She and Pippin waved goodbye to him, then crept towards the tents. It didn't take long to reach Gandalf's tent, which was empty except for a bedroll, his sword, and a small wooden chest.

"That is definitely not big enough for fireworks." Quinn squatted down. "But color me intrigued." She nudged the lid, but the chest appeared to be locked.

Pippin tilted it back and tried to peer through the keyhole. He gave it a shake, which produced a dry rustling.

Quinn wrinkled her nose. "Is that paper in there?"

His nose twitched. "Do you smell that?"

She leaned closer to the box and gave it a sniff. "That's pipe-weed."

Pippin's eyes widened. "It was Gandalf the whole time! He must have given it to Aragorn. Oh, wait until Merry hears about this!" He tucked the box under his arm and darted out of the tent.

Quinn followed him, laughing. "You're just going to steal his stash like that? He's gonna incinerate you, dude."

"We'll only take a little. Do you know how to pick a lock, by any chance?"

She shook her head. "I'll be honest, I'm more used to just kicking stuff open."

"Well, that won't do." Pippin began walking backwards as he spoke. "This is quite the find, after all. Wouldn't want any of it to—" He bumped into a man standing at the edge of the field. "My apologies, good sir." He tipped an imaginary hat, then raced off, not bothering to hide his plunder at all.

Shaking her head, she watched him go with a grin. He reminded her so much of herself, it was a little scary.

She turned back to the man Pippin had bumped into. "Sorry about that. I think he's a little drunk."

"It's all right." The man seemed slightly distracted, his brow furrowed as his eyes landed on something across the field.

Quinn followed his gaze. Toven, Éowyn, and Faramir were sitting close together at the base of a tree, mugs clasped in their hands as they talked amongst one another. Frowning, she cast a sidelong glance at the man. "Something wrong?"

"This war has been hard on us all." His expression darkened. "But there was a time when women knew their place."

She almost decked him right there. Quinn made sure her hands were open and counted to ten. Once she'd mastered herself, she laid a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Let me ask you something. Did you fight in the battle?"

He glanced at her, confusion flickering over his expression. "I did."

She nodded as if he'd said something interesting. "So you understand. We fought hard for this peace, and the last thing anyone wants is any kind of…disruption. Now, I'm pretty good friends with the soon-to-be king, and I take it as a personal responsibility to make sure things go smoothly around here."

"I'm not sure what you—"

Quinn spun him around so he was facing her. "Okay. Let me make myself clear. I will not tolerate any kind of disturbance, resentment, or discrimination towards people who don't deserve it. If I see anyone causing any kind of trouble like that," she tightened her grip on his shoulder, "I will not be happy. Does that clear things up for you?"

The man glared at her for a long moment, then nodded with a tight jaw.

"Great. I'm glad we understand each other. And if you run into anyone else who looks like they might be causing trouble, you be sure to pass on the message." She released him and brushed some imaginary dust off his shoulders. "Now, I suggest you get moving."

Still glaring, the man massaged the offended joint and stalked away.

Quinn shook her hands out and walked in the other direction. Everyone was here to relax, and breaking someone's nose would definitely have ruined the mood. She just hoped she'd been able to get the message across.

Gimli intercepted her before she could reach the other end of the field. "What was that about, back there?"

She shrugged, though she was unable to keep the scowl off her face. "Some dickwad talking shit about Toven and his friends. I told him he should take his opinions elsewhere."

Gimli grunted, peering behind her at the man's retreating figure. "Did you give him a swift kick in the arse as well?"

"Believe me, I was tempted, but I didn't want to make a scene." She frowned down at him. "Do you think I should have?"

He let out a gruff chuckle. "Something tells me these soft-skinned Gondorians aren't accustomed to brawls with their feasts. But in truth, the lad will have to learn to fight his own battles eventually."

She spread her hands. "What kind of mom would I be if I didn't stand up for him?"

Gimli pointed a finger at her. "I'm not saying you shouldn't. But you won't always be there for him, much as you might try, and he's got to learn to look after himself."

Quinn put her hands on her hips and mulled over his words. Even if some miracle had allowed her to stay in Middle-earth past her ancient warrior expiration date, she wasn't sure what the future would look like. Gimli was right—she couldn't keep hovering over Toven now that he was an adult.

"Never expected to get parenting advice from you," she said with a wry smile. "But I guess you've got a point."

She glanced across the field at his smiling face and animated gestures.

"I guess I shouldn't worry too much. If he's made it this far, he'll figure the rest out."


It was late that night when Toven settled down next to a stream a little ways from camp. He sat by the bank, tossing twigs and fallen leaves into the water and listening to the sounds of the forest.

There were bird calls he didn't recognize here—short, trilling chirps and lower, three-tone melodies. The trees seemed to sigh with the wind, dappling the grass and the water with moonlight.

The brush rustled behind him, and he turned, reaching for the dagger at his hip, but it was only Éowyn. Her hair was loose, and a wool blanket was draped over her shoulders.

"I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's all right. I didn't expect anyone else to be up this late." He watched as she moved closer. "Can't sleep?"

"No. I have had some trouble lately." She knelt beside him. "I thought a walk would clear my head."

Toven nodded. "I've had trouble ever since…ever since the battle. I think part of me still believes we're on the march to somewhere."

Éowyn offered him a corner of the blanket, and he accepted it with a smile. He wrapped it around his other shoulder, and she curled up against his side. A pleasant warmth filled his stomach as he wound an arm around her waist.

"After my father was killed, I had nightmares," Éowyn said softly. "I dreamed of orcs and wild men—what I imagined they would look like. Now, I dream of battle, but…it is nothing like what I was able to invent as a child."

"There some truth in it," Toven murmured. "Not just a dream, but a piece of a memory."

Éowyn shifted against him. "I would do it again. If there was a need to ride into battle, I would. But I understand now there is no glory in it."

"It was pretty badass when you killed the Nazgûl."

She turned to face him with raised eyebrows. "Badass?"

He blushed. "It's a phrase I picked up from Quinn. It means, um…impressive. Sort of."

A smile curved her lips. "You will have to teach me more of these words."

"Okay." It still struck him how easily she accepted the strange parts of his life. When he'd explained to her and Faramir the full details of Quinn's…situation, there had been no rejection or judgement from either of them—though he got the sense they didn't fully understand it. That was all right. It was enough that they had learned the truth without writing him off as a madman. "And what else?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I'm hoping this will be the last battle Middle-earth sees, at least within our lifetimes. So, if there's no need to go charging off with an army, what are you going to do otherwise?"

Éowyn leaned her head against his shoulder, her gaze growing pensive. "I took to watching the healers while I was recovering in Minas Tirith. I should like to learn their skills, and become a healer myself."

"Well, there will always be a need for healers, even in times of peace. I think it suits you."

"And you?"

"Haven't figured that out yet." He lowered his gaze to the stream. "Perhaps I'll go on being a Ranger until there's no need for them anymore, and then…who knows?"

"Will you stay in Gondor?" Éowyn turned to him again and searched his face. He could see in her eyes the silent question that accompanied the one she'd spoken.

Will you stay with me?

The noise of the stream and the night birds seemed to fall away for a moment. His gaze was focused on Éowyn, on her clear gray eyes and the fragment of moonlight adorning her cheek. "You once asked me where I would go if I could choose any place in the world. And I said I was happy where I was."

She nodded.

"That's still true."

A smile broke through the uncertainty on her face, and at the same moment, Toven let go of the inhibitions he'd been holding onto. He allowed himself to do what he'd wanted for a long time and leaned forward to kiss her.

Their first, back in Minas Tirith, had been fleeting and bittersweet, full of uncertainty of what was coming next. Now, in the cool night air, they could take their time. Éowyn wrapped her arms around his neck, and the blanket fell from her shoulders, but she didn't seem to notice.

He didn't mind. A delirious warmth was spilling through his limbs, down into his stomach, as he pulled her closer. When they finally broke apart, he could feel the tingling, leftover sensation of her lips against his.

Éowyn leaned in again, her nose brushing his, and hesitated. "Toven, I must tell you something."

He didn't miss the apprehension in her voice, and he tried not to let it make him anxious. "All right."

"I…I have kissed Faramir, too."

Toven waited for her to continue, but that seemed to be the whole of her confession. He couldn't help a slight smile. "Well, that makes two of us."

"I don't want you to think that I am…" She broke off and swallowed. "That I am unfaithful, or taking advantage of…"

"No. That's not what I think at all." He tightened his grip on her waist. "I'm not sure that would even count, if we both have feelings for the same person."

She frowned slightly, and dropped her hands to his shoulders, though she didn't pull back. "So…"

"So it's the three of us. If we all know about it, if we're all fine with it, then it's all right, isn't it?"

Éowyn tilted her head. "You speak so plainly about it. Was this common among the dwarves who raised you?"

"Not common, but not unheard of, either." His earlier anxiety began to creep back in. Surely there had to be a breaking point somewhere, and what was natural for him would be unacceptable for her. "I understand if this isn't what you wanted."

Her gaze softened, and she took his hand in hers, lacing their fingers together. "Perhaps we should discuss it tomorrow. The three of us."

Toven relaxed. "I agree." That was what Quinn had been pestering him to do, after all.

"But for now…" Éowyn reached back for the blanket, and they draped it around their shoulders again. "I was hoping for another moment just with you."

He pulled her closer and relaxed. After everything, he was more than ready to enjoy the good in his life, even if it was fleeting.

So just to touch on the elephant in the room: I did not originally have a poly relationship in mind until Eowyn came into the picture as a love interest, but I honestly thought that would make the most sense. Toven has two hands, is all I'm saying. Anyway, next chapter is one of my favorites in this whole fic, and we'll get some more stuff with Faramir, so stay tuned for that!