Sorry for the late-ish update. It's been a hectic weekend but I didn't want to keep you guys hanging. Also, warning for a graphic…surgical scene I guess?

Chapter 21: Dying Sun

It had been a while since Quinn had been able to run like this. But now, with no companions and determination feeding her fire, she flew. She pushed herself into a sprint, feet barely touching the ground as each step ate up the distance between her and Isengard.

She hadn't seen any sign of the orcs that were supposed to be tailing her. She guessed they just weren't able to keep up, but hopefully whatever tracker Saruman had put on her would be enough for them to stay on her trail. The farther they got from the Fellowship, the better.

It hadn't taken long for her to enter Rohan proper, and the flat green plains made for much better footing than the forests up north. She could see why the people here were so obsessed with horses. Going full speed among the waving grasses felt a little like flying. Or rowing a really fast boat.

She was beginning to regret not bringing a map, since she hadn't approached Isengard from this direction in a long time, and she didn't know how to read the terrain or whatever like Toven and Aragorn. All she knew was that she needed to head west, so she kept the sun at her back in the morning and followed it in the afternoon. Isengard was at the top of the gap between two mountain ranges, so she just had to find one of those.

She caught sight of the silvery gleam of a river in the near distance. There was a river flowing right by Isengard—had she covered so much ground so soon?

When she reached its banks, she scanned the water, searching for a place to cross that wouldn't slow her down too much.

"You have a ways to go yet," Belekur said, appearing beside her. "This is not the River Isen."

"That makes more sense," Quinn said, walking downstream. "I forget how many rivers are in Rohan. Should've paid more attention last time I was here." She glanced at them. "Did you know about this? That Saruman was tracking me?"

"If I did, I would have mentioned it earlier."

Quinn nodded. Belekur had no reason to withhold information like that, especially if it would persuade her to go after Saruman.

"Well, you were right." She spread her hands. "And you can hold it over my head if you want. I should have listened to you from the start."

"Indeed."

She sighed. There was really no winning points with this one.

"Well, for the moment, we want the same thing. And I promise I'm gonna actually listen to you from now on."

Belekur said nothing.

"Okay. Good talk." Quinn finally found a shallower spot in the river, where the water seethed and bubbled over several stones, and began crossing.

She just hoped the others were doing all right without her.

Everything was too bright, too loud. A terrible pain was tearing through his shoulder, renewing itself with every gasping breath.

The orcs were still churning around him, their heavy boots rattling the ground. They were still fighting, steel and cries of pain ringing out, but he couldn't see their assailants.

Toven let out a pained grunt and clutched his shoulder, trying not to jostle the shaft of the arrow embedded in his skin. He fought hard against the urge to rip it out, knowing that would only do more damage.

An orc paused above him, raising its sword for a killing blow. Mustering all his strength, Toven fumbled for his sword and managed to deflect the strike. The motion was enough to send a bolt of excruciating pain through his shoulder and down his arm, and darkness overtook him once more.

When he came to, pain speared through his consciousness with a vicious greeting. His ears were ringing, but eventually he was able to discern a low, urgent voice, and a pair of hands cradling his face.

"Toven. Toven."

He winced and opened his eyes. Aragorn was leaning over him, his eyes bright with unshed tears. There was blood on his face and his hair was damp with sweat, but his shoulders sagged with relief.

It was then that he noticed the forest had fallen silent. The orcs were gone—either they had fled or been defeated—but what about the others?

With a groan, Toven put his weight on his good arm and tried to sit up, but Aragorn stopped him.

"Lie still. You're wounded."

"I hadn't noticed," he said, glancing at the arrow. Looking at it, the way it moved slightly with his shaky breaths, made him nauseous. He looked back at Aragorn. "What happened?"

Aragorn sat back on his heels and glanced up. Toven turned his head to the side and saw Boromir, standing with his sword covered in black blood.

"The orcs…they took the little ones. Merry and Pippin. I-I could not stop them," Boromir said, his face pale.

"And what of Frodo and Sam?" Aragorn asked in a slightly sharper tone.

Boromir only shook his head, looking slightly lost.

"I will search for them," came Legolas's voice, and Toven saw a flash of golden hair in his periphery as the elf bounded away.

His breaths were coming in short, shaky gasps. Merry and Pippin had been taken. Frodo and Sam were nowhere to be found—perhaps they were dead, and the Ring had been taken. And Quinn…she was in danger. He was sure of it.

"Breathe, Toven." Aragorn lay a calming hand on his arm. "We need to take care of your shoulder." He helped him sit up, then half-carried him to a nearby tree.

Toven hissed through his teeth, white sparks spinning across his vision. He blinked them away and saw dead orcs littering the ground like blackened, fallen leaves. The clearing stank of blood and death. Gimli and Boromir were standing nearby, watching them.

Aragorn drew his knife, cleaned it on a clean section of his shirt, and began cutting through the fabric around the wound.

Despite the pain, despite the desperate need to get the arrow out of him, Toven put a hand on Aragorn's wrist, stopping him. "Wait."

"You are among friends," he said, quiet reassurance in his tone.

Toven closed his eyes, knowing this was hardly the time to let insecurity take over, but he couldn't dislodge the fear that had settled in his chest. "Doesn't mean I need an audience."

Aragorn leaned back and looked at the others. "Boromir. I need water and bandages. Gimli, come help me with this."

Boromir shot him a brief, concerned glance, then sheathed his sword and set off through the trees. Gimli set his axe down and knelt down on Toven's other side.

"Right, then. Need my help pulling the arrow out?"

"Pulling it out would do more harm than good." Aragorn worked quickly and efficiently, removing the sleeve of Toven's tunic and undershirt and cutting away the fabric around the arrow. Blood was still leaking from the wound, staining the binding around his chest. "This one is lodged deeply. We will have to pull it out through the other side."

Toven grimaced. "That's what I was hoping you'd say."

A small smile flashed briefly on Aragorn's face, and he gripped the arrow and snapped off the majority of the shaft. He kept it steady for the most part, but Toven still grunted in pain. Aragorn turned to Gimli. "Help me move him onto his side."

The two of them arranged him so that he was lying on his good shoulder. Aragorn moved behind him, while Gimli knelt in front. Toven let out a slow breath, bracing himself for the pain.

"Ah." Gimli pulled something from his coat—a rectangular metal flask. "I suppose this is the best we can do, given the current circumstances."

"You've had that this whole time?" Toven asked as Gimli passed the flask to Aragorn.

"I was saving it for a special occasion," he grumbled back.

"I suppose this counts," Aragorn said, and Toven bit back a scream as the knife bit into his flesh.

The pain in his shoulder increased tenfold, piercing both sides of him now, and it was all he could do not to try and pull away. Gimli's free hand was wrapped around his own, and he squeezed tightly, knowing it would take more pressure than he was capable of to actually hurt the dwarf.

"I have it," Aragorn said, and through the pain Toven could feel the disturbing sensation of the shaft sliding through his body and out the other side.

He let out a sigh of relief, then cried out at the sting of alcohol against the cut. He sucked in air through his clenched teeth, then focused on letting it out slowly.

"I don't see any poison on the arrowhead," Aragorn said, cleaning the wound and wrapping a bandage around his shoulder. "We'll have to hope it doesn't become infected."

Breathing hard, Toven let the two of them help him into a sitting position. To his surprise, Boromir was standing nearby—he hadn't even heard him approach. Toven reached over and grabbed his discarded cloak, then wrapped it around his shoulders.

"You did well," Aragorn said, squeezing his hand briefly.

Moments later, Legolas returned. "One of the boats has been taken," he said. "I saw Frodo and Sam on the eastern shore."

"W-We must follow them," Boromir said.

"No." Aragorn stood. "Their fate is no longer in our hands."

"What?" Toven attempted to stand as well, but his good arm trembled under his weight, and he decided to stay sitting for the moment.

"It is fortunate that we have protected Frodo this far," Aragorn said, keeping his eyes on Boromir. "But perhaps it is best that the Ring is now out of our grasp."

Boromir averted his gaze, shame clouding his face.

"Then it has all been in vain," Gimli said, resting his axe on the ground with a low thud. "The Fellowship has failed."

Aragorn looked up, a new fire in his eyes. "Not if we hold true to each other. We will not abandon Merry and Pippin to torment and death. Not while we have strength left."

"Very well." Legolas slung his bow over his shoulder. "Orc hunting it is."

Toven pushed himself to his feet, willing himself to stay steady. He couldn't stop the acidic guilt at the thought of leaving Frodo and Sam to their own path. But Merry and Pippin were in danger, and he'd already failed to protect them once.

Aragorn turned to him. "Toven, you are in no shape to travel."

"I was shot in the shoulder, not the leg." He bent and retrieved his sword, suppressing a grunt of pain.

"We will need to move swiftly to catch up to the orcs," he said, his tone hardening. "You would only slow us down."

"I will stay with him," Boromir said. "And make sure he comes to no further harm."

Great. Toven cleaned his sword the best he could on the edge of his cloak, then slid it into his sheath. At least he hadn't been shot in his sword arm.

Aragorn held Boromir's gaze for a long moment, then nodded and turned to Legolas and Gimli. "We travel light. Take only what you need."

Legolas and Gimli set off towards the boats. Toven took a couple steps forward, wincing as the pain in his shoulder flared up.

Aragorn blocked his path, gently holding him place with both hands on his arms. "You need time to heal," he said quietly. "Look around you. You have already slain many orcs. There is no shame in stopping here."

Toven clenched his jaw and looked away. He thought of Quinn, who could withstand any blade or arrow that struck her, and Aragorn, who was a formidable warrior and leader in his own right. At the moment all he could see in himself was weakness.

"I would not risk losing you again," Aragorn continued, his voice nearly a whisper.

He was a liability for the group, now. As much as it hurt, he couldn't deny that fact. Toven closed his eyes and nodded.

Aragorn released him with a small sigh. "Be safe, Toven."

"I'm not the one chasing after a pack of orcs," he replied, bitterness overtaking the intended humor in his words. "Just…promise me you'll look for Quinn while you're out there. I'm afraid something may have happened to her."

"You have my word." He nodded. "I hope that we will meet again under better circumstances."

It all hit him, then—everything they'd lost that day, everything he was about to lose. Something like grief surged through his chest. Toven stepped forward and briefly pressed his forehead against Aragorn's. It was a gesture more typical of dwarves, but he hoped it would convey everything he was unable to say.

Whatever was going to happen in the days to come, it was undeniable that this moment meant a goodbye.

Toven sat at the edge of the lake, drawing idle patterns in the sand with the toe of his boot. His shoulder still hurt, but he'd managed to alleviate some of the pain with a makeshift sling from the ruined remainder of his tunic.

Nearby, the two boats bobbed with the gentle current, empty except for a few supplies. Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli had left an hour ago to pursue the orcs, leaving him and Boromir at their camp.

With a small groan, Toven pushed himself to his feet and walked over to his pack, still lying where he'd left it that morning. The battle and his wound had sapped most of his energy, but he still wanted to get in a few hours of travel before dark. He wouldn't be able to move as fast as the others, which meant he would have to make every moment count.

He closed his pack and lifted it with one hand, testing its weight. He would have to carry it on one shoulder, and hopefully its weight wouldn't do any damage to his good shoulder.

Heavy boots crunched the brush behind him. "What are you doing?"

Toven turned to look at Boromir. He'd left a while back to check the fallen orcs and make sure none of them were alive, and Toven had let him be. He still wasn't sure what he wanted to say to him.

"We need to head west. The orcs' trail shouldn't be hard to follow."

Boromir let out a small snort, as if something amused him. "You're injured. You need to rest."

"I'll rest when it gets dark." Toven turned to face him, searching his face. "Are you going to try and stop me?"

The humor disappeared from his expression. "I made a promise to Aragorn that I would keep you safe, and I intend to keep it." He took a step closer. "You did not see it back there, but if that arrow had not struck you, it likely would have killed me instead."

"Well, that was an accident." He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I'm not sure I like you enough to take an arrow for you."

Boromir looked away for a moment. "I will not begrudge you that. But we are still allies, are we not?"

There was a pleading glint in his gaze, but it was only a spark to the smoldering anger and suspicion in Toven's heart. Keeping his voice low, he asked, "What happened between you and Frodo? You followed him into the forest. What did you say to him?"

The guilt that flashed across Boromir's face was enough. But he still spoke, slowly, as if each sentence cost him a great deal of effort. "I wanted only to speak with him. I tried to persuade him to come to Minas Tirith. When he refused, I grew angry, and…I tried to take the Ring from him. He fled, and it was only after he was gone that I realized what I had done."

The rage that overtook him was enough to make him shake. Toven turned away, taking a shaky breath. He'd been right the entire time. If he had acted on it sooner…

"I was wrong. I was blinded by fear, and it drove me to do something terrible. It is because of me that our Fellowship has broken." Boromir's voice wavered. "If there is anything now I can do—"

"Is that what this is?" Toven hissed, turning around. "You promised to protect me so you could absolve your guilt?" He picked up his pack and slung it over his good shoulder, biting back a wince as his wound protested. "I won't have any part in that. Go back to your city, and stay away from my friends."

He walked past him, forging deeper into the forest and trying to hold back tears.

So this is going to be a Boromir Lives fic. Never done one of those before, and I'm honestly a little nervous. With The Hobbit, Thorin dies at the end, so saving him means you can kind of freestyle what happens afterwards. But saving Boromir has like…political implications that I didn't really take into account when I made this story decision. So I guess we'll see how it goes lol

Also, yes, Toven is okay for now. This was totally unintentional but I realized the title for this chapter kind of sounds like "Dying Son" so haha...sorry to everyone who thought I would kill off my boy.

On a related note, I realized I have a tendency to have really detailed wound-care scenes, so sorry to anyone who's squeamish. This stuff is just interesting to me, and I do want to try and make it realistic.

Anyway, these next few chapters will focus on Toven more because Quinn just doesn't have much to do for the Two Towers section of the plot. More on that next time.