Chapter 25: In That Night of No Stars
The armory was crowded when they arrived. Grim-faced soldiers stood beside the racks of weapons, handing a sword or a spear to any man who approached. As Toven looked around, he realized the king had called for men of all ages to take up arms. He watched as a man with white hair and a slight tremor in his hand accepted a blade from one of the soldiers. A boy passed him with his arms wrapped around a helmet, and as Toven noticed he was no older than thirteen, his stomach turned.
Gimli paused to examine a barrel full of spears, then clutched his axe more protectively at his side. "Tarâb nutuh."
"It's all they have to work with," Toven said quietly, then patted the sword at his own hip. "Though I am glad we brought our own weapons."
They found Aragorn, Legolas, and Boromir near the back of the room, near a rack of circular shields.
When Aragorn caught sight of Toven, his expression darkened, and he shook his head. "You shouldn't be here."
"I need armor," Toven said, feigning confusion even though he knew exactly why Aragorn was protesting. "I don't want to get shot again."
"You have not recovered from your first injury." He stepped closer. "You cannot fight."
Toven let out an incredulous laugh. "And you can? If I recall correctly, you fell off a cliff a few days ago."
"I was pierced by no arrows," Aragorn said, his tone growing harsher. "You cannot use your left arm. You would be no use to us in a fight."
Clenching his jaw, Toven undid his sling, letting the stained fabric fall to the ground, and reached up for one of the shields nearby. As soon as he stretched his arm out, pain shot down its length, nearly forcing him to recoil. His fingers snagged the edge of the shield, but his grip was weak, and it clattered to the floor.
Aragorn bent to put the shield back in its place, then turned to Toven and spoke in a gentler voice. "You are still injured. Make for the caves and give yourself time to recover. No one will begrudge you that."
Shame burned on his ears and cheeks. "Is that what you would have me do? Hide in the caves with the women?" He put his hand on his sword. "I can still fight."
"It is clear you cannot," Aragorn said, the frustration returning to his voice.
"And you think the children they are sending into battle will fare any better?" Toven flung a hand out at the men standing around them. Several of them were staring, despite the fact that they were speaking in low tones, and it only made his rage grow.
Aragorn's eyes turned steely. "I have no authority over the people of Rohan. But I still command you."
Toven glared at him for a long moment, then turned and made his way out of the armory. He knocked into several people as he left, but he didn't stop or look back. Eventually, he made it to the ramparts of the inner wall, and braced his hands against the stone, breathing hard.
He knew Aragorn was right, that he would not last long if he were to fight in his current condition. But that did nothing to change the helplessness he felt—at the overwhelming odds they faced, at his own weakness, at everything else he could do nothing to change. He wanted at least to be able to try.
The sun was setting, but the sky was shrouded in a low-hanging layer of cloud, leaving only a few beams of gold light shining over the rapidly darkening gorge. It occurred to him that this was possibly the last time he would see the sun.
"What does dying feel like?"
He was fifteen years old, sitting with Quinn under the shade of a beech tree and skinning a rabbit while she mended a hole in her shirt.
"Uh, it kinda sucks, to be honest," she said, not looking up from her work. "It really depends on the…method of death."
"Were you scared?"
Her fingers stilled. "Yeah. A little annoyed, too. Like, there was so much stuff I wanted to do, and I didn't know if I would be getting any second chances." She glanced at him. "Where is this coming from, anyway?"
"Just wondering." He looked down at the blood-stained pelt in his hand. "I think I'd want to die in battle, like you."
Quinn dropped her work and looked up at him. "Don't say that. I just told you it sucks."
"But I'm not going to get a second chance. When I die, I want to have a say in it. I don't want to be lying ill in bed. I want to make it matter."
A rare flash of sadness passed over her face. "If you're lucky, you'll be too old to fight by the time you die. If you don't get a second chance, then you have to make this first one count. How you live matters more than how you die. Got it?"
Footsteps sounded behind him, and Toven pulled himself out of his memories. Boromir came to stand next to him and rested his forearms against the battlements.
Toven sighed. "Say whatever it is you came to tell me."
"Aragorn speaks only out of concern for you." Boromir turned to face him. "He does not wish to lose you tonight. Nor do I. But I realize my motive is a selfish one. If we are to stand any chance against this army, we will need every man who can lift a sword."
He narrowed his eyes. "So you agree with me?"
Boromir shook his head. "I would have you stay in the caves, where you will be safe. And it does not make you any less of a man to do this."
Toven turned away, bitterness twisting in his chest. "I don't need you to tell me that."
There was no chance of victory against the orcs. There would only be a delay to the very inevitable end. He wanted to be on his feet when that end came.
"I saw Osgiliath fall," Boromir said softly. "It was the last outpost standing between the forces of Mordor and Minas Tirith. The only survivors were myself, my brother, and two others. I…I felt such shame at the loss, for having survived when so many others had fallen." He touched Toven's shoulder gently, causing him to turn. "But if I had not survived, I would not be here now."
Toven raised his eyebrows. "Just your luck to be facing an even larger orc army."
"I now have a second chance," Boromir said, meeting his gaze steadily. "And if you live through this fight, you will have a chance to see your mother again."
A lump rose in his throat. If Quinn was still out there, then he needed to find her. He would not allow their parting at the river to be their final goodbye.
"Trust in Aragorn. Trust in us that we will not let this fortress fall."
As he looked into Boromir's eyes, something stirred in his chest, something lighter than rage that lifted a portion of the burden in his chest. There was still hope. He hadn't found meaning in the word in a long time, but it was all he had to cling to now.
"I will. I'll try."
The caves behind Helm's Deep were remarkable, and if Toven wasn't so tense, he might have taken a moment to really admire them. Women and children were huddled together between stalagmites that glittered in the torchlight. They spoke in low voices, quick to soothe any of the young children who cried out in fear.
Toven sat alone by the large doors barring the entrance to the cave. He tried to block out the murmurs of the others, instead focusing his hearing for any sign of the approaching army. The last he had heard was the men climbing the wall and making last minute preparations. Now, he could hear nothing outside, and he assumed they were all waiting.
Guilt spasmed through him. He'd gone directly to the caves after speaking with Boromir, but now he was wishing he'd taken a moment to see Aragorn and the others. Despite his frustration, he hadn't wanted to part with him on bad terms. If this was truly the last night they would see each other…
He shook his head. As much as he hated it, all he could do now was wait. He just had to make it through the night with his sanity intact.
A low rumble became audible, and at first he thought it was thunder. But it sustained itself, growing louder with each minute, and he realized it was the sound of ten thousand feet marching towards the gates of Helm's Deep. The rumbling reached a crescendo, then stopped, and he could hear the low patter of rain just outside the door.
Toven wrapped a hand around his sword, slightly comforted by the grip against his palm. If the orcs managed to break through all of their defenses, including the door a few feet away, he would be the last person able to defend everyone inside the caves. He'd probably die within the first minute, but it was a small comfort to think he would get to take a few orcs out before then.
The rumbling started up again, this time with a clear rhythm. It was a chant, a drumbeat designed to intimidate the defenders. He could feel the slight vibration in the stone beneath him, and a shudder swept through the people in the cave.
A discordant cry rose from outside, followed by the roar of advancing footsteps, and Toven knew the battle had begun. His heart was pounding, every tensed muscle demanding he stand up and walk through the doors to join the other men.
Muttering a curse, he ran a hand over his face. What was your first battle like, Toven? Oh, I hid in a cave and listened to people die outside.
He looked up as someone approached the rock where he was sitting, and his heart dropped as he realized it was Éowyn. He'd spotted her a few times moving among the women, giving comfort and courage where she could, but he'd been hoping she wouldn't come this way.
She stopped a few feet away, hands loosely clasped together. "Master Ranger?"
At least she'd addressed him properly this time. Toven gave her another doubtful glance, then nodded for her to continue.
"I-I owe you an apology. I misspoke earlier, and it is clear I have caused you some offense. Sometimes I am prone to speaking without thinking first." She stepped closer. "I would ask for your forgiveness."
His expression softened. "I know you didn't mean any harm by what you said. But I am a man, and I hope you'll remember that."
"Of course." Éowyn hesitated, and at his inviting gesture, sat down next to him. "And I would ask for your name as well, if you are not opposed to my acquaintance."
"It's Toven."
"Toven," she repeated, sounding out the name as if she meant to remember it. "I believe I share some of your frustration, though now I understand it is for a different reason."
He tilted his head. "What, you wish you could be out there right now?"
Éowyn nodded. "I would fight alongside my people, but I was forbidden to do so. Many women in this country know how to use a sword, but we are not permitted to ride along with the men."
The layered years of frustration was audible in her voice. Toven was glad there were no restrictions of that sort for the Rangers, though female Rangers tended to be less common. "If you want to fight, then you should be able to."
"That is not the way of our people." Éowyn glanced at the doors with a small frown. "And as long as my uncle is king, it will continue to be so."
"Well, if you're looking to speak to a female warrior, you should meet my mother."
Éowyn turned back to him, her brows raised slightly. "Your mother? Is she fighting with the others?"
"No. I…I'm not sure where she is. She went to confront Saruman directly."
Her brows rose further. "She must be a formidable warrior to challenge a wizard."
He huffed out a laugh. "I wouldn't call her formidable, exactly. She just has…a very limited sense of self-preservation."
"You must be worried for her."
"Yeah." He lowered his gaze. "It's driving me crazy, not being able to look for her."
"I know how you feel." Éowyn let her hands fall to her lap. She didn't try and offer any platitudes about hope, and he was grateful for that. "But if we do manage to survive this, I should be glad to meet her."
He smiled slightly and opened his mouth to respond. Before he could speak, a noise like a thunderclap roared from outside, loud enough to make him flinch. A shudder rolled through the cave, causing a few loose rocks to clatter from the ceiling. A gasp went up from the women, followed by the wailing of frightened children.
Toven was on his feet in an instant, his hand on his sword. "What the fuck was that?"
"I do not know." Éowyn stood as well, a slight tremor in her voice.
He walked to the doors and pressed a hand against the wood, trying to see through, but there was no gap to give him a clear view of the other side. "The orcs must have done something."
They must have breached the wall. It was the only reason he could think of for a noise like that, for something to shake the very foundations of the fortress.
Where were his friends? Had they gone to defend the wall, or would they be within the keep?
Toven squeezed his eyes shut, knowing the answer to his own question. They would want to be on the front lines, to do whatever it took to defend the fortress. They would be the first ones to die. Perhaps they were dead already.
"Fuck this." He made sure his sword was free in its sheath, then reached for the heavy wooden plank barring the door. "I can't stay in there."
Éowyn appeared next to him, pressing a hand against the door. "If you go out there, you'll die."
"That's looking like more of a possibility for all of us by the second," he said. "I'm not going to die here without putting up a fight. Help me get this door open, or get out of my way."
Éowyn glanced at the women and children, then back at him. "I would go with you, and defend my people."
"That's up to you. Just…bar the door behind me, or find someone else to do it."
The two of them managed to lift the wooden bolt just enough to open one of the doors slightly. Toven squeezed through the opening and into the rain, but Éowyn caught his wrist before he could step away.
"Fight well," she said. "And be safe."
He wasn't sure how much he could promise either of those, so he only said, "Thank you."
She closed the door behind him, and he turned to get his bearings. He could hear more clearly now the whistle of arrows and the clash of steel. He looked up, squinting against the stinging rain, and saw orcs fighting on the outer wall of the keep.
Shit. They'd already closed in. He drew his sword and hurried up the narrow street. His shoulder ached with each movement of his left arm, but he ignored the pain.
"Fall back!" one of the men cried from above. "Fall back!"
Just as Toven passed the main door, it burst open, revealing a host of snarling orcs clad in black armor. He swore and pushed himself into a sprint. The orcs charged after him, and he heard a spear clatter against the stone near his ankle. He took the stairs up to the inner part of the keep, where a few men were standing on the wall, firing arrows down into the advancing horde. On the opposite side, more soldiers were spilling into the courtyard.
"Inside! Quickly!"
The men rushed up the wide stairs leading to the hall at the top of the keep. Toven made to follow them, but something grazed against his side with enough force to send him off balance. Pain sheared across his ribs, and he fell to his knees over the spear that had nearly impaled him.
Gritting his teeth, he put his weight on his right hand and turned to see the approaching wave of orcs. An arrow sunk into the throat of the one closest to him, and it toppled forwards.
A strong arm hooked under his shoulder, pulling him to his feet. "Come on!"
Toven looked up, and relief washed over him as he recognized Legolas firing his last two arrows into the horde. There wasn't time for anything else, though, as the two of them ran up the stairs and through the broad wooden doors. They were caught in a crush of armored bodies as several soldiers tried to squeeze through the opening, and a few of the men slipped on the rain-slicked stone. In the next moment, they were through, and Toven breathed in the cool air inside the hall.
"Move back! Barricade the door!"
A few soldiers rushed forth to slam the doors shut before the orcs could reach them, while others began dragging benches and tables to form a makeshift barricade. Looking around, Toven realized no more than twenty men had made it into the room. Out of the hundreds that had taken up positions on the wall, only a fraction of them had survived the night. Dizziness pressed against his temples.
"Boromir said you had gone to the caves," Legolas said, slinging his bow over his shoulder. He was flecked with mud and orcs blood, but he looked composed as ever.
"I changed my mind." Toven shook himself and pressed his hand to his stinging side, and it came away streaked with red. "I thought I could help with the defense. I didn't realize the orcs had entered the keep already." He looked around. "Where are—"
"How's twenty-seven for you, you pointy-eared princeling?"
Gimli's booming voice echoed off the stone a moment before the dwarf came into sight, his axe leaning on one broad shoulder. The head of it was almost entirely covered in black blood.
Legolas turned towards him, and despite the death and fear around them, a small smile crept onto his face. "Twenty-seven is not bad. Not as high as thirty-two, but…not bad."
Gimli's cry of outrage was cut off as the group of soldiers in the back of the hall broke apart, and Aragorn strode from their midst. Toven was relieved to see Boromir among them, as well as the king.
"Is the door secured?"
The soldiers stepped back from the door, where they had leaned several tables and benches against it. "It should hold for now," one of them said.
"We may not be so lucky if they bring a battering ram or more of that blasting fire," the king said. "Find whatever else you can to secure the doors."
Aragorn's eyes landed on Toven, and his expression contorted into a mixture of concern and exasperation.
Toven shrugged weakly. "Surprise."
"Did I not say you would be safer in the caves?" Aragorn demanded, crossing the distance between them.
"Well, there's no way I'm making it back there now." Toven was too exhausted to summon any real anger in his voice. "I came to stand with you and the others. And that's the only thing I can do now."
Aragorn stared at him for a long moment, his brow furrowed in anger. There was hurt in his eyes as well, and this cut deeper than any arrow. Toven reminded himself that it would be a blessing to have Aragorn angry with him, if it meant he survived the night.
Wordlessly, Aragorn turned away and went to help the men barricade the door.
Gimli reached over and patted him on the back, much more gently than he usually did, then went to help with the door as well, Legolas on his heels.
Trying not to focus on the sudden ache in his chest, Toven twisted to inspect the cut on his side. It was still bleeding sluggishly, but it didn't look too deep.
"It seems my words didn't have as much of an effect as I'd hoped."
He looked up as Boromir approached. His clothing was splattered with black blood, and a bruise was growing on the right side of his face, but he looked otherwise unharmed.
"They did." Toven lowered his hand. "You convinced me at first. But I was…I was afraid." He gestured around him. "This was the only thing I could think to do."
"These are dire times." Boromir glanced at the door as it shuddered under a heavy impact. Several soldiers ran forward to brace the barricade. "It is not so easy to judge a man for what he will do in fear."
Toven followed his gaze and swallowed. This room was their last refuge, a tiny island in a rapidly rising sea. And all that stood between them and death was a wooden door and a few tables. "What do we do now?"
"We do not despair yet."
They both turned as the king approached them. His armor was rent at the shoulder, blood leaking from the bent metal, but his face was set in determination. It reminded Toven of the statues they had seen along the Anduin.
"Not while we still have strength to draw our swords." The king raised his voice so everyone in the hall could hear him. "The horn of Helm Hammerhand shall sound in the Deep one last time. If this is to be our end, let us make such an end as to be worthy of remembrance."
From one of the side entrances in the hall, a group of men were leading in several horses—likely the mounts of the king and his guard.
"Come." The king nodded to Boromir. "Let us make ready, and face the enemy when they come."
"We're riding out there?" Toven asked as the king walked away.
"A cavalry charge," Boromir said, his face lighting up. "It will be a fitting blow to Saruman's army."
The door shuddered again, and splinters of wood burst forth as the end of the battering ram began to break through. The men stepped away from the barricade, heading for the group of horses at the other end.
Toven found a brown-haired steed with a white patch on its forehead and hoisted himself up into the saddle before. He'd ridden before, but he'd never fought while doing it.
There was no time to ask for advice. He caught sight of Aragorn and Boromir beside the king, Legolas and Gimli just behind them, and then the door burst open.
The king drew his sword and pointed it at the oncoming orcs as they poured into the room. "Forth Eorlingas!"
The men drew their swords with a wordless war cry, and Toven added his voice to their own. They charged forward into the horde, and the first orcs were crushed beneath the horses.
They emerged from the hall, and Toven realized the sky was lightening in anticipation of the rising sun. A low horn call rang out, nothing like the growl of the orcs or their blasting fire, but deeper, rumbling through the stone as though the very earth was coming alive, echoing the wind across the plain and the wild cries of the men striving to defend it.
The horses broke into a canter, breaking through the horde of orcs outside. Toven gripped the horn of the saddle until his knuckles were white, and with his other hand cut down any orc that came to close. The charge was dizzyingly fast, and before he knew it, their party was passing through the splintered remains of the front door and riding down the curving ramp.
The mass of the horde was before them, and the thought that the army had brought Helm's Deep to its knees with only a fraction of its force might have scared him. But there was adrenaline and anger and a wild exhilaration surging through him with each breath, and Toven only raised his sword for another strike as they plunged into the dark, surging sea of orcs.
A white light spilled from between the peaks above them, making them look up. At first, Toven thought it was the sun, but as he squinted against the brightness, he could make out a figure clad in white, mounted on a horse of the same color, standing at the top of the slope. More riders appeared, and with an echoing cry, they poured down the mountainside towards them. A haze of dust rose from the mountain as an army of riders charged forth.
Snarling, the orcs, turned to face this new, greater threat. They marched to the eastern slope, spears raised, but the riders crashed into them with the force of an ocean tide.
Toven spurred his horse forward into the fray, cutting down orcs where he could, dodging spears and jagged blades even as the orcs began to scatter. His arms and shoulders ached, but he refused to let up.
Ten orcs for every man who has fallen defending this fortress.
Enemies and allies churned about him like an ocean caught in a storm. As the minutes marched on, he found himself surrounded by more riders than orcs. He raised his sword again, breathing hard, and realized there were no enemies left to strike. The ground was littered with black-armored bodies. The other riders were moving north, giving chase to the retreating orcs, and he made to follow them.
As he reached the top of the small ridge, he realized the orcs were running towards a low, dark shape at the mouth of the gorge—a forest.
"When the hell…"
One of the riders passed in front of the others, waving his spear. "Stay out of the forest! Keep away from the trees!"
"So I'm not the only one who sees that," Toven muttered, pulling his horse to a halt with the others.
They watched as the orcs disappeared beneath the shadowed boughs—and then the trees began to move as if caught in a sudden, violent wind. Toven could see no more than their waving branches, but several shrieks of pain went up from the orcs, before suddenly falling silent.
"The forest came to defend us." He snorted a laugh. "Quinn's never going to believe this."
The gorge rang with the victorious cheers of the men. Toven leaned forward in his saddle, exhaustion and pain overtaking him for a moment. He felt battered and drained by the violence he'd seen that night.
But it was clear as the new dawn seeping over the stone that they had survived, against all odds. There was hope yet.
The next thing Quinn knew, she was running. She could feel the pounding of her feet on the hard earth, the dry grass whipping by, but she didn't stop until a loose stone tripped her, sending her crashing to the ground. She winced as the impact scraped up her bare forearms.
"Fuck." Quinn rolled onto her back, gasping for breath. Her heart was pounding so hard she could hear the blood rushing in her ears. "Wait…"
That wasn't right.
She wasn't supposed to be breathing.
Quinn sat up and looked herself over, and her eyes widened. She wasn't wearing her armor anymore, but an outfit that was both familiar and alien. She reached out and brushed her fingers over the fabric of her jeans, then patted the design on her t-shirt. Her hand went to her hair, which was much shorter than she was used to.
"No fucking way." She stood up and put a hand to her chest, then took a deep breath. She could feel her lungs expanding and the low rhythm of her heart. She staggered, feeling dizzy.
Quinn Fleming was back in her old body.
God I have been waiting for this twist for so long, you have no idea. I'd love to hear any theories you have on this, and what you think is gonna happen next.
This chapter was basically me rewatching clips from the Helm's Deep scenes over and over to try and get a sense of the geography of the place. I have absolutely no sense of space whatsoever lol. Also I gave Theoden the "ride out with me" moment like in the books, because in the movies he…kinda sucks and I feel like the guy doesn't deserve it.
Quick note: when Boromir talks about Osgiliath, that part is from the books, where Gondor lost the eastern half shortly before Boromir set out for Rivendell. The movies portray a victory instead but I decided to go with book canon.