This chapter is the Battle of the Pelennor Fields, so…lots of horse death. Sorry :( Also, a great song for the battle scene is Demonheart by Luca Turilli.
Chapter 31: Demonheart
Toven's hands were shaking as he dressed himself the next morning. The rest of the camp was already in disarray, tents being disassembled and horses being mounted. From what he knew, they were at least a three days' ride from Minas Tirith, but his heart pounded as if he were going to push past those flaps and enter the battle itself.
But as he made to leave the tent, all he encountered was Quinn, who nearly knocked into him.
"Oh." She smiled. "I was just coming to find you."
"I've barely seen you since we got here," he replied. He could hear the hostility in his own voice, but his nerves were making him testy, and he was already impatient with her unexplained change in attitude.
Quinn only shrugged. "I was helping out around camp. Are you ready to leave?"
"Just about." He walked around the tent and went to untie Léofwyn.
Éowyn was already standing by the tree, gripping the lead of her own horse. She looked as if she hadn't gotten much sleep, though he could hardly blame her. "Toven, they will be gathering the supplies soon. We must hurry."
"All right. Let's go." Toven took hold of Léofwyn's bridle and turned to Quinn. "We're stealing armor from one of the supply tents. You feel like helping us?"
Quinn gestured to her dress. "I'd better, since I need some armor of my own."
Éowyn brightened. "You will be riding out with us?"
"Wouldn't miss it for the world."
For the first time, her flippant comment truly annoyed him, and Toven kept his gaze forward as they led their horses away and began walking down the cliffside path. Below, most of the tents had already been taken down, and hundreds of riders were streaming away from the mountain and towards open ground.
Once they reached the bottom of the path, Éowyn fell into stride next to him. "I heard some of the men saying Lord Aragorn has abandoned us. I-Is that true?"
"Partly. He left in the middle of the night, but it was for good reason. He's going to try and find reinforcements to help in the battle."
Éowyn frowned. "Where does he hope to find the men for that?"
He glanced at her. "Would you believe me if I told you he was seeking out an undead army hiding in the mountains?"
She blinked. "I cannot tell if you are teasing me."
Toven smiled slightly. "There's already too much insanity in my life for me to be making things up."
Thankfully, the supply tent was still erected, and no one stopped them as they slipped inside. Éowyn immediately set to work, gathering up leather brigandines and mail shirts and handing them off to Quinn and Toven. Once their arms were full, they crept out of the tent, and Toven motioned for them to make their way around the back, towards a small copse of trees.
"What are we doing?" Éowyn asked.
"Well, you two need to change. This is the most private spot you'll get." When she opened her mouth to protest, he said, "We don't have time to go back up to your tent. I-I'll stand guard and make sure no one comes this way. All right?"
"There you are!"
They all jumped, and Toven put a hand on his chest, as Merry appeared beside them. "Fuck, Merry. You need to announce yourself before you do that."
"Sorry." He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "It's just that Théoden forbade me from riding with the others. He said I would only be a burden to any rider who would carry me."
Éowyn put a hand on his shoulder. "You can ride with me. Windfola is strong—she will be able to carry both of us."
"Hang on," Toven said. "I know you want to fight with us, but…"
"Pippin is in Minas Tirith, probably defending the city," Merry said with a scowl. "Frodo and Sam are heading to Mordor. How can I stay here while the rest of them are in danger?"
He sighed. He understood all too well what Merry was feeling, but he was still an inexperienced fighter, not to mention half the height of the other soldiers with none of Gimli's bulk to keep him on his feet.
Éowyn glared at him. "Why should Merry not be able to fight for those he loves?"
Toven held his hands up, knowing he was outnumbered. "I'm not stopping anyone."
Now I know how Quinn feels. But she didn't look particularly concerned, gazing through the trees at the chaos beyond.
He pushed his irritation aside and motioned for them to go further into the trees. "Just go change. We don't have much time."
Quinn and Éowyn took their armor and ventured into the brush while he and Merry stood guard. Toven shifted his weight, fingers tapping the grip of his sword. More acutely than ever, he felt the risk of getting caught. If Éowyn was discovered, if it was found out that he and the others had helped her…what would happen to them?
Merry cleared his throat, breaking Toven from his thoughts. "I know you're worried," he said. "I'm not a warrior or a Ranger—I'm just a hobbit. I've never seen battle before."
Toven glanced at him. "Are you trying to make a case for yourself or what? Because no one would judge you if you were to stay behind."
He could hear Aragorn in his words, and he shook his head slightly. It was a strange, looping paradox—all of them trying to keep the ones they loved from harm. But in the end, they still needed soldiers.
They still needed people to die.
"I've come this far," Merry said. "I won't turn back until I know my friends are safe."
"Okay," Toven said softly. "We'll look out for you, then. All of us."
The brush behind them rustled, and they turned to see Éowyn and Quinn coming towards them, dressed in mail and leather armor. Both sets were a little too bulky for their slight frames, but not enough to be conspicuous. Toven hoped that, and the helmets obscuring their faces, would be enough of a disguise.
Éowyn approached and handed him a mail shirt and a helmet. "You're going to need these."
Toven held his hands up in refusal. "I'll be fine. That stuff will just slow me down."
She narrowed her eyes at him. "You may be a Ranger, but you will not be fighting like one. If you are struck by an arrow or fall from your mount, these may save your life."
"All right." He'd already received enough arrow wounds for a lifetime. Swiftly, he undid his belt, pulling his tunic over his head and slipping on the mail shirt. It wasn't uncomfortably heavy, but he'd probably be feeling its weight by the end of the day. After dressing himself again, he pushed his hair out of his face and put the helmet on. It hung low over his brow, and the thin metal strip in the center pushed against his nose. "I can barely see out of this thing."
"You look the part, at least." Smiling, Éowyn reached up and fastened the leather strap beneath his chin.
His face grew warm, and he hoped the helmet would hide most of his blush. "All right. Let's mount up before we get left behind."
They made it to their horses with some time to spare. Éowyn boosted Merry onto Windfola, then climbed on behind him. Toven mounted and looked up as Quinn moved beside him on her own horse.
"Ready?" she asked.
"Somewhat." He nudged Léofwyn into a trot, and their group of four merged with the rest of the army.
They rode hard for two days, keeping the mountains on their right. Toven didn't have much of a chance to appreciate the scenery—even if he hadn't been wearing a helmet that obscured half his vision, the air around him was more often than not filled with dust kicked up by hundreds of horses.
When they stopped to make camp, they tried to stay on the periphery, sheltering near trees or rocky outcroppings to try and avoid the attention of the others. So far, they hadn't been questioned by anyone, and Toven hoped their luck would hold…as much as they could call themselves lucky when they were riding to war.
The sun was setting as they settled themselves on the edge of a small forest. Toven removed his helmet and sighed in relief as cool wind swept across his face. He was sore and sweating from long hours of riding, and his longing for the quiet forests up north returned.
Éomer rode into camp, accompanied by two bannermen, and Éowyn instinctively turned away. Toven busied himself with his pack, but listened closely.
"The scouts report Minas Tirith is surrounded," Éomer said, and Toven spotted Théoden listening nearby.
Well, we picked a great spot to rest.
"The lower levels are in flames," Éomer continued. "Everywhere legions of the enemy advance."
Théoden nodded grimly and raised his voice. "You have an hour, and then we move out. We ride through the night!"
Toven sighed and dug out his waterskin. He wished for more strength, more energy before they reached the city, but he would have to do with what he had now. He only hoped it would be enough.
They ate in uneasy silence, listening to the rugged murmur of the men around them. Once he was finished, Toven spent a few minutes cleaning his sword, just for something to do with his hands. He took out the knife Galadriel had given him and spun it between his fingers. He hadn't used it even once, and he wasn't sure how much it would help him in the coming battle, but there was something reassuring about holding the sharp, gleaming blade.
Something dark flashed in the reflection of the knife, and his fingers stilled. The smooth metal reflected his own frowning face, smudged with dirt from the road. He turned it more slowly this time, and his heart dropped.
It was Quinn's reflection. Where she should have been, there was only a shadow, its gray edges shifting like mist.
You may have to draw your blade against one you once considered an ally.
His grip tightened on the handle, and he braced himself against a rush of adrenaline. The woman sitting beside him wasn't Quinn. That at least explained why she'd been acting so strangely, but where the hell was the real one?
Toven sheathed his knife and straightened. "Quinn, can I have a word with you?" he asked, trying to keep his voice level.
She nodded and followed his lead into the nearby forest. He waited until they were out of sight of the others, then spun towards her. He braced one arm against her shoulders, slamming her into a tree, and with his other hand drew the dagger and held it against her neck.
"Who are you, and what have you done with my mother?"
Her eyes widened, and she started to raise her hands before lowering them again. "What are you doing?"
"You had me fooled for a long time," he said, fighting against the instinct to release his grip. This thing was not Quinn. "But I should have guessed from the start. Quinn would never sit back and do nothing if her friends were in danger. Now, you are going to tell me where she is, or I will start drawing blood."
The thing smiled. It wasn't Quinn's cheery grin, but something colder. A chill went down his spine.
"I was wondering when you were going to catch on. For all your bravado with that knife, you are rather slow, aren't you?"
"I'm only going to ask you once more," Toven said, fully aware of the dangerous gamble he was taking. Even as desperation drove him to push the edge of the knife against the skin of its neck, he didn't know if he would actually be able to stomach cutting into this thing. "Where is my mother?"
"She's dreaming," the creature said, watching him with dark, curious eyes. "She's happy. Enjoying herself. She doesn't even know about the war."
"That's not what I asked," he said lowly. "I want to know where she is. Is she still in that mountain?"
"No, no. I wouldn't wish that fate upon anyone. I spent an eternity in that pit—no life, no color, no music…" A shudder ran through its body. "She's not in there. She's right here." Slowly, the impostor raised a finger and tapped its temple.
So Quinn was still with them. She'd still been herself before the night of the feast. That was something of a comfort, but now he had to figure out a way to wake her up.
"Your mother has some very interesting memories," the creature continued with a lazy smile. "I think I'll take my time consuming her mind."
"What?" Toven snarled, jerking forward on instinct. A sliver of dark blood welled up around the edge of the knife.
Dark eyes stared back at him, unflinching. "By the time I'm done with her, she won't remember you at all."
"I'll kill you." He hated the way his voice trembled, how he couldn't force the dagger to go further than it already had.
"You'll make me bleed," the impostor said. "You might even be able to destroy me. But then she'll be gone anyway."
Its hand snaked up and grabbed the blade, pushing it away with far more strength than Quinn would have been capable of. Toven watched in horror as blood oozed between its fingers—not red, but black.
"You can't stop this." The creature let go of the knife, one finger at a time, and flicked droplets of blood onto the grass. "And it would be such a shame if you were to let on to your friends that anything was amiss. Their lives are in enough danger as is."
It was all Toven could do to keep himself upright as the impostor walked away, back towards camp. Somehow, this parasite had taken control of Quinn's mind, was consuming her from the inside out, and there was nothing he could do to save her.
She was right there, and he couldn't reach her. He didn't know how.
It was only when a horn blast echoed across the field that he jolted himself out of his panic. They were out of time. The only thing he could do now was survive the next twenty four hours.
Closing his eyes, Toven gathered all of his worry and uncertainty and molded it into something quieter. He needed strength, and he needed his senses sharp. He cleaned his knife the best he could and walked out of the trees. He kept his gaze away from the thing with Quinn's face, instead putting his helmet back on and attaching his pack to Léofwyn's saddle.
A hand touched his arm, making him start, but it was only Éowyn. "Are you all right?" she asked, concern evident on her face despite the shadows beneath her own helmet.
"Just nervous," he replied, hoping she couldn't feel the trembling in his limbs.
She kept her hand on his arm. "This will be the last time we are able to speak before the battle."
"I know." A swooping sensation appeared in his stomach, but she seemed to be waiting for him to speak. He dropped his hands to his sides and turned to face her. Whatever this moment was, whatever she wanted it to be…he couldn't take that on along with everything else. "We shouldn't do this right now. We'll speak after the battle."
Éowyn didn't have to speak the question aloud. What if we can't?
Toven took both of her hands in his and squeezed. "We'll stick together. We'll look out for each other. Right?"
She held onto him and nodded, steely determination overtaking her gaze. "Right."
As Éowyn went to help Merry up onto Windfola, Toven mounted his own horse and looked out over the stirring camp.
If they were riding to their death, he was going to fight it every damned step of the way.
He would fight for Éowyn and everything they had left unspoken.
He would fight for Merry and Pippin and the rest of his friends that had risked so much to bring an end to this.
And he would fight for Quinn, for the chance that he could see her true face again.
Steeling himself for the long night ahead, Toven joined the others and spurred his horse onwards.
Quinn felt good. She was tipsy on her way to drunk, sweaty but not uncomfortable, and letting the thumping bass around her vibrate through her veins. The club was crowded, but she didn't mind. There was something anonymous about standing in the middle of flashing lights and warm bodies and letting her mind empty.
A hand grabbed her arm, and Quinn let Maddy lead her through the crowd. They squeezed past a group of drunk, lanky guys with dyed mohawks and leaned up against the bar. Quinn bobbed her head along with the music, watching the light flash on the bottles of liquor. She was pretty fuzzy on how she'd gotten here, or how long she'd been here, but that wasn't exactly out of the norm.
Maddy slid a shot towards her, mouthing, Tequila, and the two of them downed it together. Quinn smiled, doing a little shimmy, then yelped as one of the guys behind her elbowed her in the back.
Pain cracked across her shoulder blade, and she braced herself against the bar, breathing hard. She had the sudden urge to run, the skin on the back of her neck prickling as though she was in danger. Like someone she cared about was in danger.
She remembered, now. She remembered the horse and the mountain slope and the arrow that had pierced her back.
She gripped the reins and winced at the pain radiating from her back. A small hand grasped her wrist.
"Mom? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, T," she said, glad she'd decided to put him in front of her this time. "Just hold on tight, yeah?"
Quinn spurred her horse into a gallop. She risked a glance behind her to see how many men she was facing, and swore as another arrow landed just above her hip.
"Shoot the horse!" a voice shouted.
Muttering a stream of curses that definitely weren't appropriate for the kid sitting in front of her, Quinn dug her heels into the horse's side. Her ears picked up the hiss of a third arrow, and her arms instinctively locked around Toven. The horse screamed as its back leg buckled, and Quinn threw herself and Toven off. She landed on her back to try and absorb the initial impact, her vision whiting out with pain as both arrow shafts snapped, then rolled them to a stop.
It felt like her back was being split open, but she pushed herself up and gripped Toven's shoulders. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"
His cheek was smudged with dirt, but he looked more terrified than anything as he shook his head.
"Okay. We're gonna be fine. Just hold onto me." Quinn scooped him up into her arms, trying to conceal him with her own body as much as possible.
There was a small pine forest a little ways down the slope, and she sprinted towards it. Another arrow sank into her thigh, and she bit down on a cry of pain.
"I am going to fucking kill this guy," she growled, and realized she meant it.
Every other step sent a stab of pain through her leg, but she forced herself to keep running, and didn't stop when she'd plunged into the trees. She found a tree with a low skirt of branches creating a small hollow beneath it and knelt down with a wince.
"Come on." She pried Toven's arms from around her neck and pushed one of the branches aside. "I need you to hide here for a little, okay? You stay quiet until I come find you. If anyone else tries to get you, I want you to run as fast as you can."
His lower lip trembled. "Don't leave me."
"I'm only gonna be gone for a few minutes. I'll be back before you know it." Quinn brushed the dirt from his cheek. Every second she spent here was another second those bastards could catch up to them, but she couldn't leave until she knew Toven would wait for her. "Hey. You gotta be tough, okay? Promise me you can do that."
"Okay." He reached into his pocket and clutched the runestone Kíli had given him as a parting gift when they left Erebor.
"I love you. I'll see you in a few minutes." Quinn waited until he'd crawled beneath the branches, then stood up and limped back to the edge of the forest.
The men were coming down the slope towards her, less than twenty feet away. There were four in all—one archer, one swordsman, and two wielding axes.
She could take four. She'd taken twice as many before. But the thought that even one of these men could have hurt her son…
There was no fear in her anymore. In its place was something new and uncontrollable. She felt wild.
The archer raised his bow again. The arrow pierced her chest, a few inches from her heart. Quinn took the blow and kept walking.
At this, the men faltered. Quinn ripped the arrow out of her chest, then took out the one in her thigh. She barely felt the pain. She continued her advance and drew her sword.
The man wielding the sword gestured to one of the other thugs. "Go, get the boy."
He took off down the hill, angling to give her a wide berth. Quinn tilted her wrist, letting her blade catch the moonlight.
"No, you fucking don't."
She swung her sword in a wide arc, and a beam of light shot out and struck him in the neck. He fell with a strangled cry and lay dead.
Before the men could react, she leapt forward, closing the distance between them. She easily deflected a blow from the man with the axe and slashed his throat. She sidestepped a thrust from the swordsman and kicked him hard in the chest, forcing him backwards. The archer turned to run, but she was faster, severing his head and his bow with one slice.
The swordsman came at her again, and she blocked his overhead strike. His other hand snaked out and plunged a dagger into her side. She twisted his sword out of his grip and thrust her own blade into his stomach.
He let out a choked grunt, hands instinctively clutching the metal as blood leaked onto his shirt. "W-What are you?"
"I'm fucking pissed," Quinn snarled. Her voice sounded foreign to her own ears. She sounded like Belekur. "You shouldn't have tried to hurt my son."
She jerked her sword out, and he fell to the ground, bloodied hands grasping at air. She pulled the dagger out of her side, tossed it away, and staggered back down the hill.
Her hands started to shake. There was blood on them—red, not black—and it wasn't her own. This was the first time…
It didn't matter. She had to get back to Toven before anything else.
Her limp became more pronounced as her adrenaline faded. As she lurched through the trees, Quinn fought the urge to call out for him. There was a chance there were more bandits hiding out there. She couldn't risk leading them back to him. She would do anything to stop that.
The tree where she'd hidden him came into sight, and her shoulders sagged in relief. She fell to her knees and pushed the branch aside.
"Toven?"
The hollow beneath the branches was empty. Quinn sat back on her heels, ears ringing.
"No, no, no, fuck—"
This wasn't right. She remembered finding him here. She'd found him here last time. He was supposed to be here, was supposed to wrap his arms around her neck and cry as she carried him away from this nightmare.
"Toven!" She pushed herself to her feet and spun in a circle. "Where are you?"
Panic pushed her into an aimless sprint, and her throbbing leg almost gave in several times. She yanked aside branches and dove towards every shadow and movement she saw, even as tears began to blur her vision. A low rhythm, like war drums or marching footsteps, rumbled in the distance.
"Toven!"
A pair of arms wrapped around her, and Quinn blinked. She was kneeling on the floor, her ears buzzing with a deafening, pounding noise. Her arm was pressed against a panel of sticky wood.
"Quinn! Fucking talk to me!"
She looked up as someone shook her shoulders. Maddy was kneeling beside her, her eyes wide.
"Jesus, did you just have a panic attack or something?"
"I-I need to find him." Quinn pushed Maddy's hands away and stood on shaky legs. Her wounds were gone. "I need to get to him."
"What?"
Wide-eyed, Quinn scanned the crowd around her. Several people were looking at her in concern, but none of them were familiar. God, it was so fucking loud in here, she could barely hear herself think. She pushed her way through the throng and away from the music.
Maddy caught up to her by the door and gripped her wrists. "Dude, you're scaring me. Just sit down. I'll get you some water, okay?"
Quinn shook her head. She needed to get back to Toven. She felt that urge as intensely as the need to breathe. Whatever this was—the lulling thrum of the music, the smell of sweat and liquor—it wasn't real. "I need to get out of here."
"You're gonna be okay." Maddy put a cool, soothing hand on the back of her neck. "I'll get someone to call an ambulance."
"No." Quinn straightened. "I know this isn't real. I know you're not real. But I…I'm so sorry for leaving you." She wrapped her arms around Maddy's neck and held tight, hoping that wherever her real best friend was, she could at least sense her apology. And before Maddy could protest, Quinn let go of her and sprinted out the door.
She ran into the street and immediately got hit by a car.
The impact sent her rolling down the street. Quinn lifted her cheek from the pavement and winced as pain shot up her left arm.
"God dammit." She flopped onto her back. She didn't know how she was supposed to get out of this Matrix-dream-simulation-thing in the first place, but this was definitely putting a wrench in her plans.
You don't have to fight.
It was the voice from before, hissing up from the cracks in the pavement.
If you close your eyes, the pain will go away.
"Fuck you." Cradling her arm, Quinn tried to sit up. Her feet sank into the asphalt like mud. The streetlights above warped and swirled like galaxies.
She closed her eyes and tried to ground herself. She pictured Toven's face, the way his lips would scrunch up when she said something funny and he didn't want to laugh. She pictured Bilbo's wrinkled hands preparing tea, the dwarves hurling food and jokes at each other. She pictured the Lonely Mountain wreathed in fog, the way Shire grass would gleam in the sun, the old gnarled trees at the base of the Misty Mountains.
The pain in her arm began to fade. Quinn lifted her chin, like she was nearing the surface of a deep pool and begging for air. She tasted dust and smoke, and the faraway whinnies of horses pierced the ringing silence.
In the distance, she could hear a voice that sounded like Maddy's calling out for her, and she tried to block it out.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Just take me home.
The world around her lurched—or maybe she was the one spinning through the darkness. When Quinn opened her eyes again, she blinked against a settling cloud of dust and a smell that could only be described as horse. She was sitting on one, surrounded by what must have been hundreds of other riders. They were all dressed for war, clutching spears and swords, and she realized she was also wearing an unfamiliar set of leather armor and a helmet that was slightly too big.
"What the fuck…"
In the near distance was a tall city of white stone—Minas Tirith. Before its gates were legions of orcs, more than she'd ever seen before, bristling with spears and flaming weapons of war. Quinn shifted in her saddle. She could put together that she was with the Rohirrim, breaking a siege on Gondor's capital, but exactly how she'd gotten here was a mystery.
She'd been in Edoras, drinking and celebrating with her friends. And after that…
Her friends. Shit. Quinn looked around, hoping against hope, and her heart leaped when she spotted Toven's green tunic a few yards ahead. The ranks of the horses were too tightly packed for her to reach him, but she had to find a way to get to him as soon as possible.
"Arise!" A man shouted from the front. "Arise, riders of Théoden! Spears shall be shaken, shields shall be splintered…" He began riding down the line, and his voice faded until she couldn't hear what he was saying anymore.
"I hope this is just motivational and not actual instructions," Quinn muttered. She drew her sword and took in a shaky breath. She had to get her priorities straight—look after Toven, kill as many orcs as she could, then try and figure out what the hell was going on.
A cry went up from the army, hundreds of voices and clattering shields raising into a fierce roar. It came a second time, and Quinn realized what they were shouting. She raised her sword and joined them in the third chorus.
"Death!"
A low horn-call, followed by a dozen more, echoed over the fields. The first lines moved forward, and Quinn readied herself as the riders began to charge. Soon, her horse was galloping with the others, and she raised her voice into another fierce cry. She kept her eyes on Toven's back, trying to map a clear path to him.
A smattering of arrows rained down on them, and a few riders cried out as their horses stumbled and fell. More arrows found their mark, but they barely put a dent in their numbers. Quinn winced as a terrible shriek rose from the front lines—the two armies had collided. The noise of steel rending armor was something she'd never truly get used to.
But she only had a moment to dwell on it before her horse was leaping over the mangled remains of fallen orcs. Most of those she encountered had been trampled to death, but as they plunged further into the army, she found orcs still standing. Her sword flashed, slicing limbs and heads like the talons of a great beast.
Quinn looked up, searching for the patch of green she'd been keeping in her periphery, and her stomach dropped. She couldn't see him anymore. She'd lost him.
Focus. He's okay. He has to be okay.
The orcs were beginning to run from them, and Quinn gave chase along with the other riders. If they were wrapping this thing up soon, that was all the better.
The cloud of dust hanging in the distance began to clear, and some of the riders faltered. The orcs weren't retreating—they were running to their reinforcements.
Quinn swore under her breath. She'd only seen a Mûmak once, and she'd considered it a good idea to keep her distance. There were at least twenty of them marching forward now, each of them at least forty feet tall with massive tusks and wooden war towers strapped to their backs. The piercing cry of a horn sounded from one of the Mûmakil in the center, and hundreds of voices began to chant in response.
The riders began to close ranks again, preparing for another charge. Quinn gripped the reins of her horse in one hand, her sword in the other. They weren't going to be able to just run these things over.
At another horn blast from the Rohirrim, the riders let out a roar and spurred their horses forward. The Mûmakil began to charge, the ground visibly shuddering beneath their footsteps as orcs scrambled out of the way. The first Mûmak swept its tusks to the side, and Quinn instinctively ducked as half a dozen riders flew through the air, screaming. More were trampled, the sound of crunching bones blending with cries of pain and the hiss of arrows. Quinn tried to make herself as small as possible, silently praying she wouldn't get crushed.
As the surviving riders passed through the ranks of the Mûmakil, they turned for another charge. Quinn's horse was pulled along with them, and she shook herself and raised her sword. Even if she was in a smaller, weaker body, she still knew how to fight.
Some of the riders had pulled out their bows and were firing at the Mûmakil, and arrows sprouted from the thick skin of their massive legs. The men in the war towers fired back at them, and one of the riders next to Quinn fell off his horse as an arrow struck him in the chest.
"Shit." Quinn turned away, knowing there was nothing she could do to help him, and by the time she saw the tusk barreling towards her, it was too late.
Her horse took most of the impact, but it still sent her flying off. She hit the ground with a bruising impact, and something clanged hard against her helmet, jolting her head to the side.
Quinn blinked as dark spots flashed in her vision. The ringing in her ears was deafening, and she fumbled to pull off her helmet. The side of her head throbbed.
Lie still. You need rest.
"No," she gasped, stumbling to her feet. An orc lunged at her, snarling, and she cut it down with a clumsy swing that left her staggering. The world tilted.
You can't go on like this.
"Watch me." Quinn braced a hand on the ground, and realized she'd almost fallen over again. Her stomach turned, and she swallowed. She pushed herself up and stabbed an orc through the chest before it could throw its spear at one of the riders.
The ground rumbled as one of the Mûmakil fell. Quinn staggered across the field, trailing after the remaining riders and striking down anyone that got in her way. A hand clamped around her ankle, and she fell to her knees with a cry. She looked over her shoulder to see an orc crawling towards her, its blood-stained teeth bared in a snarl.
"Mind your fucking business!" She stabbed it in the face.
Quinn pushed herself to her feet and braced herself. Her arms were burning, close to trembling with exhaustion. She'd spent so long fighting with endless endurance, she didn't know how much longer she'd be able to stay on her feet.
Soon, she found herself fighting in a tight circle with a few other riders that had lost their mounts. They were not yet overwhelmed, but it took everything she had to keep herself upright and swinging. One of the orcs cracked its fist across her jaw, the raised its sword to cut off her head. The man to her left cut its arms off at the elbow and drove his blade through its chest.
Quinn spat out some blood and glanced at her savior. "Hey, you."
Fastred blinked at her. "What are you doing here?"
"Oh, you know." She stabbed an orc in the thigh and kicked it away, nearly losing her balance in the process. "I thought I'd get out for the weekend. Is it the weekend?" Fuck, I don't even know what day it is. "Thanks for the save, by the way."
He let out a breathless laugh. "You intrigue me. If we survive this, I would like to know more about how you came to be here."
"I am so down for that." She turned to him with a smile. "And maybe we can—" She flinched as blood splashed across her face.
An orc bore down on her. Quinn slashed at its wrist, deflecting its strike, then thrust her blade through its stomach. She stepped back and nearly tripped over the body that had appeared at her feet.
Fastred was lying on the ground, blood pouring from the wound on his throat. He choked, red bubbling between his teeth, his eyes glazed with pain and panic.
"No, no, no. Hey. Hey." Quinn fell to her knees, pressing both hands over his neck. "You're okay. You're gonna be okay."
She didn't know what she was doing. She couldn't save him. He was already gone.
"Oh, fuck." She blinked away a droplet of blood, then ran a hand over her face. Her head throbbed. "Fuck."
The dirt shuddered with heavy footsteps, and she looked up to see a particularly large orc lumbering towards her. It raised a jagged battle axe, and she rolled out of the way.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of green. At first, she thought the battlefield was somehow being flooded, but as she turned to face it fully, she recognized the ethereal glow at once.
"Not the ghosts. Not the fucking ghosts." She pushed herself to her feet and stumbled away from the orc, who seemed more concerned with chopping her in half.
But the ghosts ignored the riders entirely, sweeping over the orcs and slicing into them with ethereal blades. And among them, sending shining beams of light from their sword—
"Belekur." Quinn sidestepped as the orc slashed at her again. "Can you stop?"
She didn't wait for an answer, pushing herself into a sprint towards the army of spirits. She needed to be free of whatever thing was bent on possessing her, and there was only one person she knew who might be able to help her.
It was difficult, running through complete chaos. She tried to dodge any orcs in her path, knowing that killing them would only slow her down. But she also had to make sure she didn't get trampled by any of the remaining riders or trip over any dead bodies. By the time she reached her quarry, there was a stitch in her side, it felt like there was an axe embedded in her head, and her vision was going dark at the edges.
"Belekur!" She raised a hand and waved at them, though they'd probably already noticed the panting, blood-stained woman approaching. "Holy fuck, I can't believe you're here."
And Belekur, keeping consistent with their usual level of courtesy and affection, turned and cut off her head.
An unbelievable pain seared across her neck for a split second, and everything went numb. Quinn collapsed, squeezing her eyes shut as an unbelievable dizziness wrapped around her consciousness. When it finally lifted, the pain in her head was gone, and so was the sensation of blood drying on her face.
She looked down at her hands, which had taken on the glowing, slightly translucent appearance that usually accompanied spirits. She sat back on her heels and looked at her fallen body, which had…dissolved. There was nothing left of her except a pool of black ooze.
"Holy shit." Quinn looked up at Belekur, who was watching her with an unreadable expression. "Did you know that was going to happen, or do you actually hate me?"
They didn't respond, instead turning to cut down the next orc. Quinn stood up, still feeling slightly shaken. She jumped as a rider passed straight through her, then relaxed. If she was in spirit form, then she didn't have to worry about being stabbed or trampled. That was something of a relief, all things considered.
Belekur was moving swiftly through the enemy ranks, decapitating two orcs with one blow, then immediately changing the direction of their strike to lodge their sword in another orc's ribcage. The ghosts were cutting through the orcs near the city walls, making a steady push towards the gate. The riders were sweeping through the ranks to the north, and all but one of the Mûmakil had fallen. The war tower on its back was on fire, and she watched as a few men jumped from the top.
A few riders were circling the Mûmak, and Quinn perked up as a flash of green caught her eye. Toven was still mounted, his sword flashing as he slashed at the legs of the giant beast.
The Mûmak let out a booming groan and keeled over. Toven spurred his horse away from its bulk, but the flaming war tower came loose and toppled from its back. The wreckage crashed on top of him and his horse, and Quinn screamed.
She made it five steps toward him before remembering that she couldn't do anything in this state. She turned and ran for Belekur, every nerve in her non-existent body vibrating with panic.
"Belekur! Stop!" She planted herself in front of them as they finished off a pair of orcs. "Y-You have to help him. Toven—" She jabbed a finger in his direction, frantic. "He's hurt. He's in trouble. Please—"
Her words were drowned out by a bone-chilling shriek. The silhouette of a beast with black, leathery wings appeared over the battlefield. It swooped down into a group of riders, its jaws clamping around one of the horses and tossing it to the side. On the back of the creature, Quinn could see a familiar figure cloaked in black.
"No," she said, her voice sounding faint to her own ears as she turned back to Belekur. "I-I know what you think you have to do, but please—"
Belekur already had their eyes locked onto the Nazgûl, and walked through her without a word.
"Fuck you!" She shouted at them, then turned back to the flaming wreckage. Heaving in a desperate, shaky breath, she started running towards it. There was nothing she could do, but she couldn't just stand there and watch. She had to be there. She couldn't let him down again.
She was halfway there when a nauseating lightness overtook her, like everything beneath her non-corporeal skin had been scooped out. Quinn fell to her hands and knees and swayed. She could see the blades of dry grass through her hand, her skin no more than a wisp of color.
"Oh, fuck." Quinn squeezed her eyes shut. The only reason she was still here was because her spirit was tied to Belekur's. They weren't supposed to get too far away from each other, but…
Something slimy touched her hand. Quinn flinched away, and the world spun.
I'm the only chance you have to save him.
"I'm not…" She pressed a hand to her forehead, feeling faint. She could only feel a fraction of the sensation of her skin, like she was touching herself through a layer of plastic wrap.
You can't do anything, now. Your warrior turned their back on you. But I can help you.
"Fuck!" She didn't know what she'd be getting herself into, accepting this thing again, but that didn't matter now. It didn't matter if she could save her son. "Fine. Do it. Just do it."
Warmth flooded her body, but it wasn't exactly pleasant, like pressing against the body of a stranger. She took a deep breath, feeling air fill her lungs, and stood up. Absently, she noticed that she was no longer in Rohirrim armor but back in her jeans and t-shirt.
She took off at a sprint towards the flaming wreckage, barely feeling her feet touch the ground. The war tower had been turned over completely, and its structure was barely recognizable as flames continued to ravage it. There was a gap near the ground that would allow her inside, and Quinn dove through it without hesitation.
A blast of unbearable heat seared her skin and she immediately inhaled smoke. Coughing, Quinn pulled the collar of her shirt up to her nose.
"Toven!"
She kept herself low, where the smoke was thinnest, and shimmied under a burning piece of fabric. She emerged into a mess of broken, burning wood. When she finally spotted him lying a few feet away, her heart leapt into her throat, and she lunged towards him.
"Hey. Hey, talk to me." Relief flooded her when he opened his eyes. "I'm gonna get you out of here, okay?"
"Quinn?" His brow was furrowed in pain, but he didn't look badly injured—except the wooden beam lying over his stomach, pinning him to the ground.
"I got you." She crawled over to the beam and braced her hands beneath it. The wood wasn't on fire yet, but it was hot enough to hurt. Her shirt slipped from her face, and she coughed again. Gritting her teeth, she tried to lift the beam up, but she could barely move it more than an inch. Her grip faltered, and a coughing fit doubled her over.
Toven reached over and tried to add his own strength, but he was at the wrong angle to push it upwards. Quinn redoubled her efforts, the muscles in her arms straining against its weight, but it was either stuck on something or too heavy for her to lift.
"Fuck." She coughed again, tears streaming down her face. "Can you try wiggling out from under it? That's how I got out from under a dead spider once."
"It hurts to move," Toven said through gritted teeth. "Not to mention war machines are heavier than spiders."
"Okay." Quinn propped her shoulder under the beam and tried again. "We can try again. This thing's gotta give eventually."
"Quinn." Toven grasped for her hand, his chest shaking with his own coughing fit. "We're both going to die here if you don't get out."
"Don't say that," she rasped, squeezing his hand. "I am not fucking leaving you here."
The sound of tearing fabric made them both jump, and Quinn turned to see an opening appear at one end of the war tower. Gimli stepped through with his axe held aloft.
"Never heard anyone bicker as loudly as you two."
"Gimli, thank fuck." Quinn beckoned to him desperately. "Come help me get this off him."
She scrambled out of the way as Gimli took the wooden beam in both hands and lifted it. Another section of the tower groaned, spitting sparks into the smoke, but he'd easily created a gap for Toven to escape. Quinn hooked her hands beneath his shoulders and, with a strength she didn't know she possessed, dragged him out of the wreckage.
Once she made sure he was clear of the fire, she collapsed and coughed until her throat was raw. The skin on her hands and arms was red, but she barely felt the pain as she pushed herself up and knelt over him.
"Toven? Tell me you're okay."
He was breathing raggedly, his face smudged with soot, but he nodded.
She wrapped her arms around him and cradled him to her chest, her eyes full of tears. "I got you. I got you."
Weakly, Toven wrapped an arm around her. "You're you again."
"Yeah." She sniffled and managed a smile. "It's me."
Gimli's heavy footsteps came up behind them. "On your feet, the both of you. We've still got a battle to win."
But when Quinn looked around, she realized the enemy forces had been driven away. The ghost army was sweeping through the city, slaughtering the last of the orcs within its walls. The Rohirrim had mustered a final charge, routing the orcs towards the river.
"We need to get you to a healer." Quinn grasped Toven's good arm. "Can you walk?"
He sat up with a wince. "I think so."
"Here." She helped him to his feet, then wrapped an arm around him and hooked his arm around her shoulders. "Lean on me."
They limped towards the city, Gimli walking beside them with his axe at the ready, in case any enemies were hiding amongst the dead. The army of ghosts had gathered before the gates of the city, and as they drew nearer, Quinn realized they were all looking at Aragorn.
"Release us," the leader of the ghosts hissed.
"Bad idea," Gimli muttered. "Very handy in a tight spot, these lads, despite the fact they're dead."
Quinn shook her head. "These creeps might've saved us, but if I never see them again, it'll be too soon. Plus, you already have a handy dead warrior with you."
"You still have to explain what happened to you," Toven said.
"I will, once I make sure you didn't get your ribs broken or something."
Aragorn sheathed his sword and nodded to the ghosts. "I hold your oath fulfilled. Go. Be at peace."
The ghost let out what might have been a sigh of relief, and a chill wind swept over the field. The ghosts faded from sight, leaving behind only a rapidly-dissipating mist—and one ancient warrior.
Quinn's good mood instantly evaporated. She turned to Gimli. "Can you take him?"
"Aye." Gimli reached out to support Toven, who frowned.
"What are you doing?"
Quinn didn't respond. She marched towards Belekur and, realizing she didn't have a weapon, snatched up a sword from one of the fallen soldiers.
"You piece of shit." She pointed her sword at Belekur. "You know, I've put up with a lot of your heartless bullshit over the years—hell, I'd forgive you for literally trying to kill me—but this crosses the fucking line. You were willing to let Toven die. And for once, I'm not stuck with you anymore, so you'd better believe I'm not going to just forgive and forget."
Belekur watched coldly as she approached. "Your sentiments would have cost many more lives."
"And they're about to cost one more!" Quinn lunged, her sword raised, but another blade shot out and blocked her strike.
"Stop!" Aragorn glared at her until she lowered her weapon. "Enough blood has been spilled today. Belekur is not your enemy."
"Well, they sure ain't a hero, either." Quinn turned to Belekur, every muscle in her body tensed and ready for a fight. "I can't believe I ever thought you would be any good for these people. You've done fuck all even when you are in control of your body. Thranduil was right—you're not saving anyone. You just kill whoever gets in your way."
Belekur didn't even blink at her words, and it only made her more pissed off.
"That's enough," Aragorn said lowly, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Take Toven up to the Houses of Healing. He needs rest, and so do you."
Quinn remembered the burns on her hands and arms, which were beginning to sting. She took in a calming breath and dropped her sword. She couldn't let her anger get in the way of taking care of Toven.
She made to walk away, then paused. She turned back to Belekur.
"One way or another, you're going to get what's coming to you."