Chapter 22: Chasing Wisdom Over Darkness

It was slow going through the forest, and Toven's frustration mounted with each step.

He was used to traveling light, moving swiftly across any terrain. With a wound throbbing on one shoulder and his pack weighing the other, he was moving at half the speed he normally would have maintained. By the time he caught up to the others, they would either be dead or long gone.

Toven hissed through his teeth as he nearly lost his balance on a slippery patch of leaves. He had to keep going, as far as he could manage in a day. Under any other circumstances, he wouldn't have hesitated to lie back in the shade and finish the contents of the flask that Gimli had left with him as a parting gift. But his friends were out there, and so was his mother, and he couldn't bring himself to rest until he knew that they were safe.

He adjusted the strap of his pack on his shoulder, and winced as the pain in his wound flared up. He'd pushed himself through worse circumstances than this. And he wouldn't be anywhere near where he was today if he'd just given up every time he was faced with a challenge.

He finally reached the top of the hill he'd been climbing and wiped some sweat from his brow with his free hand. He hoped he wasn't feverish. If his wound was infected or poisoned, he wouldn't make it another five miles.

Just keep moving. Toven started down the hill, trying to find the most level path to the bottom.

Something Quinn had once told him drifted to the front of his mind. You can stand just about anything for ten seconds. You ever get into a tough spot, just remember that.

A small smile flickered on his lips, and he began counting under his breath.

The earth beneath his right foot crumbled, then slid away entirely. His hand shot out as he stumbled forward, but there was nothing to grab. He managed to shrug his pack off as he fell. He landed with his weight on his left shoulder, and cried out as a vicious, ringing pain enveloped his senses. He rolled the rest of the way down the hill, breathing hard as his wound was jostled against roots and jutting rocks.

He landed on his back, the impact muffled by the ringing in his ears.

"Shit." Toven clutched at his shoulder, the pain nearly leaving him paralyzed. He waited, heaving deep breaths and waiting for the agony to subside. "Come on."

One, two, three, four, five…

Heavy footsteps sounded nearby, and Toven forced himself into a sitting position, fumbling for his knife.

Boromir came into sight, his pace slowing as he came closer. "Are you all right?"

Toven released his knife. His sling had become crooked during the fall, and he adjusted it with a wince. "How long have you been following me?"

"I did not think you would fare well by yourself." His eyes flickered over Toven's prone figure, as if to prove his point.

"I think your people need more help than I do." Toven pushed himself to his feet, using a tree to brace himself. His pack was lying a few feet away, and he went to retrieve it.

"I will not return to Minas Tirith," Boromir said quietly. "I am not a worthy protector of that city. My actions nearly brought them all to ruin."

Toven paused. "I already told you I'm not going to help you redeem yourself, if that's what you're after."

"I would not ask that of you. Nor would I leave you to fend for yourself." He moved closer. "We are in this war fighting for the same thing. I…I consider you one of my people."

Toven straightened and looked him in the eye. There was pain and regret in his gaze, but there was also a solemn determination forged from years of hardship. It reminded him suddenly of a former king he admired.

He let the strap of his pack slip from his fingers and sat down against a tree. Exhaustion thundered over his limbs a moment later. Boromir copied his movement.

"Let's just sit here for a moment," Toven said, letting his eyes slide closed.

"I can keep watch while you rest."

"I'll sleep once the sun goes down." He glanced behind him, towards the west. The trees were painted with gold as the sun dipped towards the horizon. "I need some time to think first."

"What was your plan?" Boromir rested his forearm on his bent knee. "Did you mean to hunt the orcs down by yourself?"

Toven shook his head. "I don't know what I'm going to find when I catch up to them. But I still need to be there."

There were so few of them that knew what was at stake. He'd tried not to speculate on what was happening to the others, but he didn't have the energy to block those thoughts anymore. Frodo and Sam were on their own, each step bringing them closer to one of the most dangerous places in Middle-earth. Merry and Pippin were at the mercy of the orcs, possibly dead and definitely in pain, and Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli were hunting them down with a tenth of the force they would need to defeat a pack that size.

And Quinn…he had no clue what had happened to her, and that worried him the most. Had the orcs captured her and managed to torture their location from her? Or was she still on her mission to kill a wizard?

Toven let out a shaky breath. He couldn't stay here, even if his shoulder needed to heal. He wouldn't be able to rest until he knew what had happened to his friends.

"You remind me of my brother."

He blinked at Boromir's voice, coming back to the present. "Should I take that as a compliment?"

"He is a noble man, both brave and loyal. A Ranger, like you." Boromir turned to the south, a small smile on the corner of his lips. "And wise beyond his years."

Toven narrowed his eyes slightly, unsure what to think of the comment, then let the tension fall from his shoulders. Any anger he'd felt had drained from his body. In its place was a bone-deep exhaustion, and…he was glad he wasn't alone.

"I might have judged you too harshly, back there," he said. "Aragorn told me the Ring has the power to influence the mind, to drive suspicion and mistrust between people. I suppose there was no way for you to guard yourself against that."

Boromir nodded, his smile fading. "Yet if I had known what was happening, I hope I would have acted differently."

"I hope so, too." Toven shifted, trying not to lean his injured shoulder against the tree, then closed his eyes. "Take first watch, then. We'll continue in the morning."

The next day, they reached the edge of the forest, and the flat brown plains of Rohan lay before them.

Toven let out a sigh through his teeth. From here, it was much easier to see how much distance they had left to cover, and that wasn't including what lay beyond the horizon.

"Where do we go now?" Boromir asked.

He stepped forward and scanned the long grass, which rustled gently in the cold breeze. "A group of orcs that large couldn't have passed through here without a trace. My guess is they cut through those highlands to try and cover their tracks." He nodded to a series of rocky hills and ridges visible beyond the treeline. "No matter what path they take, they're bound for Isengard. We move in that direction, we'll cross their trail eventually."

They started across the plains. A chilly wind billowed around them, and Toven gathered his cloak tighter around himself with a wince. His shoulder hurt with every step, and he knew he would have to stop and change the bandages soon, but at least he didn't feel feverish.

"Do you think the others will be able to catch the orcs?" Boromir asked.

"It depends how much of a head start they have, and whether they know they're being pursued." He lowered his gaze. Even if his friends did manage to catch up to the orcs, there was no guarantee they would be able to fight them, or that Merry and Pippin were still alive. He shook the thought from his head. "Aragorn is ten times the tracker I am, and I'm sure he's faced worse odds than this. They have a better chance than most would in their situation."

"Is he your father?"

Toven blinked, caught off guard by the question. "No. I…I never knew my father. My parents left me to die when I was an infant. Quinn found me and raised me as her own."

"I'm sorry."

He shrugged, then immediately regretted it. "I don't remember any of it. Feels as though it happened to someone else. All things considered, I had a pretty good childhood."

"Where did your father live?"

"Some village to the north of here." He paused. "I guess this is the closest I've been since I was a baby."

"No parent should ever abandon their child," Boromir said, a dark frown falling over his brow.

Toven looked up at him. "I feel as though you're taking this more personally than I did." He rubbed at his shoulder. "I'm more concerned with the orc who shot me than a couple people I've never met."

"It is still wrong." He shot him a sidelong glance. "And you are fortunate that there was someone to find you."

He grunted in agreement. "And you? Do you have any children?"

"No." Boromir let out a small laugh and shook his head. "Much to the chagrin of my father. Nor am I married."

Toven raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Boromir was certainly old enough to have either of those things. Even the Rangers back home, with their solitary lives, found time to get married and have children.

But it wasn't a path for everyone, and he knew better than to question another man's choices in that regard.

The pain in his shoulder flared up after the sun reached its peak, enough that he had to clench his teeth against the discomfort. He wanted to stop and check his wound, but he waited until the sun was going down and they decided to make camp.

They found a boulder jutting from the ground that would provide some shelter against the wind. Toven felt exposed without the cover of the trees, not just from the elements but any unfriendly eyes that might be prowling about. If another pack of orcs assaulted the two of them, he didn't like their chances.

"I'll take first watch," he said, slipping his pack from his shoulder and rubbing it with a wince. To his irritation, Boromir had kept watch the entire previous night, claiming in the morning that Toven had needed the rest more than he did. "You haven't slept in…what? Two days?"

"I will rest for a few hours." Boromir sat down with a sigh. "But you must wake me up before the sun rises. You need to sleep, too."

"All right." Toven sat down and took a long drink of water. His limbs felt heavy, and he shook off the urge to curl up against the rock and fall asleep.

Boromir had already lain down, his pack beneath his head as a makeshift pillow. No doubt he was just as exhausted as Toven, though he'd been an able traveling companion so far. He'd shown the same sort of compassion and concern for Merry and Pippin before they'd been taken, and the memory was hard to reconcile with the image of the selfish traitor that had been growing in his mind during the past few days. Toven rubbed his brow with a sigh. It scared him how deeply the Ring had been able to twist his thoughts, even though he was out of its reach, now.

His shoulder throbbed. Toven tried to pass the time by cleaning his sword as well as he could with one hand, muttering bits and pieces of songs under his breath. Once the moon had risen enough to give him a decent amount of light, he checked to make sure Boromir was asleep, then untied his sling.

His left arm was stiff, and he lowered it to his side with a wince. As quietly as he could, he gathering a fresh roll of bandages, his waterskin, and a couple of rags from his pack. He reached over and began unwinding the bandage from his shoulder. It was slow going, but eventually he managed to reach the end. The fabric over his wound was crusted with dried blood, and he peeled it away from his skin carefully.

There was fresh blood on the bandage, and he guessed he'd reopened the wound falling down the hill. The skin around it was red and tender, but it didn't appear swollen. Toven took that as a good sign and wet one of the rags as carefully as he could. There wasn't much he could do about the cut on his back except pray it didn't get infected.

What I wouldn't give for Quinn's fast healing…

A bitter wind swept over the plain, and Toven hissed as the chill bit into his bare skin. He shivered, then bit his lip as his wound protested.

"Come on," he muttered, swiping the rag over his wound. "You can do this."

"Toven?"

Suppressing a sigh, he looked over his shoulder as Boromir sat up.

"What are you doing?"

"Enjoying the breeze." Toven kept his hand clasped over his wound, feeling slightly embarrassed.

"I am no healer," Boromir said, "but I would have helped you in this."

Toven looked away, knowing any excuse he could offer about why he was doing this alone would seem childish. "I'm sorry."

"Is there something you wish to hide from me?"

His tone was cautious, not accusatory, but Toven couldn't help the defensive urge to wrap his cloak around his shoulders. He didn't like exposing himself to anyone, not even to his friends. But he would feel even less comfortable explaining himself, so he shook his head and asked, "How does the cut on my back look?"

Boromir moved closer. "The skin is red. But it does not look…bad."

Despite himself, a small smile twitched on his face. "So you have no experience with healing."

"I am more used to receiving wounds than treating them," Boromir said, the same wry humor in his voice. "I will do the best I can, if you guide me."

Toven held the rag over his shoulder. "Start by cleaning the wound. And be gentle about it."

Boromir worked steadily, cleaning the wound and then wrapping a bandage around it far more quickly than Toven would have been able to. He helped him retie his sling and lowered his hands.

"Thanks," Toven muttered, drawing his cloak around his shoulders. He didn't feel so uneasy now, but he hoped Boromir wouldn't press the subject. "I can keep watch for a few more hours."

"All right." Boromir looked at him for a moment longer. It was clear he had more questions, but all he did was lie down and close his eyes.

Toven drew his knees up to his chest and waited for warmth to come back to his skin.

"Shit."

As the moon began to rise, Quinn could see the jagged dark shape of a mountain range to her left. If she was getting close to Isengard, she should be seeing mountains on her right.

"I went too far south, didn't I?" She sighed and turned to Belekur. "Remind me why I couldn't just follow that road back there."

"Saruman has spies in Rohan," Belekur said. "He could be sending enemies to waylay us."

"He can try," she grumbled. "I am kicking his ass when we get to Isengard."

She turned back to the mountains, wishing more than ever that she'd brought a map. She'd crossed a river a few miles back, but that had only left her feeling more turned around.

"I'm gonna get to higher ground, see if I can get a better sense of my surroundings."

Quinn broke into a sprint again, angling herself towards the mountains. She really hoped she hadn't overshot her destination entirely.

Eventually, a winding path became visible in the side of the mountain, cutting zig-zags up the cliff face to a deep cleft in the rock. She decided that was as good a place as any and started towards it.

The path wasn't too steep, but Quinn still slowed down as she reached the first turn. What she'd though at first to be a rock was actually a weathered statue, positioned at the outside of the corner. It sort of looked like a person, its arms and legs crossed, and something that might have been a hood or hair covering its face. Two drooping eye sockets left dark holes in its face.

"Uh…" She leaned closer, but she'd never seen anything resembling this statue before. "Don't mind me, I guess."

She continued on. There were more statues at each turn in the path, and she tried not to look at them as she passed. She felt like she was being watched.

The cleft at the top was pretty nondescript, littered with a few trees and bits of grass. Quinn didn't pay much attention to it, turning back to the land spread out below. To her right, she could see a shining sliver of the river she'd crossed earlier. The rest of it was just dark, rolling plains as far as she could see, and she let out a small, frustrated sigh.

A chilly wind brushed the back of her neck, a low sound like a whisper tickling her ears. Quinn fought the sudden urge to shiver, and blinked in surprise. The cold didn't make her shiver anymore, not since she had died.

"Uh, did you say something?" She turned to find Belekur staring towards the mountains. She searched the shadows between the peaks, but she couldn't see anything except stone. "What's wrong?"

Without a word, they began walking away.

Quinn blinked. This is new. Whenever Belekur didn't want to talk to her, they usually left it at a snippy comment or something.

She followed them into the gloom. "Everything okay? I don't think we should really be taking detours right now. Hell, you're usually the one getting me to stay on task."

Belekur still didn't respond. Quinn realized they were approaching a narrow gap in the back of the grassy area, which led to a narrow pass between the mountains.

"Hey!" She ran in front of them, walking backwards so she could face them. Belekur was staring straight ahead, their eyes focused on something she couldn't see. "The hell is your problem? Talk to me."

Belekur walked right through her, and Quinn hissed in irritation. In any other circumstance, she might have left them to do whatever they wanted, but with their spirits tied together, she knew they weren't supposed to get too far apart.

"This better be good," she grumbled, following them into the pass. "Saruman better be waiting at the end of this path with a noose around his neck, or I am never listening to you again."

They walked in silence for a while, the shadows growing deeper as the rock walls towered above them. The only way Quinn could tell where she was going was the faint glow of moonlight reflecting off the stone. She suddenly wished she'd charged up her sword beforehand, but there was no time to go back now.

Eventually, the pass grew wider, and Quinn could see the outline of jagged slopes and scraggly trees on either side. They passed a few branching tunnels and narrow passages, but she kept her eyes forward, following Belekur's luminescent figure.

The only sound was the crunching of gravel beneath her boots and the hiss of the wind over the rock. After a while, Quinn realized there was a lower sound beneath it all, something that had mixed in with the air at first. It sounded like whispering, low and indistinct, and it made the hair stand up on the back of her neck.

Quinn put a hand on her sword, glancing around to identify the source of the whispers. The shadows remained blank and empty.

"Uh, Belekur?" She tried not to let her voice shake. "If this is some kind of prank, you got me. You got me good. Just…can we go fight the evil wizard now?"

Belekur continued on. Quinn ran to catch up with them, ready to start shouting, when she noticed they'd reached the end of the pass. Just before them was a stone doorway, just large enough for two people to pass through shoulder to shoulder.

Set on either side of the doorframe were two pale, round shapes. Quinn stepped forward and immediately shook her head.

"Those are skulls. Those are skulls. Nope. I'm done, here." She looked up as Belekur walked through the doorway. "Okay, well, have fun in the creepy mountain. I'm going to go do literally anything else."

She backed away, and a set of claws raked against her arm. Quinn screamed and spun, cutting the thing down with her sword. Half a tree branch landed on the ground.

"Fuck." She hopped in place for a moment. A chill was creeping into her limbs, one that went deeper than any cold wind.

It was Belekur's oath and their spirit that was keeping her here in the first place. If something happened to them, then…

"Shit!" Quinn stepped up to the doorway, crossed herself, then plunged inside.

It was completely dark inside. Kicking herself for not bringing a torch, Quinn hurried to follow Belekur's faint glow through the passage. There were strange carvings on the wall, but she didn't stop to look at them. Every nerve was wound tight, a cold prickle on the back of her neck making her constantly glance behind her.

The initial tunnel branched into several more. Belekur walked without hesitation, as though they knew exactly where they were going. After a few minutes, Quinn had no idea how to get back the way they'd come.

Something crunched beneath her feet. Quinn looked down, and immediately wished she hadn't. Half of a crushed skull lay beneath her foot, small white chips of bone scattered around it. In the dim light, she could see more covering the floor of the passage.

Quinn closed her eyes and tried not to be sick. "The Lord…the Valar…whoever runs this fucking place is really testing me right now."

Belekur was almost out of sight, so she braced herself and hurried to catch up with them. Bone cracked beneath her feet, and she tried not to wince.

"It's fine. It's fine. You're just walking through the world's worst ball pit right now. Just get to the other side of this stupid tunnel."

She didn't think she would ever be so glad to feel solid ground beneath her feet by the time the skulls stopped. A light appeared up ahead, but it wasn't sunlight. It was a dim, sickly green, and Quinn had the feeling they still weren't at the worst part of whatever this was.

They came to a large cavern. On the right was a deep chasm that stretched over half the floor, and on the left was the ruins of some old building or temple carved directly into the rock. It reminded Quinn a little of Minas Morgul, from the green light to the dead, decaying atmosphere.

Someone appeared at the entrance to the building—just appeared, without walking through the doorway. A dry, rattling voice voice echoed through the cavern.

"Who enters my domain?"

Quinn stepped closer. The figure was, without a doubt, a ghost. He was slightly transparent, his body taking on a greenish hue. But his face was half-decayed, his nose almost completely gone and his teeth grinning out with no lips to cover them. His clothing was tattered and stained, but Quinn could make out a weathered breastplate beneath his robe.

Swallowing back her fear, she held her hands up in surrender. "Uh, hi Mister Ghost, sir. We really didn't meant to enter your domain. I think my friend here is lost or something, so…"

"The Dead call to the Dead." There was something like humor in his voice, behind his grinning teeth.

Quinn blinked. "Wait, did you…did you call them here or something?" She glanced at Belekur, who was standing still, eyes staring blankly ahead. "Did you possess them?"

"The way is shut. It was made by those who are dead, and the dead keep it."

She was starting to get pissed off. "Listen, man. I don't have time for your shitty second-rate haunted house right now. I have a wizard I gotta kill, and I don't need you wasting my fucking time." She strode forward until she was face to face with the ghost. "Let my cranky spiritual companion go, or I will proton pack the shit out of you."

The ghost only laughed in her face, his cackle reverberating across the cavern. A green mist began to bleed from the walls, and as Quinn looked around, a whole army of ghosts shimmered into view.

She took a couple steps back and drew her sword. "You fuckers don't scare me! I've played Luigi's Mansion!" She turned to Belekur. "Snap out of it! We have to go! The power of Christ compels you!"

They finally blinked and looked around as the ghosts converged on them. "Traitors…" Belekur hissed through their teeth.

"You restless dead…You who failed to fulfill your oath…" The ghost was looking right at Belekur. "You belong to us, now."

The ghosts surrounded them now, each with the same rotting flesh and worn armor as the first. Some of them carried spears, and others carried swords. They didn't walk, but glided across the stone towards them.

"I would say 'over my dead body…'' Quinn raised her sword. "But I think I'm already there."

She charged, slashing through three at a time. Her blade passed right through them, and their ghostly bodies simply reformed around the cut like mist.

The ghosts surrounded her, grabbing at her arms. Their hands passed right through her flesh, and she gasped as a painful chill shot right to the bone. Her sword clattered to the ground.

"Shit." Quinn turned and tried to run, but she passed right through a ghost. It felt as though she'd been filled with ice water. Her arms weren't functional enough to catch her fall, and she toppled to the ground with a grunt. Through the swirling green light, she caught a glimpse of Belekur's blue glow. "Belekur!"

A sharp, ringing terror pierced her, more intense than anything she'd felt before. She tried to push herself up, but her arms were cold and unresponsive.

Something wrapped around her ankle and began dragging her across the stone floor, and Quinn screamed. She wriggled as much as she could, her armor scraping over the rock. She couldn't see what had grabbed her, but the ghosts stepped aside to allow her through.

She felt herself tip over the edge of the chasm, and the last thing she saw was the fading green light before she plunged into the abyss.

Sorry it kind of turned into a horror story for that last scene. I promise there won't be any really intense scenes like that in the future. Quinn won't make an appearance for the next few chapters since she's...ahem, busy, but I promise she's coming back.

Timing everything for this chapter and the next few has been…weird, because I didn't realize until I outlined this part that the entirety of The Two Towers (at least part one) takes place within a week. A fucking week. So in my version the events are probably gonna be spread out a bit more, just because of how long it takes to get to certain places, etc. Also free styling most of these scenes with Toven and Boromir, because all I had written in my outline was "Toven and Boromir talk about some shit idk." Thanks, past me.

Anyway, I'm really excited/nervous for next chapter, there's a lot of really heavy emotional beats and there's one moment in particular that is really important to me and that I debated on a lot when I was writing this story. So stay tuned for that!