Chapter 27: New Dawn

Quinn didn't sleep that night.

She insisted on keeping watch while Merry and Pippin slept. Before they went to bed, Pippin gave her some bread and salted pork and made her eat it. She wasn't sure where they'd gotten decent food, but she didn't ask. It tasted like ash.

She sat on the edge of the wall, facing the tower and idly drop kicking pieces of rubble into the water. She could see tree-like shapes moving around the grounds of Isengard, and assumed those were the Ents Merry and Pippin had mentioned. She couldn't find it in herself to be curious or nervous or…anything, really.

She felt just as numb as she had been in that snowdrift on Caradhras. Every once in a while she would bump into the razor blade of guilt that came with memories of Toven and thoughts of how that day could have gone differently. At times, she felt like she was drowning in it.

When the sun rose again, Quinn excused herself to go on a walk. Merry and Pippin both shot her a concerned glance, but they let her go.

She ventured back into the forest. The trees groaned quietly around her, and she groaned back at them. Even though it hadn't been here long, the forest felt endless and ancient. She briefly entertained the idea of walking in a straight line and seeing how far she could make it.

No. Quinn rubbed her face with both hands. As much as she'd already fucked up, she couldn't abandon Merry and Pippin now. They needed her, and she wasn't ever going to run off again.

The brush rustled, making her tense up, and she ducked behind a tree. The rhythmic thud of hooves reached her ears. She could rule out orcs for the moment, but it was just as likely a group of Dunlending raiders as it could be riders of Rohan.

Quinn picked up a stone, ready to throw it at the closest enemy, and stepped out from behind the tree. At first she thought the rider in front was Saruman, but he looked more like…Gandalf, weirdly. Behind him was an old man wearing the armor of Rohan. She relaxed slightly as she recognized Aragorn in the procession, and—

"Toven?" The stone fell from her hand. "Holy shit, you're alive!"

He looked confused for a moment before realization dawned on his face. "Quinn?"

She ran for him. He dismounted moments before she threw her arms around him, holding him tight. "You're okay. Oh my god, you're okay."

"Uh huh." His breaths were coming rather shallowly. "Just watch the shoulder, yeah?"

"Oh, shit, sorry." Quinn released him, vaguely aware of the fact that tears were running down her face. "You got shot." She looked him over. "Where is it? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine now." He was looking her over, too. "What…"

"Long story." She sniffled and wiped her cheeks, then hugged him more gently. "I'm just really glad you're okay."

Toven tightened his hold on her, and Quinn relaxed. She was vaguely aware of the others watching them, but she didn't care. All of the worry and grief she'd been harboring since reaching Isengard had slid from her shoulders. This felt more like a resurrection than any time she'd actually come back from the dead.

"What happened to your hair?" Toven asked quietly.

Quinn pulled back. "What do you mean, what happened to my hair?"

"You barely have any."

"Oh, I had to chop most of it off after the Great Cement Accident of 2017. Haven't had the chance to grow it out."

Quinn took a moment to look around. Boromir, Legolas, and Gimli were there, along with a couple other men she didn't recognize. She turned back to the front of the line and took a better look at the man in white.

"Hey, are you Gandalf's brother or something?"

Gandalf's brother let out a small, resigned sigh, and she realized no one would be giving her such an exasperated look other than the Gray Wizard himself. Or former Gray Wizard, anyway.

"Glad to see you're back." She grinned. "We were so worried you died, or something."

"Who is this?" the older man asked.

"A friend," Aragorn said with a slight smile. "We'll have time for introductions later." He nodded for Gandalf to continue, and the procession began moving again.

"Come on." Toven mounted his horse and helped her up behind him.

"I am really glad to see you." Quinn wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed, and he let out a small grunt of pain. "Geez, how many injuries do you have?"

"It's been a long couple of weeks."

"Well, I like your new tunic." She poked the green fabric. "Make you look like Link."

He let out a small chuckle at that.

Legolas moved the horse he and Gimli were sharing up next to theirs. "So you've returned to us in a new form, just as Gandalf has."

"I would have thought it a trick or illusion, were it not for your manner of speech," Gimli said. "I doubt any power in this world could truly duplicate that."

Quinn made a peace sign at him. "Good to know I'm still original."

"What in Mahal's name are you wearing, though?"

"Uh…" She looked down at herself. Her jeans were probably tight enough to be somewhat scandalous by Middle-earth standards. "Just regular Earth fashion." She pointed at her shirt. "And this is Ryu from Street Fighter."

"Of course," Toven said. "How could you forget Ryu, Gimli?"

The dwarf's retort was cut off by a chorus of laughter ahead of them. Merry and Pippin were standing on the wall, waving down at them. Quinn waved back at them and pointed at Toven to show them the good news.

Merry stood up and spread his arms. "Welcome, my lords, to Isengard!"

"You young rascals!" Gimli shouted up at them. "A merry hunt you've led us on, and now we find you feasting and smoking!"

"We are sitting on a field of victory," Pippin said around a mouthful of food, "enjoying a few well-earned comforts. The salted pork is particularly good."

"Salted pork?" Gimli echoed.

"Hobbits," Gandalf grumbled under his breath.

The older man turned to the wizard, an amused twinkle in his eye. "So these are the lost ones of your company, Gandalf? Are these not Holbytlan?"

"It's pronounced hobbit," Pippin said, and Merry not-so-subtly elbowed him.

"Where is Treebeard?" Gandalf asked.

"I think he is near the foot of the tower," Merry said, pointing.

"We have no time to waste, then." He spurred his horse into the water, and the others followed them. The hobbits climbed down to join them, and Aragorn helped Pippin onto his horse, while Merry took the spot behind Boromir.

"The front doors are locked," Quinn said to Toven. "You have any idea what Gandalf's planning to do?"

"No," he replied. "But I'm definitely standing behind him."

As they approached the tower, one of the Ents stepped forward to greet them. Long bits of moss had grown beneath two small, golden eyes, which sort of resembled a beard. When he spoke, his voice creaked like a large branch being bent.

"Young Master Gandalf. I'm glad you've come."

Quinn's eyebrows shot up. Young? Damn, that's a flex.

Treebeard let out a low hum. "Wood and water, stock and stone I can master. But there is a wizard to manage here, locked in his tower."

Gandalf glanced at the rest of the party as Treebeard lumbered away. "Be careful. Even in defeat, Saruman is dangerous."

"Well, let's just have his head and be done with it," Gimli said.

"No," Gandalf said. "We need him alive. We need him to talk."

"And then can we have his head?" Quinn asked.

A low voice issued down to him, as though someone was speaking through a loudspeaker. "You have fought many wars and slain many men, Théoden King, and made peace afterwards."

They all looked up to see a lone figure dressed in white standing at the top of the tower, his staff gripped in both hands. Even from a distance, Quinn instantly recognized him. All of the pain and loss and fear she'd felt the previous day flickered back to life, like the first flames in a dragon's maw.

"Can we not take counsel together as we once did, my old friend? Can we not have peace, you and I?"

"We shall have peace," Théoden said lowly. "We shall have peace when you answer for the burning of the Westfold and the children that lie dead there." His voice rose to a shout. "We shall have peace when the lives of the soldiers whose bodies were hewn even as they lay dead against the gates of the Hornburg are avenged! When you hang from a gibbet for the sport of your own crows…we shall have peace."

Quinn wasn't sure what a gibbet was, but she got the feeling Saruman deserved one. After all the shit he'd done, there was no way she was going to let him talk his way out of this one.

"Your treachery has already cost many lives," Gandalf said. "Thousands more are now at risk. But you could save them, Saruman. You were deep in the enemy's counsel."

The amusement in Saruman's voice was clear as he said, "So you have come for information. I have some for you." He took something from his robes and held it up—a dark orb that gleamed in the sun. She recognized it as the Palantír she had seen last time she'd been to Isengard.

"Something festers in the heart of Middle-earth. Something that you have failed to see. But the Great Eye has seen it. Even now, he presses his advantage."

Boromir shifted uneasily on his horse.

"His attack will come soon. You're all going to die. But you know this, don't you, Gandalf? You cannot think that this Ranger will ever sit upon the throne of Gondor. This exile, crept from the shadows, will never be crowned king. Gandalf does not hesitate to sacrifice those closest to him, those he professes to love. Tell me, what words of comfort did you give the halfling before you sent him to his doom?"

How fucking dare he. Quinn slid off the horse, ignoring Toven's protest, and strode forward.

"Your words and empty threats mean nothing, Saruman. You've lost, and your fortress is broken," she snarled. Even if Belekur was gone, she could still feel the same cold rage surging through her. "The least you can do now for your pathetic existence is offer some information that might make your death slightly less painful."

"My threats are not the empty ones, wretch!" Saruman raised his staff, and a ball of fire burst from the end of it.

"Quinn!" Toven shouted as the flames hurtled downwards.

Gandalf's horse leapt beside her as the fire descended on them, and Quinn flinched. A dry roar surrounded them, but she felt no heat. She looked up to see Gandalf with his staff raised, and the flames dissipated harmlessly around them.

"Saruman," Gandalf said, "your staff is broken."

A surge of energy rushed up the tower, and Saruman cried out as the staff in his hands splintered and crumbled. A thunderclap echoed in the sky.

Another figure appeared at the top of the tower. Quinn couldn't be sure, but she thought it was the pale man who had greeted her the last time she'd been in Isengard.

"Gríma," Théoden called. "You need not follow him. You were not always as you are now. You were once a man of Rohan."

"A man of Rohan?" Saruman spat. "What is the house of Rohan but a thatched barn where brigands drink in the reek and their brats roll on the floor with the dogs? The victory as Helm's Deep does not belong to you, Théoden Horse-master. You are a lesser son of greater sires."

Quinn felt her hands tighten into fists. If the doors were unlocked, she would have been halfway up the stairs by now. She was sick of listening to this bastard insult them.

Théoden glared up at Saruman, but when he spoke, his voice was gentler. "Gríma, come down. Be free of him."

"Free? He will never be free." Saruman spun and backhanded Gríma, knocking him to the ground.

"Saruman!" Gandalf called. "You were deep in the enemy's counsel. Tell us what you know."

"You withdraw your guard, and I will tell you where your doom will be decided. I will not be held prisoner he—"

He was cut off as Gríma leapt onto him and drove a knife into his back. Legolas nocked an arrow and fired it into Gríma's chest, knocking him backwards.

Saruman fell in the opposite direction, right off the edge of the tower. They watched as his body descended and landed with a sickening thud on a piece of rubble. Blood began to spread on his white robes where a jagged piece of metal had impaled him through the chest.

Quinn took a couple steps closer, watching the body, but Saruman didn't move. "Rot in hell," she muttered, and spat at the rubble.

Gandalf turned to Théoden. "Send word to all our allies and to every corner of Middle-earth that still stands free. The enemy moves against us. We need to know where he will strike."

"Gondor," Boromir said hoarsely. "Gondor will be next, if it has not been attacked already."

"And the fun continues," Quinn muttered, walking back towards the horses.

Toven helped her back up, frowning. "I get you back for ten minutes, and then you go and nearly get yourself incinerated."

She opened her mouth to retort, then remembered the conversation they'd had in Lothlórien. They'd promised to trust each other, but that didn't mean she could take unnecessary risks. "Sorry. I lost my temper."

He glanced back at her. "He can't hurt anyone else, now. Don't lose any more sleep over it."

"Sleep," she groaned. "That sounds nice, actually."

Something rolled out of Saruman's robes and into the water. Pippin slid off Aragorn's horse and waded over to it. He picked up the Palantír, which looked like a basketball in his small hands.

"Hey, be careful with that," Quinn called, but Pippin didn't look as if he'd seen any visions of flaming eyes.

"Peregrin Took!" Gandalf moved his horse closer to the hobbit. The barely-disguised urgency in his voice revealed a similar anxiety. "I'll take that, my lad." He reached down, and Pippin somewhat reluctantly handed the Palantir to him. Gandalf took it in the fabric of his robes and wrapped it up.

With that, he turned and began riding away from Isengard, and the others nudged their horses to follow him.

Quinn cast one last glance back at Isengard, and Saruman's broken body below the tower. She knew she should feel relieved—her enemy was dead, and her son was alive.

Yet she couldn't help but think they'd stumbled into something much bigger than she'd expected.

"So, let me get this straight." Quinn turned so she could look at Merry and Pippin. "You two got kidnapped by orcs." She turned to Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli. "You three went chasing after them." She looked at Boromir. "You and Toven went chasing after them. And somehow half of you ended up fighting a million orcs while the other half got an army of walking trees to invade Isengard."

They had made it through the forest surrounding Isengard and were riding across the open plains, back to Edoras. Each member of the Fellowship had explained what had happened since they'd been separated. Just hearing it in retrospect had given Quinn major anxiety, but she was glad everyone was still alive and well.

Or at least…almost everyone.

"What happened to Frodo and Sam?" she asked, and her heart fluttered as she waited for someone to answer.

"They escaped the orcs unharmed," Aragorn said. "Legolas saw them on the opposite shore of the lake. Most likely they have been continuing the journey to Mordor alone."

"Wh—And you just let them go?" Her stomach dropped. She was relieved to know they had survived the initial attack, but there was no telling how far they'd made it afterwards.

"Had things been different, I would have followed them," Aragorn said, and the pain of the decision flashed across his face. "But Merry and Pippin were in danger."

"I should have been there," Quinn muttered.

Toven reached back and squeezed her hand. "There's no way you could have known."

"Because I'm an idiot," she huffed, but squeezed his hand back.

"Well, you've kept us in suspense long enough," Gimli said. "There's no doubt you've a tale of your own to tell, so why don't you share it with us?"

"Okay." Quinn shifted into a more comfortable position. "Well, I guarantee my story is weirder than all of yours. I was on my way to Isengard when I got a little lost. I climbed up a cliff to get a better look at my surroundings, and next thing I know, Belekur is walking into this weird cave." She paused. "For anyone who doesn't know, Belekur is my…spirit companion, sort of. It's not important. Anyway, I follow them into the cave, and all these ghosts start popping up and harassing us."

"So the legends are true," Legolas said.

"What legend is that? Because I would love to know what their deal was."

Aragorn moved his horse closer to theirs. "During the War of the Last Alliance, the men of the mountain swore an oath that they would fight alongside Isildur. But when the time came, they fled beneath the mountain, and Isildur cursed them to a living death, which would end only when they fulfilled their oath."

"Well, he probably dodged a bullet there, because those guys were freaks," Quinn said. "They possessed Belekur and started harassing me, and then something pulled me into the chasm…" She shuddered at the memory.

"And then what happened?" Boromir asked.

Quinn shrugged. "I honestly don't know. I must have blacked out. Next thing I knew, I was outside the cave, looking like this." She gestured at herself. The others frowned at her, clearly unsatisfied with the lack of conclusion. "So, uh, to be continued, I guess."

Gradually, the others went back to their own conversations. In front of her, Toven's shoulders were shaking with silent laughter.

"What's so funny?" she asked.

"It's nothing. I just missed your rambling."

She smiled. "And I missed your sass."

He glanced over his shoulder at her. "So you're…alive again, right?"

"Far as I can tell. Only difference is that I haven't slept in, like, three days, but I feel all right." She brightened. "Hey, maybe since I'm not connected to Belekur anymore, that means I'll still be around once this whole thing is over."

"That would be…good."

She frowned. "You don't sound thrilled about it."

"Quinn, I would want nothing more. But doesn't this all seem, I don't know, too good to be true? You walked into a cave filled with cursed undead and came out the better for it."

"No, I agree. It's a little sus, but there's not much I can really do about it. I'm not going back to that cave."

"Just promise me you'll ask Gandalf about it later."

"I will. Don't worry. But in the meantime, I am absolutely taking advantage of this."

They were greeted by applause when they rode through the gates of Edoras. Quinn smiled at the people as they passed, but she could see an underlying grief on their faces. Toven had told her just how much they'd lost at Helm's Deep, and it made her heart ache to think of it.

At the top of the hill, in front of the hall, a group of men came forward to take their horses. Quinn dismounted, and as Toven did the same, she noticed how he favored his left shoulder.

"You should get someone to check your injuries," she said. "I don't want you getting an infection."

"I'll be fine. My shoulder's mostly healed, anyway." He saw the twist of her lips and sighed. "Please don't lecture me about this."

Quinn jabbed a finger at him. "You owe me at least five straight days of bed rest after that dumb stunt you pulled at Helm's Deep."

"We were outnumbered, and most of our men were already dead," he said, scowling down at her. That was new—Quinn wasn't used to being shorter than him. "I don't need you criticizing me about this too. Aragorn's given me enough of that as is."

She raised her eyebrows. "He lectured you, huh?"

Toven shook his head, his gaze falling to the ground. "We haven't spoken since leaving Helm's Deep, actually."

"He's probably just stressed. And he really cares about you. You two will make up eventually." She gave his good shoulder a comforting squeeze. "At least try and find some painkillers. Arrow wounds are no joke."

He gave her a wry smile. "As long as you try and find a change of clothes."

Quinn finally noticed that several people were staring at her. "You know, this is actually considered pretty modest where I'm from." She tugged at the hem of her shirt. "You have anything I can borrow? I have literally nothing on me but these clothes."

"Well, I've ruined two tunics in about as many weeks, so I can't really help you there."

She grinned. "You are definitely my son."

Toven gestured to one of the Rohirrim that had accompanied them from Isengard. "Éomer might be able to help you. He'll definitely be able to tell you more than me."

Éomer noticed them looking at him and walked over. "Is there something wrong?"

"You know where I can get some new clothes?" Quinn asked.

"One of the women should have something you can borrow." Éomer looked around, then pointed to a dark-haired woman who was hanging up some sheets nearby. "Morwen will be able to help you."

"Thanks." Quinn waved goodbye to him and Toven and walked over to the woman. "Uh, excuse me?"

The woman finished pinning the sheet to the line and turned towards her. She was pretty, the wind blowing a few strands of hair across blue eyes and a strong jaw.

"Hi." Quinn shifted, feeling her cheeks heat up. "You, uh, do you have clothes?"

Oh my god. Abort mission.

"I mean, obviously you have clothes." She ran a hand through her hair nervously. "I was just talking to Éomer over there…" She turned and pointed, but he was nowhere to be seen. "Well, he's gone now. But he said you might have some clothes that I could borrow." Her voice almost cracked on the last word, and she seriously considered running back into the ghost cave.

"I have a dress that you could borrow, yes." Her smile had grown with Quinn's continued rambling, which only made her look more unfairly beautiful. "Come with me." She began leading her down the street. "What is your name?"

"Quinn. And you're Morwen, right? Uh, Éomer told me that."

Morwen nodded. "Where do you hail from, if you don't mind me asking?" She looked her over, and Quinn felt her face grow hotter. "I've never seen clothing like yours before."

"I'm from somewhere out west. You probably haven't heard of it."

They stopped at one of the houses along the main road, and Morwen pushed the door open. It was cozy inside—the floor was decorated with an intricately patterned red and green rug, and a bunch of clay pots were clustered above the fireplace.

"This is a nice place," Quinn said. "You, uh, live here alone?"

"I do. My family lives in Aldburg. They sent me here to find a husband, but…as of yet I have not been successful." Morwen flashed a small smile at her, as if they were in on the same joke.

Her cheeks heated slightly. "Well, who needs 'em?"

They passed through a door and into the bedroom, where Morwen bent over a wooden trunk and pulled out a couple of garments.

Quinn examined the fabric as it was handed to her—one was a thick brown wool, while the other was a lighter, white cotton. "Ooh, I don't think I've worn one of these before."

Morwen arched an eyebrow. "A dress?"

"Not since I was little, anyway." She folded the dress over her arm. "Do you mind if I change here?"

"Not at all." Morwen stepped out of the room and shut the door behind her.

Quinn stripped off her shirt and jeans, then examined her new clothes. She knew the white piece was supposed to go on first, so she slipped that on pretty easily. It was a little loose around the neck, but she figured she could deal with that later. She tried putting on the brown piece next, but it bunched up and got stuck around her shoulders, leaving her arms suspended above her head.

"Uh oh." She wiggled in place, trying to see if she could shimmy it down. She jumped up and down, but the dress remained stuck. Maybe it was the wrong size. Quinn tried to pull it off, then realized she couldn't do the with her arms trapped. She started flailing about to try and shake it off, and bumped into the bed frame. "Ow!"

"Is everything all right in there?" Morwen asked.

"I'm suffocating a little. It's fine." Quinn gave up and reached down for the thin white dress. She managed to yank the whole thing off just as Morwen opened the door.

"Oh." Her face went red, and she averted her gaze. "I didn't realize—"

Quinn took a moment to catch her breath and started laughing. "I'm sorry. I don't know how to put this thing on." She held up the dress to partly cover herself, though she was still wearing her bra and underwear. "Can you help me with this thing?"

Her lips twitched, and a moment later, Morwen started laughing too. "You really haven't worn a dress before."

"I told you!" Quinn fixed her with a pleading gaze as Morwen turned to look at her. "I need your help."

"All right." Morwen seemed to get over her earlier embarrassment and walked into the room, taking the clothing from Quinn. "The shift goes on first."

"I was able to get that far." She pulled the white piece over her head again.

Morwen tied the strings attached to the collar to tighten it a bit. Her fingers brushed against Quinn's collarbone, and she swallowed as her throat went a little dry. "I'm assuming the overdress gave you more trouble?"

Quinn cleared her throat. "Uh, yeah. I think it's a little too tight."

Morwen turned over the brown piece so the back was facing up, and with a pointed look, demonstrated how the lacing could be unfastened.

"Wow." She scratched the back of her neck, feeling her ears heat up. "Magic."

With a musical laugh, Morwen lifted the overdress and helped her into it, then walked behind her and began fastening the laces again. "Well, I'm glad I could help you with this…new experience."

"Always good to have those." She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, but she decided to go for it. It had been a long time since she'd been with anyone. She turned around and grabbed Morwen's wrist, gently enough that she could pull away if she wanted to. "Thank you for everything. I just have one more favor I want to ask."

She didn't pull away, but she did lean closer. "And what is that?"

Quinn gave her a small smirk. "I think I need a demonstration on how to take this thing off."

Morwen is just a one-off character, but I was like "if Quinn doesn't have sex with a woman then this series has been for nothing." Hence that last scene akghajd

I toyed with the idea of having a showdown between Saruman and Quinn, but the reality is he is a wizard and he would kick her ass, even if she did have her ancient warrior perks. I kind of like the way things turned out here because Saruman used only cruelty and fear and was killed when Grima turned on him while Quinn was saved by her friendship with Merry and Pippin. I feel like Tolkien would appreciate that (even if I made all his characters gay lol)