Don't Threaten Me with a Good Time by Panic! at the Disco is the perfect song for this chapter…for a couple reasons. ;)

Chapter 28: Close Your Eyes

"And the pointy-eared bastard says to me, 'He was twitching.' And I say to him, 'That's because he's got my axe embedded in his nervous system!'"

Toven glanced down at Gimli, who despite his irate tone, looked like he was enjoying telling the story. "The nerve of him."

They were walking through the corridors of Meduseld, the great hall of Edoras, bringing their things to the room that had been set aside for the group.

Gimli let out an exasperated grumble, making the loose hairs of his beard flutter. "Incorrigible elf… But the point is, my count was the higher of the two."

"How can you keep count of how many orcs you've killed in battle?" Toven asked. "Aren't you more concerned with…not dying?"

"Oh, it gets easier after your first few skirmishes, laddie. Soon it'll be like second nature." Gimli pushed open the door to their room. It was fairly large, paneled with carved wood and unfurnished except for a couple of small beds and a scattering of furs on the stone floor. Aragorn and Gandalf were standing to one side, speaking in low tones.

Toven averted his gaze and set his pack down. "I guess most of us are sleeping on the floor tonight."

"I'd say the room in Helm's Deep was more accommodating," Gimli muttered. "One thing for certain is that dwarvish hospitality does not involve sleeping on stone."

Memories of Erebor flooded through him—roaring fires, warm furs, hearty laughter—and Toven let out a small, nostalgic sigh. He hadn't felt homesick for the Lonely Mountain in a long time, and he wasn't sure where this particular feeling was coming from.

The door opened, and a woman walked in. Toven reminded himself that it wasn't a stranger, but his mother. Quinn looked so different now, her features less severe and her stature smaller. She was wearing a dress now, which only added to the unfamiliarity. But the cheer in her smile was the same as she took in everyone in the room.

She spread her arms. "Well? How do I look? Like a proper lady?"

Gimli didn't even try to hide his laugh, and Toven said, "You get credit for trying."

"I'm gonna be honest, I kinda like this dress." She swished the skirt around her legs. "More air circulation, you know?" She turned to Gandalf. "I like the new look, by the way. The white is a pretty bold choice, though. With the dirt and all."

Gandalf let out a sigh, not even trying to hide his annoyance. "I will take my leave."

"Stay away from tomato sauce!" Quinn called after him.

Aragorn went to join them, smiling slightly. "You're in high spirits."

"Am I?" She ran a hand through her hair, which was slightly more disheveled than when he'd seen her last. "Well, it's been a good day. Are you all going to the feast tonight?"

Aragorn nodded, and Gimli said, "As if I'd miss a chance at a hot meal and some ale."

Quinn turned to Toven, who shook his head. "I think I'm finally going to catch up on that rest everyone has been pestering me to get."

"Oh, come on, it'll be fun." She punched his arm lightly. "We've all been through different versions of hell these past few weeks. You deserve to have a good time."

"I'll have a good time sleeping." He wasn't keen on being in a room full of strangers—drunken strangers, no less. He'd feel more at ease lost in the woods at night.

"Hey." Quinn's expression turned serious, and she reached out to grasp his arm. "I'll be right with you the whole time. Anyone tries to mess with you, there's at least three people who would knock 'em flat on their ass."

"Aye, you can count on us, laddie," Gimli said, and Aragorn nodded solemnly.

Toven lowered his gaze as an almost painful warmth rushed through him. He was immensely grateful for all three of them, and that they'd been given this moment of peace together. "All right. I'll come to the feast."

"Awesome." Quinn moved closer and gave him a one-armed hug. "You know, I think this is gonna be good for you."

The hall was hot and filled with laughter. Most of the people attending the feast were the riders that had come as reinforcements to Helm's Deep, though there were a few women among them. The energy in the room was strange—at first glance Toven could only see joy and relief at their victory, but beneath it was a heavy grief at everything they had lost.

Everyone fell silent as the king stood at the front of the room, Éowyn and Éomer beside him, and raised an ornate goblet. They all stood, and the ones with drinks in their hands raised them in return.

"Tonight we remember those who gave their blood to defend this country," Théoden said. "Hail the victorious dead."

"Hail!" the men shouted in unison, and raised their tankards to their lips. After a moment of silence, the chatter resumed.

Quinn grabbed his arm and began leading him through the crowd. "Let's go find something to drink."

Toven frowned, detecting a slight slur in her speech. "Have you already been at it?"

"It's called pregaming, and it's totally normal in my world." She sighed and put a hand on her forehead. "I really should have asked someone to make me a shot glass last time I was in Erebor. If I'd known I was going to be resurrected or whatever…"

The atmosphere in the hall grew more lively as platters of food were brought to the tables. Toven was still grateful to have Quinn with him. Her chattering was a good distraction from his own anxiety.

He brightened, however, when he spotted a familiar head of blonde hair moving through the crowd. He nudged Quinn with his elbow. "There's someone I want you to meet."

"Oh, really?" She raised her eyebrows. "Well, lead the way."

Toven maneuvered his way towards Éowyn, trying not to bump into anyone. He'd never been in such a crowded space before, and he could already feel himself sweating from the sheer heat of all the bodies.

Éowyn smiled when she caught sight of him and went to greet him. "Toven. I had heard you had returned to Edoras today."

"Yes, and I brought someone with me." He gestured to Quinn. "This is my mother."

"I'm the mother." She stretched a hand out. "And Quinn is my name."

"I am Éowyn." She clasped her hand in both of hers. "It is an honor to meet you. Toven has told me that you are a great warrior."

"For real?" She raised an eyebrow at him. "He usually pretends like he doesn't know me."

Éowyn laughed at that. "Forgive me, but you must be one of the Dúnedain like Lord Aragorn, yes?"

Quinn blinked. "Uh, what?"

Blushing, Éowyn glanced between the two of them. "It's only that you look so young."

"Oh. I mean, yeah. That's me. Dunen…dan." She glanced at Toven again. "So, how do you two know each other?"

Now it was Éowyn's turn to hesitate—their first couple of interactions hadn't exactly been pleasant.

"We met in Helm's Deep," Toven said. "She kept following me around trying to offer me bandages."

Éowyn laughed again and shot him a brief, grateful glance. "I hope your wound is not too bad."

"I'm fine." It still ached, and hurt worse when he moved his arm, but it seemed to be healing somewhat.

"Did you get the painkillers like I asked?" Quinn asked.

He tried not to grimace. "Of course I did."

"I must take my leave." Éowyn turned to Quinn. "It was an honor to meet you." She shot one last smile at Toven, then disappeared in the crowd.

Once she was gone, Quinn smirked and elbowed him. "I think she likes you."

He gave her a dry look. "Then you'll be pleased to know we're planning to get married after three days of knowing each other."

"I mean, if she actually laughs at your lame jokes…"

Mahal give me strength. "Let's go find something to eat."

Thankfully, Quinn let him change the subject, and they squeezed onto the end of one of the wooden tables near the back of the room. Most of what they had to offer was bread and meat, but at least it wasn't travel rations.

Quinn shoved a piece of bread into her mouth, and closed her eyes. "Holy fuck, this is so good."

"Really?"

She pointed the crust at him. "This is the first thing I've eaten in almost eighty years. Or at least, the first thing I've eaten that wasn't jerky or consumed under the assumption that you were dead."

Toven paused with his food halfway to his lips. In the chaos of reuniting with everyone, seeing Quinn in her new form, and confronting Saruman, he'd forgotten that she and Merry and Pippin would have thought him dead. "I'm sorry I made you worry like that."

"Hey. You're okay now." She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. "That's all that matters."

After they'd both eaten their fill, they wandered around the room, and eventually found Legolas and Gimli on either side of a table with a dozen empty tankards between them. Éomer was standing by the keg, handing them a fresh drink whenever they finished one.

"Oh, this should be good," Quinn said, rubbing her hands together. "Who's winning?"

"They've been keeping pace so far," Éomer said. "I've never seen a dwarf drink like that. Or an elf, for that matter."

A good amount of ale was running down Gimli's beard as he tipped the tankard back. Legolas didn't have so much as a spot of foam on his face, though he seemed to be drinking his own tankard with ease.

"Fill me up, good sir." Quinn gestured to the keg.

Toven raised an eyebrow. "You're not going to join them."

"Hell no. Trying to outdrink a dwarf is basically suicide." She smiled as Éomer handed her an ale. "I have a more interesting game in mind. You in?"

"Not like I have anything better to do."

Quinn passed another ale to Toven and turned to Éomer. "You should play with us too. They can refill their own drinks."

Éomer shrugged and took his own tankard, and they moved to the other end of the table.

Quinn perched herself on the end and crossed her legs. "It's really easy. I'll say something that I've never done, and if either of you have done it, then you have to drink."

Toven leaned his hip against the edge of the table. "Is there anything that you've never done?"

"Uh, yeah. Plenty of stuff."

Éomer gestured to her with his tankard. "You first, then."

"Okay." Quinn ran a finger along the rim of her tankard as she thought for a moment. "Never have I ever…finished a book longer than two hundred pages."

Toven and Éomer both drank.

"Do you not know how to read?" Éomer asked once he was finished.

"I do, I just have a terrible attention span." Quinn pointed at Toven. "Your turn."

"All right." He pretended to think. "Never have I ever…died."

"Oh, fuck you." Quinn tipped her tankard back.

"That's two drinks, technically."

She gave him a rude gesture mid-sip.

Éomer was blinking rapidly. "Died? As in…"

"It's a long story." She wiped some foam from her mouth. "Your turn."

He was silent for a moment, as if deciding whether to question her further, then shrugged and said, "Never have I ever learned how to swim."

Toven and Quinn both took a drink.

"You should learn how," Quinn said. "It's an important skill to have."

Éomer smiled. "We are not seafarers like our Gondorian cousins used to be. I have no interest in entering anything deeper than my bath."

"There still the danger of falling into a river," Toven said. "Just ask Aragorn."

They went a few more rounds, swapping stories and jokes. Éomer was more bemused by Quinn than anything, but he was good-humored about it.

A pair of high voices rose above the din, and they turned to see Merry and Pippin dancing and singing on one of the tables, surrounded by a crowd of men who were cheering them on.

"Oh my god, I love this song." Quinn leapt off the table and put a hand on Toven's shoulder, probably mostly to steady herself as she swayed on her feet. "I'll be right back."

Toven watched her stumble into the crowd and out of sight. He tapped the side of his tankard, which was still a quarter full, unsure where to put his gaze. Now that Quinn and her chatter had disappeared, he couldn't find any words to fill the silence.

"My sister tells me you fought in the final charge during the battle," Éomer said, and Toven turned back to him, grateful that he'd spoken first.

"I did." He took a moment to search his face, but there was no accusation or disapproval in his expression. "And I suppose I should thank you for showing up when you did. We wouldn't have survived otherwise."

"Thank the wizard. He was the one who told us where we were needed." He nodded at Gandalf, who was standing on the other side of the room and watching Merry, Pippin, and Quinn dance, looking a little less annoyed than he usually did.

Toven smiled slightly. "Quinn always said he has a penchant for dramatic entrances."

"Indeed." Éomer's expression turned serious. "I know you are not of this land. But you risked your life to defend my people, and I owe you a debt for that."

"You don't." He shook his head, cheeks heating up. "We're all fighting for our lives against the same enemy. I haven't done anything worthy of a debt."

Before Éomer could reply, Boromir appeared and clapped him on the shoulder. "Quite the feast your uncle has put on."

Éomer laughed and toasted to him, some of the ale nearly sloshing over the rim of his tankard. "Almost like old times, hm?"

"Indeed." Boromir smiled, but the skin around his eyes was tense.

A loud crash sounded from the other end of the table, and the three of them turned in time to see Gimli's boots appear as he keeled over backwards.

Legolas lowered his tankard, looking smug. "Game over."

"I'd better make sure he's still alive," Éomer muttered, walking around the table.

Toven smiled slightly. He was sure Gimli would be complaining about his hangover in the morning.

Boromir nudged his arm. "I'm glad to see you here. I wasn't sure if you would come."

"Well, Quinn convinced me otherwise." He glanced over at the table where she was still dancing with Merry and Pippin. She wobbled on one foot, and both hobbits grabbed her wrists and pulled her upright. "Though I think she might have forgotten about me."

"It's been a long time since any of us could indulge in such festivities," Boromir said, but the cheer in his voice seemed forced.

Toven glanced at him. "Something's bothering you."

He looked away, the tension in his expression fully revealing itself. "Tomorrow I leave for Gondor."

"Oh." He wasn't sure why he felt disappointed at the fact. This was hardly coming out of nowhere. "Right."

"I have been away from my people for too long." The furrow deepened between his brows. "And Saruman's words concern me deeply."

"As they should." Toven gripped his tankard tighter. "This…All this is far from over."

All at once, it came crashing down on him, dimming the light and sound of the party. The war wasn't over. Frodo and Sam were still out there, more likely than not in danger, and Gondor would be facing a brutal attack after Rohan had barely survived one.

Saruman's cruel words echoed in his mind. You are all going to die.

"See, you gotta put your heel up like this, then slide your other foot back like this…" Quinn let go of her skirt and held her arms out for balance as she wobbled on top of the table. "It's so easy, and it would be so easy if I was sober, too."

She was standing on one of the tables in the hall, surrounded by a group of men. Merry and Pippin had left to get more ale, though she was pretty drunk already. She was warm and her head felt heavy, and god, she'd missed all of this so much.

She scanned the room, squinting to see if she could find Toven, but he'd disappeared. Maybe he'd gotten bored.

One of the men crossed his arms. "I still think you're playing some kind of trick on us."

"I'm not," Quinn said, giggling. "Here, I'll show you again."

She lifted up her skirt and started moonwalking, thought the movements were starting to feel clumsier than she intended. Her heel caught an uneven board on the table, and she yelped as she tumbled backwards.

Someone caught her by the waist and lowered her to the ground as the men laughed.

"Perhaps you should resume your dancing lessons on the floor," the man said.

Quinn brushed her hair out of her face and turned to face him. "Thanks. Kinda felt like a stripper up there, anyway."

He blinked. "A what?"

Like most of the Rohirrim men, he was tall and muscular, with wild blond hair that fell past his shoulders. He kind of reminded her of some of the surfer dudes back in LA.

"Don't worry about it." Quinn squeezed his arm. Yep, this dude is built. "Hey, do you wanna go somewhere?"

The other men had resumed drinking and talking with each other, but he only stared at her. "Go…?"

"Yeah. I feel like I should, you know, thank you for not letting me fall on my ass."

A smile spread on his lips. "All right."

She let him lead the way out of the hall, humming the tune to one of the songs Merry and Pippin had been singing. The hallway was dark and cool, but warmth still pulsed beneath her skin. The floor lurched beneath her feet, and she grabbed onto his arm for support.

He paused and looked down at her. "You're very drunk."

"No, no, I'm fine." She squeezed his bicep again. "I'm drunk, but I'm fine."

"Where are you sleeping tonight?"

"Uh, one of the rooms in the back." She gestured vaguely down the hallway. "But there's, like, ten other people in there. I was hoping you were…not having ten people."

He took her arm and started leading her towards the back of the building. "I think you should get some rest."

Quinn grunted, disappointed, but she was starting to feel a little queasy. She could feel herself moving from happy-relaxed drunk to I-need-to-sit-down drunk. She definitely hadn't missed that.

They reached the room she was sharing with the others, and Quinn turned around to face him and leaned against the door. "Hey, what's your name?"

"Fastred." He smiled at her. "Get some sleep."

"Night-night." She pushed the door open with a sigh. The thought of lying down was feeling more appealing by the second.

The room was empty and quiet, and she vaguely wondered where Toven was.

"Should probably go check on him," she muttered, then pressed her lips together as a wave of nausea overwhelmed her.

There was a bucket next to the door, and she rushed to bend over it. She vomited, and winced at the acidic taste on her tongue. She spat to try and get rid of it, and watched a string of black, gooey stuff fall into the bucket.

"That's…not good." She'd ingested a lot of weird shit back in her partying days, and she'd never had anything like that come back up.

Quinn wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and stumbled away from the bucket. She knew she should probably go find a healer or something, but her head felt heavy, her limbs unresponsive.

Just drink some water. That'll make you feel better. She lurched over to her bedroll, then remembered she didn't have anything with her except her old clothes. The room tilted slightly, and she braced a hand against the wall to steady herself.

In front of her was a slightly dusty mirror, and she pushed a few sweaty strands of hair out of her face. Her cheeks were flushed, but she didn't look deathly ill or anything that would warrant throwing up black goop.

And then her reflection smiled.

"Woah." She blinked and rubbed her eyes with one hand, but when she looked up again, the Quinn in the mirror was still giving her that same creepy smile.

"Feeling a little sick, are we?"

"Okay, now I'm seeing things." She put one hand over her stomach. Had she been poisoned? Who the hell would do something like that?

"No, it's not poison. But you've been feeling differently lately, haven't you?"

"Well, yeah, I got my old body back, but…" She froze. "Oh, shit."

"Did you really think falling into that chasm would bring you back to life? No. These things always come with a price."

The voice was hers, but there was something darker, more twisted in it. Quinn braced both hands against the mirror and glared at her double. "What do you want?"

"I want you to sleep. You're getting tired, aren't you?"

Her eyelids were drooping closed, and Quinn shook her head to clear it. "What are you, the Green Goblin? Get out here and let's talk face to face."

"Oh, but you misunderstand. I am you."

"What?"

"You want to sleep now, don't you?"

"Kind of." She backed away. "Shit. No I don't. I need to…" She stopped and blinked. What was it she needed to do?

"You can't avoid me forever."

"I'll break your stupid face," Quinn mumbled. Her knees buckled, and as she fell forward, her consciousness slipped somewhere very far away.

The night air was still, but a chill lingered outside the hall. Toven had excused himself from the feast and found a seat on the wide stone ledge surrounding the building. From here, he could see the wide brown plains and the silver ribbon of the river, and to the southwest the white-capped mountains crowning the horizon.

He wondered if this was how Quinn felt sometimes—anticipation of an inevitable end, coupled with fear of the uncertainty surrounding that end.

The sounds of the feast had died down a while ago, and he assumed everyone had stumbled off to sleep the rest of the night away. He knew he should do the same, but something kept him rooted to the spot. He couldn't help but feel as if he was waiting for something to happen.

Soft footsteps made him look up, and he watched as Aragorn approached. A new anxiety stirred in his chest. They hadn't spoken more than a handful of words to each other since Helm's Deep, and he had a feeling Aragorn was here to continue that discussion.

Wordlessly, Aragorn sat next to him, his pipe in one hand, though he made no move to light it.

"Quite the party tonight," Toven said, afraid to let the silence stretch out much longer.

Aragorn grunted in agreement. "It's good for them. A reminder of what they're fighting for."

Toven looked down at his hands. Perhaps he needed a reminder himself, a reason to keep pressing on. "Did you think we were going to win, back at Helm's Deep?"

He was silent for a long moment. "I knew we had little chance of it. But it would have been the death of us to acknowledge that."

"We would have died either way if Gandalf hadn't come." He straightened and gathered his courage. "I disobeyed your orders back there, and I'm sorry for that. But I couldn't have stayed back and done nothing. I have never wanted to do that."

"I know," Aragorn said, and there was no anger in his voice. "I forbade you to fight out of selfishness. It…It gave me strength to know that you were safe." He turned to look at him, a tenderness in his gaze. "But I do not discount your bravery. You are incredibly strong to have made it this far, and I am so proud of you. Never forget that."

He reached over and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and Toven leaned against him. Aragorn had never spoken so openly about his feelings before.

An aching warmth coiled in his throat. He was loved, and he loved in return, and that was reason enough to keep fighting.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, before Aragorn released him.

"It's late. You should get some rest."

Toven wasn't inclined to argue, so the two of them stood up and made their way inside the hall. They were halfway to the room they shared with the others when a muffled scream sounded from the other side of the door.

His drowsiness burned away like droplets on a hot pan, and Toven broke into a run along with Aragorn. That had sounded like Merry's voice.

They burst through the door to find Pippin writhing on the ground with what looked like a ball of fire between his hands, while Merry stood helplessly over him. A low growl filled the room, more sinister than anything he'd heard before.

Aragorn leapt forward and snatched the fire from Pippin's hands. His frame immediately began to convulse, and he fell to one knee.

"No!" Toven tackled him, and when he hit the ground, the flaming ball fell from his hands and rolled across the ground.

Gandalf threw his cloak over the orb, and the growling ceased.

"Aragorn!" Toven rolled him onto his back, his heart thundering painfully in his chest. His eyes were glazed, but he was breathing. "Come on, say something."

The door burst open again, and Boromir and Legolas rushed into the room.

"What happened?" Boromir demanded.

Gandalf was kneeling over Pippin's still form, muttering something under his breath. Merry was crouched next to him, his shaking hands outstretched as if he didn't know what to do with them.

Toven looked down as a hand grasped his own. Aragorn blinked, and started to lift himself with a groan.

"Take it easy." He helped him sit up, then turned his attention back to the others.

Pippin gasped, his whole body jolting as if he'd come out of a nightmare. "Gandalf," he whimpered. "Forgive me."

"Look at me," Gandalf commanded as Pippin winced. "What did you see?"

"A tree," Pippin whispered. "There was a white tree in a courtyard of stone. I-It was dead. The city was burning."

"Minas Tirith?" Gandalf asked. "Is that what you saw?"

Toven glanced at Boromir. He had gone pale, and was staring at the two with utter horror.

"I saw…" Pippin's voice broke into a sob. "I saw him. I could hear his voice in my head."

"And what did you tell him?"

"He asked me my name. I didn't answer. He…He hurt me."

"What did you tell him about Frodo and the Ring?"

Toven looked up as the door swung open again and Boromir disappeared through it, his belongings slung over one shoulder. He glanced down at Aragorn, but the man only nudged him with one hand.

"Go."

He pushed himself up and hurried after Boromir, catching up to him halfway down the corridor.

"Where are you going?"

"Back to Minas Tirith," Boromir said without turning back.

"Right now?"

"You heard what Pippin said." Boromir finally turned to face him, fear crumpling his expression. "My city is burning. And I have been away from my people for too long."

There wasn't much one man could do if that was the case, but Toven held his tongue. He understood Boromir's need.

"How are you going to get there?" he asked as they began walking again.

"King Théoden has already given me a horse," Boromir said. They passed through the front doors of the hall, and were greeted by a blast of chill air. "If I ride hard, I will be able to make it in less than a week."

"You'll be going alone." Toven huffed out a frustrated breath. "Look, I get why you need to do this, but you don't know what you'll be walking into."

They had reached the stables. As they walked inside, Toven realized he was rapidly running out of time to…to what? He'd just gotten his friends and his family back together, and now it was being torn apart in the same day.

"I cannot sit idly by and wait for a better plan." Boromir opened one of the stalls and grabbed the reins of the horse inside. "Whatever happens to Gondor will be my fate as well."

Toven swallowed back the lump in his throat. "We'll be right behind you. Aragorn won't let you face this alone. And neither will I."

"I know." Boromir let go of the reins and swept him into an embrace.

Toven held him tightly, trying to give what courage he had through the contact, while taking some strength in return. "You'd better still be alive when we get there."

"I cannot promise that." Boromir pulled back. "But I would have you take these." He unbuckled both of his bracers in a swift, practiced motion. They were made of a sturdy brown leather, with a faded white tree inlaid near the wrists. He handed them to Toven with a small, sad smile. "You are my people."

"I…" Toven accepted the bracers. He could feel tears threatening to rise, but he blinked them away. Even if this was a certain goodbye…neither of them could acknowledge it now. "I'll see you later."

"Goodbye, Toven." Boromir mounted his horse, nodded once in farewell, and rode out of the stables.

Toven stood in the dark for a while, holding the bracers to his chest, then shook himself and made his way back into the hall.

The room was mostly empty when he returned, and he assumed the others had taken Pippin to a healer. Gimli was sitting against the wall, nursing what was probably the early stages of a bad hangover.

"Thought I was dreaming all that ruckus at first." Gimli rubbed his brow. "But Gandalf said the lad will be all right."

"That's good." Toven knelt by his bedroll and tucked the bracers carefully inside his pack. He wanted nothing more than to sleep, but he knew he should check on the others first.

"Your mother slept through the whole thing. I've never known her to be a heavy sleeper."

"Neither have I." Toven looked over to where Gimli was pointing.

Quinn was slumped facedown on top of her bedroll, her chest rising and falling evenly. It occurred to him that this was the first time he had seen her sleep.

He stood up and shook off his exhaustion. "At least one of us is getting a full night of rest."

Quinn opened her eyes to a sky full of stars. But they were far fewer than she was used to seeing, and the air smelled weird, like oil and smoke and…weed.

She pushed herself into a sitting position. She was sitting in the bed of a car—no, a pickup truck, with her legs dangling off one end. She turned to the right. Spread out below was a gleaming cluster of winking yellow lights, rising up into several towers of glass.

"Uh, Quinn?"

She turned to her left. Maddy was propped up on one elbow, a joint pinched between two fingers and her dark hair spilling over one shoulder. She raised an eyebrow as Quinn continued to stare at her.

"You okay?"

Quinn leaned forward, her eyes wide. "Dude, I just had the craziest dream."

This is very much not the point, but imagine breathing that crisp Middle-earth air for decades and then getting a lungful of whatever they're breathing in urban California…yucky

Anyway this is NOT a "it was all a dream" scenario, as you can probably tell there's more going on here, but I just wanted to reassure y'all that's not the route I'm taking. But yeah, more on that next time. Until then!