Chapter 15: Horizons Fade

They didn't make it very far before they had to stop again. Frodo and Sam had been injured during their battle with the orcs, and everyone else had at least minor wounds that needed tending. Aragorn had allowed them a few minutes of rest while he took care of Frodo and Sam.

A little ways away from where they'd stopped, just over the ridge, was a lake with an impossibly smooth surface. Toven knelt at the edge and dipped a piece of cloth into the water. He'd sustained his own injuries, but none of them were so serious that he couldn't take care of them himself.

Quinn had been the most seriously injured by far, but she'd waved off any offers of bandages or medicine. Toven knew from experience that she would be back to normal within the next couple of days, but that did nothing to stop a knot from forming in his chest whenever he looked at her.

He rolled up his sleeve and began cleaning a cut on his arm. There had been several minutes back there in which he'd been genuinely afraid that Quinn wasn't going to catch up with them. They'd been chased by a creature so terrible that even Gandalf had refused to face it—and then had died protecting them from it—and she'd gone to challenge it without a second thought.

She'd run down that hallway without bothering to say goodbye.

Toven clenched his jaw and finished winding a bandage around his arm. Everything that had happened since that creature had come out of the water and attacked them had been weighing on his shoulders. He was scared, and angry, and he didn't know what to do with it.

Taking a slow breath to calm himself, he undid his belt and pulled up his tunic and undershirt. At some point he must have fallen or taken a hit, and there were a series of small, shallow scrapes along his side. He passed the cloth over it, and hissed through his teeth at the sting.

Boots scraped along the stone at the top of the ridge. Toven yanked the hem of his tunic down and looked over his shoulder.

Boromir was making his way down to the edge of the lake. The small cut on his chin had been cleaned, and Toven guessed there were more wounds beneath his clothing, but he hid any pain or weariness well.

"The others are getting ready to leave," Boromir said, pausing next to him. He looked him over, briefly. "Do you need help tending to your wounds?"

"I was just finishing up." Toven refastened his belt, then gathered the rest of his things and stood up.

"I've never seen a lake such as this one before." Boromir crossed his arms and gazed out over the water. The surface was a clear, dark blue, creating a near-perfect reflection of the mountain peaks looming above them.

"Mirrormere," Toven said. "The dwarves call it Kheled-zâram. When Durin first came into this vale, he looked down into the lake and saw in the reflection a crown of seven stars. He saw it as a sign, and founded a great dwarf kingdom in the mountains here."

"I have heard Gimli speak often about the majesty of Moria," Boromir said. "But now that I have traveled its length, I find it lacking of anything but a shadow of its former greatness."

Toven couldn't help but bristle slightly. "I imagine the orcs and the dead bodies had something to do with it."

"And that creature, the one that slew Gandalf…" Boromir paused, and the shadow of that memory passed over both of them. "I had heard stories that the dwarves had awoken a great evil in their lust for treasure, but never had I imagined—"

"It was a tragedy, what happened to…to Gandalf, and what happened to Moria." He turned to fully face Boromir. "I've lived among dwarves, and I know that the loss of their ancestral home has left a scar on many of their souls. They value their gold and gems, but more than that, they value the prosperity of their people, and the security of a kingdom that will remain untouched by evil." He glanced at the trees engraved on Boromir's bracers. "Surely you can understand that."

Boromir looked out over the water again, the shadow of some older grief falling over his face. "I can," he said lowly.

Further down the bank, Toven caught sigh of Gimli leading Frodo and Sam over to a weathered stone column. It was too worn for any of its features to be recognizable, but Toven knew it to be Durin's Stone, a monument to the place where Durin had first looked into the water.

Gimli pointed to the lake, his booming voice carrying across the water. He seemed to be in slightly better spirits since they'd left Moria.

Toven smiled slightly and started up the ridge. "Let's go. We shouldn't linger here for long."

Two days after leaving Moria, they stopped to rest next to a small waterfall. The sound of the flowing water was calming, and crossing the stream would help get rid of any tracks that could be followed by the orcs. They hadn't been attacked since leaving Moria, but Aragorn insisted they reach Lothlórien as quickly as possible.

Quinn walked a little ways down the stream and took off her armor so she could clean the blood off. Washing it away made her feel a little better, and she needed a moment to herself anyway.

Her throat had mostly healed, though her voice was a little raspy, and she'd decided to only speak when necessary. She'd been using that as an excuse to put off talking to Toven, though she knew she would have to do it eventually. She guessed he was pissed at her for running off after the Balrog, but she didn't know what to say about it that she hadn't said already. She was kind of tired of having the same conversation over and over.

Quinn set aside her breastplate to dry and unwound Pippin's scarf from around her neck. She'd refused to have it bandaged up, since they needed to save their supplies for people who actually needed them, but Pippin had insisted on the scarf. She'd finally figured out that it probably freaked the rest of them out for her to be walking around with a hole in her neck. The scarf was stained brown with blood, but she figured she'd try and wash it off anyway.

She dipped it into the stream, then submerged her right arm up to the elbow and let out a sigh of relief. Although most of her wounds had healed, the burn from the Balrog was still an angry red, and it hurt like a bitch. Whatever the Balrog had done to her, it was probably going to last for a while. She just hoped she would still be able to hold her sword normally.

"Quinn?" Merry's voice sounded behind her.

"Jesus." She jumped, the water splashing a little, and put her uninjured hand on her chest. "Sorry. You scared me. I forgot hobbits are super sneaky sometimes."

"Sorry." Merry shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and his gaze fell to her burned arm. "Aragorn said he might be able to treat that."

"Oh." Quinn took the scarf out of the water before it could float away. Some of the blood had washed out, but it was still noticeably stained. "I'll be fine. I'm sure it'll heal eventually."

Merry walked over, took the scarf from her, and started wringing it out. He seemed very focused on his task, a small frown on his face.

"Are you okay?" Quinn asked.

"As well as I can be after…after everything." He laid the scarf down on the grass and sat next to her.

"Yeah." She lowered her gaze to the stream. It still haunted her, the sight of the tomb, of Ori's skeleton, and Gandalf…

"I always thought he was immortal," Merry said. "Or something of the sort. There's always been stories in the Shire of his fireworks. I didn't know he was such a powerful wizard until a few days ago, but he's always been just…Gandalf."

"I know what you mean." Quinn smiled, though her expression immediately wavered. They'd never really gotten along, but she'd always respected him, had always known that they cared about the same people.

With all the change and death she'd seen over the years, he'd become something of a permanent fixture in Middle-earth, and she'd drawn some comfort from that.

"Fuck." She put her head in her hand. "I yelled at him. I yelled at him over such a stupid thing, and…"

"You didn't know what was going to happen," Merry said. "None of us did. Not even Gandalf."

Quinn dropped her hand with a sigh. If they had known what Moria would cost them…would there have even been another way to go? She'd kept pushing for the Gap of Rohan, but what if Saruman would have killed one of them there, too?

"You know," Merry said quietly, "I thought you were immortal, too."

She glanced at him. "I mean, I guess I kind of am. There's a lot of fine print that comes with my situation." She looked down at her arm. "Doesn't mean I can't get hurt, though."

Toven's words in Rivendell came back to her: You are not invincible. Don't pretend that you are.

Merry was staring at her burn too, and she felt the sudden urge to cover it up.

"I'm still here," she said. "Seriously, what happened back there…I-I had it under control. I just feel bad we didn't all make it out."

"You were hurt very badly." He sounded almost tearful. "That scared me. And I think it scared the others, too."

Quinn lowered her gaze, feeling a lump grow in her throat. Guilt crept into her stomach like acid. She must have looked like a freak show, covered in blood and burns. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. I just wanted to protect everyone."

"I know. I wish we didn't need protecting at all."

"Me too." She pulled down her sleeve with a wince. "I'm almost excited to retire from this ancient warrior stuff."

"And what'll you do then?" Merry asked. "Come live in the Shire with us?"

She paused as another pang of guilt hit her. He still didn't know what was supposed to happen to her at the end of this quest. "Let's just finish things up before we start making plans."

"All right." Merry stood up. "We should probably get back to the others."

Quinn started gathering her armor and the scarf. "Right behind you."

Lothlórien was unlike any forest Quinn had ever seen. The trunks of the trees were silver, and the leaves looked more gold than green. The rustle of the foliage in the wind was soft and comforting, and Quinn felt some of the tension of the previous days leaving her.

"Are these magic trees?" Pippin asked, brushing a hand along one of the trunks as they passed by. "I've never seen any like these before."

She snorted. "If they were magic, what would they do? Talk?"

"We had magic trees in the Old Forest back home," Pippin said. "We had to pass through when we first left—after you chased off those wraiths—and I could hear the trees whispering."

"They say anything interesting?"

"I couldn't make anything out. But the whole place made me uneasy." He looked around. "I don't get the same feeling from these trees."

"Yeah, me neither. If you want a really bad time in a forest, go through Mirkwood."

"Isn't that where Legolas is from?"

Quinn nodded. "It's not bad if you know what you're doing, but I absolutely did not my first time."

Pippin's lips quirked into the eager smile he wore whenever she was about to tell a story. "What happened?"

"Well, let's see." Quinn began counting on her fingers. "I almost fell into a poisonous stream, I ran out of food and almost starved, a spider stung me and then died on top of me, and I ate a poisonous mushroom and had the worst trip of my life. But I made a good friend out of it, so it was kind of worth it."

"That's horrible." Pippin made a face. "There's such thing as a poisonous mushroom?"

"Dude, you don't even know." She shuddered. "I was blasted. But I get the feeling these woods are chill."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that." Gimli moved up to walk on Pippin's other side, his axe in hand. "They say that a great sorceress lives in these woods, an elf-witch of terrible power. All who look upon her fall under her spell, and are never seen again…"

"Ooh," Quinn said. "Do you think she's single?"

"There is no elf-witch in these woods," Legolas said from behind them. "And it is a privilege for any of the Free Folk, especially a dwarf, to walk beneath these boughs."

Gimli only grumbled something in Khuzdul.

Quinn turned to Legolas. "Have you been here before?"

"No, but we have songs in Mirkwood about this place. They speak of the trees, how their leaves do not fall in the autumn, but turn to gold, and in the spring the boughs are laden with yellow flowers."

"Ah, lovely. More useless rhymes about leaves and flowers," Gimli said.

Quinn reached over and flicked his helmet. "Hey, none of that." She turned back to Legolas. There had been a sense of wonder in his voice that she'd never heard before. "You were saying about…trees?"

"I'll speak no more about it, if the dwarf is so bothered by my rhymes," Legolas said, lifting his chin slightly.

"I'm sure you two could come to some sort of an agreement." Pippin caught her eye, and Quinn could tell they were thinking the same thing.

"Yeah." She slung an arm around Legolas's shoulders and pulled him forward to walk next to her. "We're all friends here." Pippin moved to Gimli's other side, boxing the two of them together.

"There has not been friendship between elves and dwarves in many years," Legolas said, staring resolutely ahead.

"And I think that's all we'll agree on," Gimli said.

Pippin shrugged. "Well, it's a start."

"Let's go with that." Quinn tightened her hold when Legolas tried to duck out of her grip. "What are some other things you have in common? Favorite food? Taste in music?"

"Aye, let's speak of tasteless vegetables and poncy flutes," Gimli said, glaring at Legolas out of the corner of his eye.

"Perhaps you could learn something about chewing with your mouth closed," Legolas retorted.

"These are both really good points," Quinn said, sensing that she was rapidly losing control of the situation. "Let's bring it back to things we have in common."

"What about orcs?" Pippin said. "You both hate orcs, right?"

"Aye," Gimli said. "But some of us do not have the luxury of hiding out in tree houses—"

"Jesus Christ, okay." Quinn held a hand out, afraid Legolas was about to go for one of his knives. "Let me tell you a story. It's about an elf and a dwarf. You might know them."

"Valar help me," Legolas muttered.

"He was a dwarf. She was an elf. Can I make it any more obvious?"

Pippin frowned. "Who is this about, actually?"

"Kíli and Tauriel. Friends of ours." She pointed to herself, Legolas, and Gimli. "Anyway, they had feelings for each other, and they were able to set aside their differences—and they set aside a lot of differences—and now they're married."

"I hope you're not expecting me to get married to the elf prince over here." Gimli jabbed a thumb at Legolas.

"Not specifically. But hate sex works sometimes."

Legolas let out a short, frustrated breath. "This is a waste of time." He finally managed to free himself from her arm and moved to the front, where Aragorn was leading the group.

"You'll have better luck convincing a stone to roll uphill," Gimli said. "Whatever the elf says, we'd best keep our guard up. If any elf-witch comes within a hundred yards of us, I'll—"

In an instant, the air around them was bristling with nocked bows. A dozen elves had stepped out behind the trees, as if appearing from nowhere. Quinn flinched as an arrow appeared near her face, and slowly raised her hand in surrender.

One of the elves stepped forward and lowered his bow. "The dwarf breathes so loud, we could have shot him in the dark."

"Nice going, eagle eye," Quinn muttered to Gimli.

"We have been aware of your presence for some time," the elf said. "Come with us."

Quinn and Pippin interacting is like that "Clown to clown communication" meme lol I love writing them together