Instinctively, the warrior's and the Slayer's hands went to the hilts of their swords, as their eyes rapidly scanned the gang of bushy, black haired men. Miriel's first thought was that they were robbers, since they had managed to sneak up behind her and Bregolas unnoticed. She stepped in front of her bags that lay on the ground, willing to fight over her belongings.
"Who are you to make such demands on passing travelers?" demanded Bregolas, who stood much taller than the men. His face was stern, and his narrowed eyes darted from man to man. Unlike Miriel, he appeared undaunted by their presence. He had an air of authority about him that gave the strangers pause. A few even lowered their weapons, thinking that they had come upon some mighty lord.
One man, whom the couple assumed was the leader, then stepped forward from the group and spoke. "We are the Men of the Vales, and it is by our strength alone that this road and the High Pass are free from the enemy. Little love do we have for strangers, but for a fee, you may travel upon this road."
Miriel couldn't help but notice that several of the men were eyeing her, whispering to each other behind the back of their hands. It made her feel slightly uncomfortable. Were they struck by how odd it was to see a woman garbed in the dress of a man and wielding a sword? Or did they have some other nefarious thoughts in mind. The latter notion made the Slayer more uneasy. She found herself grasping Bregolas' arm for comfort.
"And just how much is this toll?" Bregolas asked the leader, staring at him with the same suspicious eyes as the stranger was giving the Gondorian warrior.
"Two gold coins," the leader answered without missing a beat.
"Two gold coins?" repeated Bregolas.
"Apiece," added the man.
"Four gold coins!" exclaimed an outraged Bregolas. "That's highway robbery!"
As her companion ranted and raved, cursing at the men for their attempted thievery, Miriel squatted down beside her bags and began to search the contents for the valuables she had brought with her.
"If you choose not to pay our toll," the man argued, "then you must find another way over the mountains." He had apparently overheard at least part of their conversation. "It is said that on the other side of the swamps of Gladden Fields is a pass into the mountains. But that way is unprotected, and rumor has it that Orcs and wargs roam freely there." A malicious grin came to the man's bushy bearded face. "No toll. No road!"
Bregolas was seething with rage.
"And before you get any ideas of drawing that sword of yours," continued the leader, his eyes momentarily shifting to the hand of Bregolas' that clutched the hilt of his blade. "I have more men in my company, many that are hidden in places that you cannot see."
The Gondorian warrior was undeterred by the northern man's threats. Between him and Miriel, they could take out the lot of them. He stepped closer to the leader so that he towered over his form. The company of men trained their weapons on Bregolas, even those that had lowered them moments before.
"I do not cower to extortionists and thieves," he hissed, ready to pluck his sword from its sheath at a moment's notice.
Each man attempted to stare the other down. Though the smaller of the two, the man of the Vales was still broadly built and quite muscular. And Bregolas did not intimidate him in the slightest. Perhaps that was because he had over a score of men as back up, each ready to release their arrows with the simplest of gestures.
Thinking that she had found a suitable item, Miriel grabbed the piece of jewelry and quickly returned to Bregolas' side. She shot a nervous glance between the two men.
"My lords," she began, speaking in her kindest voice in hopes of lessening the tension between the two. "There is no need for violence of any kind." Her eyes swiftly scanned the rest of the men, hoping that her words would encourage them to lower their weapons. They did not. She turned her attention to the leader. "Please, lord. Will you accept this in payment?" she asked, thrusting out her hand. She opened her fingers, revealing a large bejeweled brooch lying on her palm.
The man's eyes remained locked with Bregolas'. It became painfully obvious to Miriel that the two were ensnared in some idiotic display of supremacy, not atypical for those of the male gender.
Disgusted, she eased between the two, forcing them to break eye contact. "Could you please take a look at this?" she asked again. "Will this cover our toll?"
The leader's eyes finally shifted to the Slayer's palm. He eyed the piece with interest. In fact, his eyes seemed to light up as he picked the brooch from her hand.
Miriel felt an instant sense of relief. Maybe she was wrong, but as the man ran his thumb ran over the rough-cut stone, she could have sworn that some wistful look came to his dark brown eyes. The brooch was in the shape of a horse, and had been a gift from the Lord of Rohan to Finduilas long ago. The Slayer had never really cared for that piece of jewelry. Green wasn't one of her favorite colors and she wasn't really fond of horses. When it came to animal-shaped brooches or whatnot, she had always preferred the swan.
She had no idea that this man was one of the Beornings, and as such, loved all living creatures. Out of all the jewelry she had stowed in her bag, that particular piece would prove to be the best choice.
Amidst that shaggy beard of his, a small smile came to the man's face. "Aye," he answered softly. "This will do."
As soon as he had spoken, the men lowered their weapons. Now that Miriel had paid the equivalent of their toll, they were free to travel upon the road.
"If you don't mind my asking," she continued. The man met her gaze. "Is there an inn nearby, or some place for weary travelers to rest and have a decent meal?"
Once the words had left her mouth, Bregolas grabbed her arm and pulled her backwards, causing her to nearly stumble over her bags. He dragged her several paces backwards, out of earshot from the men.
"What do you think you are doing?" he growled in a low voice. "These people are thieves, extortionists. We will have no more dealings with them!"
"They're protecting their borders is all," she whispered, glowering at her companion for his barbarian-like behavior.
"They've extorted money from us," he shot back angrily. "That has nothing to do with protecting their borders."
"I'm hungry," she snapped back. "If there is some place where we can rest and have a meal, then I'm all for it."
"You are foolish to be so trusting of strangers. What makes you think that they won't lure us into some trap, murdering us so that they can steal our belongings, or worse? You're too trusting, Miriel. And, I'm afraid that will be the death of us."
"You're over-reacting," she countered. "I saw a look in that leader man's eyes. He's not evil. Cautious, but not evil."
"You are out of your mind," Bregolas argued. "He's just extorted money out of us."
"I think it's a fair price, considering that they keep the road free from the enemy. Besides, it didn't cost you anything. It was my brooch after all."
Bregolas detested Miriel's displays of stubbornness, particularly in this instance. After everything they had been through, had she learned nothing of the dangers of Middle-earth, that strangers could not be trusted.
"Fine," he finally relented. "We've paid our toll, now let's be on our way."
Bregolas turned and began to pick up Miriel's bags from the ground. He watched the men from out of the corner of his eye, prepared to attack in an instant, if necessary. He eyed the leader, who was huddled with five others, speaking in hushed whisperings.
"Here," said the Gondorian warrior, handing the Slayer back her belongings.
The leader then broke away from the group. "There is no inn nearby," he said, picking up the conversation where they had left off. "The closest on this side of the mountains is in Lake-town, which is over two hundred miles to our east."
Miriel let out a sigh of disappointment.
"However," the man continued, smiling. "You, my lady, are very courteous in manner and speech, unlike your companion." He spoke the last part of his sentence rather derisively, giving Bregolas a look that matched the tone of his voice. He then shifted his gaze back to Miriel, the smile, which had momentarily faded from his bearded face, returned. "If you'd like, you can return with me to my halls. I daresay my wife would welcome fresh young faces to our home and would provide you with lodgings and food finer than any inn."
"No," Bregolas replied with a sneer, not wanting anything more to do with these men.
His response irritated the Slayer. Who was he to turn down such an offer without her input? Didn't she have a say-so in this? He may not like that they were forced to pay a toll, but Miriel had assumed that bartering would take place on the road. That's why she came prepared for such things. And, right now, the thought of food and a soft bed outweighed any decision Bregolas could make.
"Your offer is generous, my lord," she answered sweetly. "Yet, I must ask. What fee would you charge for sharing your home and table with us?"
The man laughed. He held the brooch aloft. "This alone is worthy of my hospitality," he replied.
Miriel's eyes lit up. But, before she could speak, Bregolas placed an arm protectively in front of her and said, "Why would one who claims to have no love for strangers be so eager to invite them into his home?" His tone was thick with suspicion. "I deem that malice is your underlying intent."
Several of the men grumbled and cast disapproving looks at the Gondorian warrior.
The leader raised his hand, and the men instantly fell quiet. "If malice were my intent, you would both be dead by now." He shifted his gaze back to Miriel. "Sometimes one rewards courtesy with courtesy. My offer still stands. It's your choice whether to accept it or not." He offered Miriel another smile.
Despite Bregolas' protests, Miriel quickly accepted the leader's offer. She was too damn hungry to turn him down.
The man then said, "I assure you, er, um… what are your names again?"
This time, the Slayer spoke before Bregolas could. "I do not believe that we have introduced ourselves," she answered. She then spat out the first two names that popped into her head. "I'm Fíriel. And this is my husband, Aratan."
Bregolas shot Miriel an angry look.
"Good to meet you," answered the leader with a slight bow of his bushy head. "I am Gunnulf. If you'll follow me, we have horses tethered over there just beyond the trees," he continued, pointing to a patch of woods to their north.
The Gondorian warrior hesitated, none too eager to stray from the road.
"Oh, come on, Aratan," said Miriel, half-pleading to her companion. "If things go amiss - you still have your sword."
"I assure you that no harm will come to you," remarked Gunnulf. "We Men of the Vale are honorable and only seek to destroy Orcs and the like. Other men we do not condemn to death unless they are in league with the Dark Lord. I do not feel that you two are," he shifted his eyes to the blade at Miriel's side, "though, we do not see women bearing weapons of war in these parts. My heart tells me that there is some tale behind that. Perhaps, in good time, you might share that story with me."
Neither Miriel nor Bregolas replied to that. However, the Gondorian warrior was forced to follow his beloved when she took off with Gunnulf. Bregolas was having all sorts of bad feelings about this. He only wished he could convince Miriel of that.
The five men that Gunnulf was speaking with earlier also came with them. They followed a trail into the woods for about four hundred yards. They then came upon a clearing where dozens of horses were tethered to trees, lazily grazing on the grassy turf.
Both Miriel and Bregolas were offered a horse of their own to ride, but the Gondorian warrior refused, insisting that he and his wife ride together on one steed. He feared that the men might try to separate him from his beloved if they rode separately. This way, if he saw any sign of trouble, he could take off, knowing that Miriel was safe with him.
The further north they rode, the greater disquiet fell upon Bregolas. Even Miriel began to have some doubts, not realizing how far north of the road they would have to travel. The dwellings of the Men of the Vale were nearly thirty miles from the Old Forest Road. Bregolas was not at all happy about traveling so far out of the way to experience a few mere creature comforts.
The Men of the Vale lived in scattered homesteads on both sides of the Anduin. Tall, thorny hedges formed the boundary of each man's yard, wooden gates marking the entrances. Miriel's excitement grew when she saw cows, sheep and chickens. That sight alone caused her mouth to salivate. She could barely remember the taste of real meat. Little did she know that the Beornings so loved animals that they refused to eat them. She would discover that bit soon enough.
A couple of young boys, barefooted and with shaggy black hair, along with their pet dog, greeted them. They seemed to be very excited to see "fresh faces" as Gunnulf had referred to the newcomers. The others that had accompanied them said their farewells and rode on to their own homes, or so Miriel thought. Once they had dismounted, the boys tended to the horses, while the dog cautiously approached the couple, sniffing them intently.
"She won't bite," said Gunnulf, noticing Miriel's discomfort as the dog sniffed her in the most inappropriate of places. "Get out of here, Bestle! Get going!" he added, shooing the hound away. The dog then ran off, disappearing under the floorboards of the long front porch.
"Eirá!" the man then shouted. "Eirá, we've got company!"
Only seconds later, a woman came bounding out of the open front door, wiping her hands on the bottom of her apron. She brushed aside the wisps of black hair that had escaped her long braid, attempting to make herself presentable to their 'guests'. She looked to be in her mid-thirties, tanned and slender. She smiled at the strangers. "Welcome," she said, stepping down the steps of the porch.
"I hope you don't mind that I've brought some weary travelers home, Eirá," he said, as his wife approached.
"No, not at all," answered the woman good-naturedly.
After quick introductions, Eirá announced, "Supper's nearly ready." Wanting to be a good hostess, her thoughts swiftly turned to her visitors accommodations. "We can put our guests in the girls' room for the night."
"Aye," replied Gunnulf with a nod.
"Well, come on in," said the woman cheerfully, motioning for her guests to follow her into the wooden house. "I'll have the girls set out a couple more plates. We've got plenty to eat."
Miriel and Bregolas followed their hosts into their home. As they crossed the threshold, the couple smelled the delicious aroma of freshly baked bread lingering in the air. It was a heavenly scent. The Slayer's eyes quickly surveyed her surroundings. The entire interior was wrought of wood - the ceilings, floor, and walls. The only exception was a large stone fireplace off to her left. The room had a rather dark appearance. A couple of large, brightly colored rugs broke up the monotony of wood. Straight ahead, through an oversized doorway, was the kitchen. Two little girls, twins by the look of them, were busy doling out food into serving dishes.
"Set two more places, sweeties," called Eirá to her daughters. "We've got guests tonight." Their host then turned her attention back to her visitors. "I imagine you'd like to clean up before supper," she commented, her eyes appraising her guests' disheveled appearance. "We can remedy that quick enough."
Miriel suddenly felt self-conscious and hastily combed her hair with her fingers. The woman smiled. "You look fine, dear," she said, stepping closer to the Slayer. "But your hair," she continued, lifting a handful of locks and examining it closely, "your hair looks like it has been butchered. If you'd like, I can even it out after supper."
"That would be lovely," answered a grateful Miriel.
The two boys then came barreling into the house.
Eirá instructed her husband to show their guests to their room as she dashed into the kitchen, voicing instructions to her children as she did so.
Gunnulf led the couple down a hallway to their right. They then entered through the first door to their left - the girls' room. The room was decent sized. Set against one wall were two four-poster beds set a few feet apart. Opposite the bed was a wall covered with shelving. On each plank were neatly arranged dolls in all shapes and sizes. Sitting nearby was an elaborately carved two-story dollhouse. So intricate were the details that it brought a smile to Miriel's face.
"'Twas made by the dwarves," said Gunnulf, noticing Miriel's expression.
"It's beautiful," she remarked, marveling at what she considered a work of art.
Eirá then came into the room, carrying a ewer of water. She breezed by the occupants, and placed the container beside the basin sitting on the dresser. She pulled a couple of clean washcloths and a bar of soap from the pocket of her apron and laid it beside the bowl. She instructed her guests to hurry, that supper was on the table. She then returned to the kitchen.
"Don't be long, then," said Gunnulf. He then turned and left the room, closing the door behind him.
Miriel and Bregolas dumped their bags on the floor beside the nearest wall.
"This room is too girly," complained the warrior.
"Oh, lighten up, Aratan," said a cheery Miriel, as she made her way to the dresser so that she could clean up.
"Why is it that you called me that? Why Aratan?" he queried, watching her from across the room.
"I don't know. It was the first name to come to my mind." She poured some water into the basin. "Do you have a problem with it? I thought you would approve. It is a lordly name after all."
"I care not," he replied stiffly.
Miriel rolled her eyes. "Relax," she said, as she lathered up her cloth. "These people are not going to murder us in our sleep."
"How do you know that? Evil comes in many forms."
"Pfft! Stop being so paranoid. Now you're being ridiculous," she remarked, washing her face and hands. "Just hurry. We do not need to keep our hosts waiting. That would be rude."
As Bregolas washed, she removed her sword, and placed it beside the headboard of her bed. She informed her companion to do the same, deeming it inappropriate to be armed at their hosts' table. The warrior reluctantly did so. They then left the twins' room, and joined their hosts in the kitchen.
The men folk immediately rose from their seats when the pair entered. Two chairs had been placed on opposite sides of the table, one between the boys, and the other between the girls.
"You shall sit here, Fíriel, between my sons, Norgren and Hallvor," proclaimed Gunnulf. Norgren, the oldest it turned out, pulled out her chair.
"What a gentleman," she said, taking her place at the table. "Thank you."
The boy offered her a quick smile before plopping back down in his chair. Eirá did a quick round of introductions, as Bregolas took his seat between the twins, Larsa and Lovis. Gunnulf then lead the family in prayer, thanking the Lords in the West for their many blessings. That was something that the Slayer no longer did. How could she thank any of the Valar for their blessings when her own life had taken such a terrible turn for the worse? She had stopped praying back in February, when the Valar refused to answer her pleas to thrust Denethor from her bed. Determined not to be consumed by such gloomy thoughts, she then turned her attention to the spread upon the table.
The family began passing around serving bowls, each piled high with steamy vegetables of all kinds. It took a few seconds for the Slayer to realize that there was no meat on the table. She was surprised at that, especially after seeing that the Men of the Vale kept livestock.
"I do not mean to sound rude or ungrateful," she began. "Everything looks delicious! But, I couldn't help but notice that there were many cows, sheep and chickens outside, but there is none on the board. Is there a reason for that?"
"We don't eat meat," answered Gunnulf, shoving a spoonful of peas and mushrooms into his mouth.
"Oh," replied Miriel, feeling slightly embarrassed.
"What my husband has failed to mention," added Eirá, "is that we so love all goodly creatures that we do not eat them."
"They're our friends, aren't they, Mommy?" spoke up little Larsa.
"Yes, sweetie. They are," she answered, beaming at her daughter.
"It is wicked to eat the flesh of any creature," piped up young Hallvor.
"Then we are wicked," remarked Bregolas between bites. "We eat meat."
Miriel felt the blood rushing to her face. She gave her companion a look of warning. He turned his attention back to his plate. The air in the room seemed to change. Tension fell over all the occupants.
Eirá shifted uncomfortably in her chair. The topic of conversation had to change, and swiftly. "So, where are you two heading?" she asked, her eyes darting between Miriel and Bregolas.
"Archet," replied Miriel, having no idea why that name had sprung from her mouth.
Bregolas shifted his eyes to her, wondering why she would say such a thing when he himself had no idea where they were going.
"We have kin there," the Slayer continued, embellishing her lie. "The menace of Mordor grows in the south, so we thought we'd move north, far north."
Her comments seemed to pique everybody's interest. For the Men of the Vale dwelt far from the threat of Mordor and very seldom did they hear news from the south.
"Evil dwells in these parts too, I'm afraid," remarked Gunnulf grimly.
"I thought you were from the south," said Eirá. "Whereabouts? Gondor? Rohan perhaps?"
Miriel could have kicked herself for walking into that one. How could she be such a fool? An awkward silence fell about the table, as all eyes were fixed on her, waiting for an answer. To make matters worse, she didn't understand why that all of a sudden she found herself uncomfortable at the thought of lying to strangers when she had become so good at it with her loved ones.
"Ithilien," Bregolas finally answered, meeting Miriel's gaze.
The Slayer looked gratefully at her companion, gladdened that he was quick to fix the situation.
"I would not take you, Aratan, as one to flee from any," remarked a skeptical Gunnulf, raising a thick, bristly brow. "You stood unyielding against me and my company."
Bregolas locked eyes with the man. "There are far worse things in this world than mortal men. In the south dwell the worse of the worst. You may have Orcs, wargs, and trolls in these parts. But, in the south, in the south dwell the Dark Lord's greatest servants, whose presence alone brings utter terror upon the stoutest of hearts. The Nine. The Ring-wraiths. Nazgûl they are called in the Black Speech. They wield unimaginable powers, and are favored greatly by the Dark Lord. Yes, my good man, I am unashamed to say that I would flee before them, that the menace of those wicked creatures drove me north."
There was such an ominous tone to Bregolas' voice that his remarks seemed a plausible reason for him and Miriel to depart Gondor. As the warrior resumed eating his meal, an uneasy silence fell upon the occupants, and it seemed as if the room had suddenly become darker.
"Let us speak no more of such things!" demanded Eirá. "You're frightening the children."
Bregolas' words had indeed frightened the children of Gunnulf and Eirá. All four continued to stare wide-eyed at the Gondorian warrior, their faces pale from talk of the Dark Lord and his most trusted servants.
Gunnulf chuckled under his breath as he rose from his seat. He reached up, and turned the key of the oil lamp that hung from a beam over the table. The flame shot up and the room instantly brightened. "How 'bout some ale, Aratan? You seem like an ale man to me."
The warrior's ears perked up upon hearing that. "Yes, thank you."
Their host went over to the sideboard where a large barrel of ale sat. He grabbed two pewter tankards and began filling them with the amber-colored beverage.
"While you're at it, open a bottle of wine for Fíriel and myself," instructed Eirá. "You do like wine, don't you dear?" asked the woman, looking kindly at Miriel.
"Oh, yes. Very much so," answered the Slayer, excited at the prospect of drinking something other than water.
Normal, idle chitchat replaced talk of the Dark Lord and his ilk for the remainder of the meal. After the women had washed the dishes, everybody went out onto the front porch where they had a dessert of honey cakes with fresh berries and whipped cream. Though the meal lacked any meat, it was hearty nonetheless and both Miriel and Bregolas were quite full.
With nightfall coming early, due to the clouds that had rolled in earlier in the evening, Eirá told Miriel that she thought it best to trim her hair in the morning. The Slayer agreed; as she was feeling rather tired after having eaten to her heart's content. Both she and Bregolas turned in early in hopes of having an early start in the morning.
Bregolas took the bed nearest the door. "I sleep lightly," he said. "If anyone creeps in, I'll surely wake."
The Slayer didn't care which bed she slept in. She was just grateful to have one. Not to mention a pillow for her weary head. She had come to miss hers a lot. Only minutes after lying down, she fell fast asleep.
In the middle of the night, around one thirty in the morning, Gunnulf eased open the bedroom door in which his guests lay sleeping. The cool, silver light of the moon shone through the windows, providing the only light in the chamber. He waited a moment or two to make sure that the man would not wake in alarm. Aratan remained still, lying on his back, and snoring softly.
Slowly Gunnulf entered the chamber. When the floorboards suddenly groaned from his weight, he stopped, cringing, his eyes darting to Aratan, hoping beyond all hope that he would not wake. Still, the stranger slept, oblivious to Gunnulf's presence. He tiptoed over to Miriel's bed. She too seemed to be in a deep sleep. He crouched down, leaning over her sleeping form.
Suddenly, her eyes darted opened. Startled to see Gunnulf's face hovering over hers, her eyes widened and before she could cry out to Bregolas, the man clamped his hand over her mouth.
"Do not make a sound. Do not wake your husband," he breathed in her ear. She could feel his bristly beard against her cheek, the warmth of his breath on her skin.
Miriel felt herself beginning to panic. The most horrible of thoughts came rushing to her mind.
"Do not be afraid," Gunnulf whispered. "My lord wishes to speak with you, and only you. I promise, no harm will come to you." He then slowly pulled his hand from her mouth.
The Slayer felt herself gasping for air. Her breathing sounded so loud that she actually glanced at Bregolas to see if she had wakened him. She had not. By the looks of it, he had drunk so much ale the night before that nothing would wake him. Annoyed by that, she looked back at the shadowy form of Gunnulf.
"Shh," he sounded softly with his finger to his lips.
Miriel thought for a moment. Should she trust Gunnulf, or wake Bregolas? She decided to go with her gut-instinct, to trust her host. She slid out of bed before realizing that she was half-naked. She swiftly concealed herself with the covers from the bed. She was dressed only in one of Bregolas' clean shirts.
"Dress quickly. Meet me in the kitchen," uttered Gunnulf in a nearly inaudible voice before slinking out of the chamber. When Miriel heard the floorboards squeak, she turned to her companion, who remained unfazed by the sound. She then quickly changed into her own clothing and slipped out of the bedroom, closing the door carefully behind her.
The Slayer went straight to the dimly lit kitchen. Seated at the table in her nightdress was Eirá. She sat hunched over the steaming cup of tea clutched in her hands. When she heard her guest enter, she looked up. She looked so sad. Miriel could see that something was wrong.
"What is it?" she asked, her eyes shifting from Eirá to Gunnulf, who stood behind his wife, rubbing her shoulders.
Gunnulf answered as he came around the table. "We must go. Quickly now."
"I- I don't understand," commented Miriel, unsure about what was happening.
"Shh," he sounded again. "Let's not wake the girls." He grabbed the Slayer by the elbow and led her through the main room where the girls lay asleep on the floor. The dog lay nearby, and lifted her head, watching, as the two exited the house.
"What's this about?" asked Miriel yet again, as they descended the porch steps.
"It is as I told you. My lord wishes to speak with you."
"Your lord? Who's your lord? And why would he want to speak to me?" The questions rolled off her tongue, as they crossed the yard toward the gate. The moon shone brightly above, casting the landscape in a cool, pale silvery light.
"Grimbeorn is his name. He is a good man, Fíriel." In a low, sad voice, he added, "Better than me."
"But I still don't understand what's going on!" she argued. "And why is it that he only wants to see me? Why not Aratan?"
"Your husband… " he began, hesitating as he spoke. "Your husband is… he can be difficult to deal with and… and somewhat unreasonable. You, on the other hand, are not so quick to judge. I can only hope that you will forgive me."
Miriel felt her stomach lurch upon hearing that. She stopped, refusing to go any further. "Forgive you for what," she demanded, her heart beating wildly in her chest.
Gunnulf wouldn't meet her gaze. "Let's go. We do not have any time to waste. You will find out soon enough."
It became painfully obvious that Gunnulf wasn't going to reveal what he had done, or what he was doing. She didn't know what the hell was going on. Her head was spinning with too many thoughts and possible conspiracy theories. They exited the gate and turned right, heading north down a lane.
Miriel cursed herself for not bringing a weapon. She had left her sword back at the house beside her bed. She then wondered if she had left Bregolas vulnerable to attack. Would Gunnulf's men attack her companion whilst he slept?
No, she told herself, attempting to calm her frazzled nerves. What about me? What do they want with me?
With her mounting paranoia, Buffy's voice came to her head, saying, "Your body is a weapon. Don't forget that, Miriel."
Hearing the elder Slayer's voice gave her a boost of confidence. If there were some sort of plot to capture her, she'd snap the necks of those trying to imprison her. She had done it before with the Uruks and she wouldn't hesitate to do it again, even to mortal men.
They had gone maybe a quarter of a mile before they passed through another gate. Immediately, a group of dogs came running to the hedge fence, barking madly. Up ahead, Miriel saw a sprawling wooden house. Unlike the homes they had passed on their trek, light spilled out of a few windows of the abode.
Someone whistled, a man by the sound of it. The dogs stopped in their tracks, turned, and ran back through the open front door of the dwelling.
Miriel could literally feel the blood pumping through her veins. Her senses heightened. Her eyes scanned her surroundings for weapons and possible escape routes. If anything diabolical were about to take place, she'd incapacitate her captors and leap the nearest wall of hedge.
Stop thinking like that! barked the voice in the back of her mind. You're jumping to conclusions. If any wanted to capture you, they would've done it whilst you slept. For goodness sakes - stop being so paranoid! You're beginning to sound like Bregolas!
The Slayer took a deep breath, and slowly exhaled as she and Gunnulf climbed the steps of the porch. The man stood at the threshold and knocked on the doorframe.
"Come in!" a booming voice said from within.
Gunnulf motioned for Miriel to enter. He followed behind. She stopped just inside the doorway, in a long room with low beamed ceilings. Numerous dogs lay about the area, some on the furniture, others on the floor.
A large, burly man came into the room. His bulky frame nearly filled the entire doorway. He had the same bushy black hair as Gunnulf, and was dressed in a long green tunic that went nearly to his knees. His bare arms were folded across his barrel of a chest and Miriel couldn't help but notice the bulging muscles of his limbs. Though not as tall as Bregolas, the man looked intimidating nonetheless. He studied the Slayer intently with his dark brown eyes.
"This is Fíriel, my lord," said Gunnulf, who then turned and headed toward the door.
Miriel spun around. "Where are you going?" she asked, none too anxious to be left alone with the stranger and his beastly dogs.
"I'll just be outside. You are safe with Grimbeorn, Fíriel. I promise," Gunnulf said in his most reassuring voice.
The Slayer then faced the man called Grimbeorn. He continued to stand there, watching her in silence. Without saying a single word, he then turned and went back into the room that he had just come from. Miriel didn't know what she was supposed to do. Should she wait, or should she follow? After several long seconds, she decided to follow him. She drew a deep breath, skirting around the dogs toward the adjoining room.
Grimbeorn was in the kitchen, seated in a great black chair at the table. Two more dogs lay by his feet. Miriel stepped just inside the room and waited for him to address her. He didn't. He just sat there, staring at her.
Taking his silence for rudeness, she barked, "Why is that you've summoned for me in the middle of the night?"
His bushy brows darted upward. Miriel thought that perhaps he was not used to a woman making such demands of a lord, especially within his own halls.
After a long pause, he finally spoke in a gravelly sounding voice. "It seems that Gunnulf is overcome with remorse."
It was now Miriel's brows that shot up. She waited, expecting Grimbeorn to elaborate further, but he did not.
"Why?" she asked.
"My men are good people. Honorable," he answered. "But sometimes, sometimes they can be - what's the word - greedy. I do not begrudge them from collecting their tolls on the road for it is only fair that they be compensated for keeping the road free from the enemy. I'm a simple man and have no need for treasures and the like," Grimbeorn explained. "Yet, two days ago, a company of men came out of the west. They claimed to be from Gondor."
Miriel felt her blood run cold.
"They told my men that one of their traitorous Captains had absconded with their lord's daughter and offered a mighty bounty for her return." He paused and cocked his head, studying her reaction.
The Slayer tried her best to hide her horror at hearing such news. She tried her best to remain poised. However, her body's reaction was beyond her control. The blood instantly drained from her face, leaving her paler looking than usual. Goose bumps sprung up all over her flesh despite the warmth of Grimbeorn's halls.
"Then lo and behold," he continued, "who should show up, not two days later, but you and your… husband. And from what Gunnulf says, you both bear a striking resemblance to the description given. In fact, they even had sketches of those they had been searching for." Grimbeorn paused. "What do you think of that?"
Miriel's mouth had gone dry, and she wasn't sure how to answer that question. The thought that her pursuers were nearby was more than unnerving; it was outright terrifying. She loathed any type of confrontation with those from Gondor, but, if push came to shove, she would fight them, she would even go as far as killing them. There was no way she was going back to Denethor. She'd rather die than suffer the abuse at the hands of her father.
Grimbeorn leaned forward in his seat. "I see fear in your eyes, Fíriel. What is it that you run from? What misfortune has brought one so young and fair to travel so far from your home?"
The Slayer shifted her eyes to the floor. She could no longer bear looking into the piercing eyes of Grimbeorn. He knows, said that voice in her mind. He knows who you really are. No matter what, deny it. Do not confirm his statements. Miriel felt as if all the air was being squeezed from her lungs. She tried hiding this fact from the man who continued to stare at her from beneath his bushy brows.
"A few from Gunnulf's party have already left. They are riding into Mirkwood as we speak. They will find the men of Gondor and will tell them that you and your husband are planning to travel west, west over the mountains."
Miriel's head shot up. She met Grimbeorn's gaze. She opened her mouth to speak, but thought better of it, and snapped her mouth shut. Confirm nothing! hissed her inner voice.
"Rejoice in knowing that Gunnulf's wife has grown rather fond of you in a short amount of time, Fíriel. It is by her prayer alone that caused her husband to see the light, as some say. She believes that whatever it was that drove you from your life of leisure into the wilds of Middle-earth must have been quite terrible." He rose from his chair. "I would say that you have at least a few days head start, if you depart soon. I would counsel you not to wait until daybreak. I will lend you a couple of my horses, but they will not go further than this side of the mountains. They are intelligent, and swift of foot, and will get you on your path by the speediest way possible."
Feeling overwhelmed by Grimbeorn's generosity, she found her voice, and asked, "Why would you do that?"
He studied her with those piercing brown eyes once again. "I may not have the wisdom of the elves or the magic of wizards, but I can plainly see that there is something about you, something… special, that I cannot put into words." Grimbeorn left it at that. He didn't dare reveal that he could perceive a certain doom awaited this young girl, and he hoped that with his help, perhaps she could avert it.
He escorted her out of his home and to the stables. He uttered something that Miriel couldn't decipher and then two horses came trotting out of the building. By this time, Gunnulf had joined them. Both she and her host climbed atop the steeds. They would be riding bareback, something that she had never done before. Miriel looked down at Grimbeorn and mumbled a quick thank you, before the horses took off on their own, heading toward the gate.
"I'm really sorry, Fíriel," said Gunnulf grimly. "I do not blame you for hating me. I would hate me too."
"I don't hate you," answered Miriel, her mind swimming with thoughts. She was dreading the thought of waking Bregolas and telling him of what had transpired. Somehow, she knew that he would blame her for this unfortunate event. It had been she, after all, who had insisted on going to the halls of Gunnulf in the first place.
By the time they had reached Gunnulf's home, Bregolas had already wakened, and, from the sound of it, the rest of the household too. The warrior was going off on one of his tirades, having just discovered minutes ago that Miriel was gone. Poor Eirá was trying her best to calm her guest, but to no avail.
"Shit!" Miriel grumbled, leaping from her horse and flying into the house.
Once inside, she first saw the twins huddled together, hiding behind the sofa, utterly terrified by Bregolas' rants.
"Shut it!" she bellowed, as she headed straight to the kitchen.
Bregolas popped out of the doorway, spewing a rapid succession of questions. "Where have you been? Are you alright? Where did you go? Why didn't you wake me?"
"Calm down," she demanded, angry that he had upset the children.
He stopped in front of her. His eyes inspected her for any apparent injuries.
"I'm fine," she said. "We must go. Now."
"Why? Why now?" he queried, still wroth over the fact that he didn't know what was going on.
"Just get our stuff together. There's no time to waste. I'll tell you on the way." She swept past him and into the kitchen where Eirá stood flanked by her two sons.
"I tried to explain, Fíriel, but he would not listen," said the distraught woman.
Miriel went up to Eirá and took her hand. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry that you and your children had to go through that." She motioned toward the front room with her head, indicating Bregolas' raucous behavior. She then smiled. "Thank you. Thank you for your hospitality and… your understanding."
"I apologize for Gunnulf. He… he got caught up - "
The Slayer raised her hand, stopping the woman mid-sentence. "It's alright. No harm, no foul. At least, not yet. We'll be alright." She gave Eirá's hand a reassuring squeeze and offered one last smile. She then turned, making her way back to the main room.
"Wait! Fíriel!" said the woman, rushing to the Slayer's side. She thrust a cloth sack into her chest. "This is for you. Some provisions, for the road. I only wish I could do more."
"I wish there was some way that I could repay you," said an appreciative Miriel, wrapping her arms around the bag. "You've done so much for us. And, I'm grateful."
Gunnulf had entered the room and tried to hand the Slayer back the brooch.
"Keep it," she said.
"I cannot. Not after what I've done," he said, still overwhelmed with guilt.
Miriel smiled. "I think that would look lovely on Eirá." From beyond the doorway, she saw Bregolas waiting. "Take care. All of you," she said, glancing at those gathered in the kitchen.
She and Bregolas then left the house. Once outside, she girded her sword around her waist and the two divided their gear between them. They then mounted Grimbeorn's horses and took off. Miriel shared her story on the way, telling the warrior everything that had happened from the moment Gunnulf had wakened her.
Bregolas became somber after all that he had heard. He couldn't help but think that his father's ghost had indeed helped him and Miriel on their journey. If they had not rested for those two days, they surely would've met up with their kinsmen on the Old Forest Road. However, Halthor had advised Bregolas to start a new life with Miriel in Lake-town. And after hearing that the company of Gondorian warriors had gone that way, he was not about to follow.
It seemed quite clear that their fate was to go west, west over the Misty Mountains as they had originally intended. But, unfortunately, the warrior found himself haunted by the words of Halthor, that he and Miriel would meet their demise if they went that way. He wondered if that was where they would meet the company from Gondor, for he knew, deep down, that being referred to as a traitor amongst his kin, that his punishment would most certainly be death.
For the first time since their departure from Minas Tirith, Bregolas felt a sense of hopelessness. He felt as if a shadow had crept over him, gnawing at his heart.
Miriel waited expectantly for the tongue-lashing from her companion, knowing that he would blame her for all that had transpired. She watched him as they rode. In the pale light of the moon, he looked grim, grimmer than usual. After much goading on her part, he finally spoke.
"At least we now have news of our kinsmen," he said with a heavy sigh. "I knew it would only be a matter of time before our paths crossed. And I cannot say that I am surprised that it will most likely take place on a main highway. That is why I wanted to avoid them at all cost. But, alas, there is no other way over the mountains than by the road that we must travel."
"Gunnulf mentioned there was a pass west of Gladden Fields," reminded the Slayer. "If you think we should go that way… " Her words trailed off. She dreaded the thought of going back.
"No. No, we cannot go back," he answered, solemn in tone. "We will have to take our chances on the old road. If luck is on our side, we will pass over the mountains and leave the road as soon as we may."
They fell quiet, neither speaking until they had reached the Anduin.
"This is not the same crossing that we were at before," observed Miriel, noticing an island of rock midstream.
"No, it is not," replied Bregolas, calling their horses to a halt. "Let's replenish our water supply while we can, for the time has come when we will no longer be traveling along the Great River."
"How far before we reach the next one, do you know?" asked the Slayer, as she slid off her steed.
"I can not say with certainty," he answered, shoving his opened container beneath the cool water. "There may be some spring heads at the western base of the mountains. There are none marked on the map that I can rightly recall."
That seemed a dismal thought. Water was essential to surviving in the wilderness. That much Miriel knew. She made a point to top off those water skins that were not yet empty, wanting to make sure they had plenty of water until they came across their next water supply.
They hurriedly finished their task, neither perturbed by their soaking wet feet. At this point, they were both eager to put as many miles behind them as they could.
Grimbeorn's steeds took them back to the Old Forest Road at the feet of the Misty Mountains. That's where the horses stopped, refusing to go any further.
The couple then set off on foot, beginning their trek up the winding road of the mountains. The walk was arduous, and after only a mile or so, Miriel could feel a burning sensation in the back of her calves. Apparently, those muscles hadn't been used to that extreme in quite a while, and it took some time before the burning turned into a dull ache.
When the sun rose in the east, they could actually see how much progress they had made during the night. They were nearly three quarters of the way to the top and the view of the landscape below was spectacular.
They took a short break, sitting against the rock face of the wall. There, they looked into the bag that Eirá had provided. They were quite delighted by the vittles, and helped themselves to one honey cake apiece. Bregolas said that once they reached the other side of the Misty Mountains, they would celebrate their triumph with the mini-feast that their hosts' had provided.
The higher they climbed, the cooler the air became. Throughout the night, they had contended with a crisp breeze out of the east, but as the sun climbed over the horizon, the heat soon became brutal, even at midmorning. Miriel began to sweat profusely, and as the cool air whooshed against her damp skin, she experienced sudden chills that caused her body to tremble and her teeth to chatter. She attempted to combat those chills by wearing her winter cloak. However, that caused her to sweat even more, and worsen her condition. By the time they began to make their descent on the western side of the Misty Mountains, the Slayer had already begun to run a low fever.
Bregolas' concern grew. The last thing they needed was for Miriel to get sick, especially on the High Pass. It would only be a matter of time before the Gondorian warriors returned and there was still the lingering threat of Orcs and wargs that called that mountain chain home. The Men of the Vales mostly defended the eastern slope, though they also kept the High Pass free from the enemy. On occasion, Bregolas had spotted men, concealed in grey cloaks, hidden amidst the rocky ridges along the mountain pass.
As soon as Miriel began to lag behind, suffering from fatigue, Bregolas called for another break. He insisted that Miriel take some tonic to help bring down her fever. If he hadn't been so overburdened with supplies, he would've happily carried her for a ways. Once they neared the bottom of the mount, the Slayer's condition had vastly improved and her fever had broken. The day was merely hot and they no longer had to deal with the cool mountain breezes.
The warrior was eager to leave the road, but in doing so, he and Miriel would have to clamber atop steep shoulders of rock, some that looked nearly impassible from his point of view. He needed time to think about which path they should travel upon, and which risk outweighed the other. Staying on the road would make their trek much easier, but the threat of being confronted by the enemy would be greater. To transverse the mountain slopes would be perilous, but would also lessen their chances of encountering anyone.
The couple took another break so that Bregolas could ponder his decision. As Miriel sat atop a boulder on the south shoulder of the road, he climbed atop a crag on the opposite side. He looked to the north, plotting a potential course in his mind.
A tired Miriel watched the warrior intently. Since leaving Minas Tirith, she had learned a great deal more about Bregolas and his thinking process. She could see that he wanted to leave the road, to travel upon a dangerous and unfamiliar path that she was none too eager to take. While she was well aware of the looming threat of their kinsmen, she didn't like the idea of climbing over rocks for miles and miles. From above, she had noticed many deep ravines, and now that they were on the shoulder of the mount, she could see that much of the rock was smooth and that it would be nearly impossible to get a decent foothold.
"I know what you're thinking," she finally said.
A smile came to the warrior's face. He slowly turned, facing his beloved. "Is that so? And just what is it that I am thinking?" he queried, his smile never wavering.
"You want us to leave the road and to cross the rocks. I do not want to do that," she replied. "Did you not notice the deep ravines from above? Steep drops that come out of nowhere? We would be forced to travel extra miles unnecessarily, that is, if one of us does not fall, breaking a leg, or worse, our necks."
The smile quickly faded from Bregolas' face. Miriel's argument seemed sound.
She stood. "Let us stay on the road until we reach that forest," she continued, pointing to the woods near the bottom of the slope. "Then we can leave the road and use the trees as cover."
Shielding his eyes from the sinking sun, Bregolas shifted his gaze to the west. "But we will not reach the woods until tomorrow." He looked back at Miriel. "I loathe the thought of having to sleep so close to the road. This area is home to the enemy."
"We'll sleep in shifts, as we have been doing," she answered. "I do not want to leave the road. It's too dangerous."
Bregolas let out a heavy sigh. "Danger lurks everywhere. There is no escaping it." He leapt off the crag, landing back onto the roadway. While he wasn't fond of the idea, he relented. "If that is your wish, then so be it," he answered rather grimly. "Let us go on a while longer and if we should come upon a suitable place to sleep, then we'll stop for the night."
"Sounds good to me," said Miriel in agreement. She slid off the boulder, and once again, she and the warrior set off down the road.
They had gone on a few more miles when they came upon a natural shelf in the mountain's shoulder. It looked to be about one hundred feet long by fifty feet wide. Scattered thickets and tufts of grass grew out of crevices in the stone ledge, offering some cover from the roadway. The couple inspected the shelf and found a few old ragged cloth bags.
"It looks like others have camped here," remarked the Slayer, picking up one of the tattered sacks and flinging it to the side.
"Probably dwarves," answered Bregolas, his eyes scanning the area.
"I wonder if we'll come across any, dwarves, I mean," said Miriel. She had never seen a dwarf. As far as she knew, none lived in the southlands.
"The longer we stay on this road, the greater the chance is that we'll run into someone, including a dwarf," replied Bregolas.
"So, what do you think? Will this do?" asked Miriel, eager to call it a day.
The warrior nodded. "I don't think we'll find any better place than this."
"Good! I'm famished!" announced Miriel, dropping her bags to the ground.
Though some vegetation sprung from the cracks, the surface was rough and uneven, and very uncomfortable. They lay out their bedrolls and blankets in an attempt to cushion the rock floor. Beneath a beautiful pinkish-purple sky, they sat, facing west, watching the sun set as they dined on the fare provided by Eirá. The bag that their host had given them contained a couple of wheels of cheese, a loaf of bread, honey cakes and several apples. She had also packed a silver flask containing liquor, not wine, as Miriel had hoped.
"Ah," sounded Bregolas after taking a swig. "This will put hair on your chest," he chuckled, offering the container to the Slayer.
She frowned. "And why on earth would I want hair on my chest?" she grumbled, pushing the flask away.
"Oh, come on, Miriel. Have a taste," the warrior urged, shoving the flask beneath her nose.
"It smells foul," she said, wrinkling her nose in disgust as she sniffed the lip of the container. She had never drunk spirits before. She could never understand why anyone would ingest something that smelled so horrid.
"It'll rid your body of any lingering sickness," he added, trying to coerce her into taking a drink. "Look at it as medicine."
The Slayer gave in, and took a sip of the bitter-tasting liquor. Immediately, she felt the warmth trailing down her throat and into her stomach. She shuddered. "It tastes as foul as it smells," she said, her face twisted in revulsion.
Bregolas laughed. "Tastes as fine as any spirits that I have ever had," he said, taking another swallow.
After a few minutes, when the bitter aftertaste subsided, Miriel took another gulp. Her companion seemed to be enjoying the beverage so much that she thought she would too, once she had gotten used to the taste. The more they drank, the more relaxed they became. Only a few sips later, the Slayer found herself feeling lightheaded and giddy.
"I'm hot," Miriel declared, tugging at the collar of her shirt of mail with one hand, while using the other to fan herself.
An impish glint came to Bregolas' eyes. "Then by all means take that off," he said, motioning to her mail.
Miriel pulled off the shirt of metal rings and laid it to the side.
"Better?"
"Not really. It's the air. It feels so hot," she answered.
"Perhaps you might need to take this off," he suggested, pulling on the sleeve of her top.
"I don't think so," she replied, quickly changing the subject. She turned the topic of conversation to Gunnulf and Eirá and the simple life they had. She spoke of how she could picture her and Bregolas having something similar. "Although I'm not fond of wooden houses," she said, after taking another sip of spirits. "Ours would need to be made of stone. And two-stories… " Miriel prattled on about all the features she would like in their house.
Bregolas was ecstatic to hear her speak of such things, even though he knew that the alcohol was responsible for the loosening of her tongue. He didn't care. She was now sounding more like a wife, and that was something that he so desperately wanted. They continued to drink and talk of their future together well after nightfall. By the time the moon had climbed into the sky, outshining the stars of Elbereth, both were drunk, and feeling a bit amorous.
Bregolas had made the first move by kissing Miriel, and to his delight, she kissed him back. And it wasn't one of those innocent pecks on the lips kind of kisses, but a deep, passionate one that made the warrior's heart race and his loins ache with desire. Never before had Miriel been so eager, so willing to be with him, intimately. The warrior found that to be a pleasant change and it gave him high hopes for their future together.
Though liquor fueled her passions, at that moment, everything felt right to Miriel. She and Bregolas felt right. If she were to accept her role as his wife, then surely she would have to accept the wifely duties that went along with that position. And right now, she felt a hungering need to be with Bregolas, to be with him in a wifely way.
Before long, they were pulling off each other's clothing, heedless to anything but their own passions.
"Love me, Bregolas," uttered the Slayer in a husky voice, as the warrior planted ravenous kisses down her neck. With her arms loosely wrapped around his naked shoulders, Bregolas eased her down onto their bedding, eager to become as one with his beloved Miriel.
Their grunting and groaning broke the otherwise stillness of the night. The couple's noisy lovemaking carried on the wind. For the first time in Miriel's life, she experienced the pleasures of sex. She cried out in ecstasy when that wave of bliss crashed over her body, making her tingle from head to toe. Bregolas rolled off her and onto his back, panting. The Slayer, somewhat surprised by the entire experience, tried to catch her breath too. She stared up at the night sky, her head still spinning, watching as a cloud drifted across the moon, dimming the orb's silver light.
A few pebbles then came bouncing down from above, causing the young woman to dart upright, into a sitting position.
Though still winded, she gasped, "Did you hear that?" as her eyes scanned the mount above them, wondering what could have caused the small stones to come rolling down the rocky shoulder.
"It's the wind," replied Bregolas, too content to be concerned.
"That was no wind," hissed an anxious Miriel, suddenly feeling a sense of vulnerability at being nude, out in the wilds of Middle-earth. She grabbed her shirt, and slid it on, not caring that it was inside out.
"Then it was some animal," rationalized the warrior.
The Slayer was aghast at her companion's indifference. "What if it's something else? Or someone else?" she whispered, pulling her mail over her shirt. "Have you already forgotten what Gunnulf said about Orcs and wargs being in this area?" she added uneasily, reaching for her breeches.
"You're being paranoid, Miriel," sighed Bregolas. He locked his eyes on her. Even in the dimness, he could see her wide eyes nervously glancing at the roadway that twisted above, as she wriggled into her pants. He smiled. With a chuckle, he added, "I like it better when you're undressed." He playfully pawed at her breeches, trying to prevent her from pulling them all the way up.
"Stop it!" she growled in a low voice, slapping his hand aside. "Get dressed."
"Come on, Miriel. If you play your cards right, we might do it again," he said suggestively, running his finger along the bare skin of her hip.
She swiftly pulled her breeches over her bottom, forcing his finger to bend painfully backwards.
"OW! What did you do that for?"
"Get dressed," she ordered, tossing his breeches onto his bare chest. "The hair on the nape of my neck is standing on end," she continued. "And that tells me that something's not right."
Bregolas reluctantly pulled his pants from his chest. Sitting up, he began to pull them on. "It's just the cool air against you damp skin is all," he explained. "You did work up a bit of a sweat after all."
Miriel's uneasiness instantly sobered her up. She was puzzled that the same couldn't be said for her companion. He seemed to still be under the influence of the spirits they had drunk. No matter what, she couldn't shake the ominous feeling that crept over her.
Before Bregolas even buttoned his trousers, she had already put on her stockings and boots. She tossed the warrior his shirt, as she scrambled to her feet. The moment she stood, the effects of the alcohol returned full force, making her lightheaded and unsteady on her feet. She nearly stumbled, but grabbed hold of Bregolas' shoulder to steady her balance.
"You alright?" he asked.
"Yes. A little lightheaded is all," she answered, eager to scope out the area above them to see what could have caused the pebbles to come rolling down the face of the mountain.
As Bregolas pulled his shirt over his head, the Slayer spun around. The moment she turned, an arrow came whizzing from the shadows above, striking her in the gut. The force was strong enough that the tip of the flying projectile lodged itself between the rings of her shirt, penetrating her flesh, but not too deeply.
She yelped, shocked to see the feathered missile sticking from her stomach.
"Miriel!" exclaimed a horrified Bregolas upon seeing the dart protruding from her belly.
"Orcs!" she cried out, grabbing hold of the shaft and pulling it from her gut.
Everything happened so fast that there was barely any time to react.
Not a split second later, a goblin leapt upon Miriel from above, clotheslining her. The momentum of the Orc sent her flying backwards several feet. Her head careened against the floor of the stone shelf, leaving her momentarily dazed. Her throat throbbed painfully, as she struggled for air. The goblin swiftly crawled atop her, sitting astride her body, and forcing her arms down over her head. She could smell the rancidness of its breath against her skin.
"Miriel!" Bregolas screamed, reaching for his sword and shield.
Gradually, Miriel's eyes came into focus, and she could see the sharp teeth of her captor looming over her as it let out a harsh sounding howl of victory. Still struggling for breath, she jerked her body from side to side, trying to throw off the beast that had managed to wrap its legs tightly around her midsection.
The goblin cackled, taunting her at her feeble attempt to escape. "Not much of a Slayer, are you now?" he spat in a deep, gravelly sort of voice.
Miriel continued to squirm beneath him, desperate to catch her breath. The extra weight on her wasn't helping any.
Suddenly, the creature squawked. Its back arched, as the tip of Bregolas' sword ripped through its body. The goblin released his grip and Miriel was able to scramble to her feet.
"Take this!" ordered Bregolas, handing over his shield as a swarm of Orcs descended onto the shelf.
She grabbed it, her eyes frantically searching for her sword. The goblins were too many. There was no way she could retrieve her weapon. Bregolas, standing protectively in front of his beloved, began to engage the enemy. A weaponless Miriel could only use the shield to ward off any blows or arrows sent her way.
Buffy's voice swiftly came rushing into her mind. "Your body is a weapon, Miriel!"
Using only her shield, the Slayer started to bulldoze those Orcs nearest Bregolas. She feared for the warrior, who was forced to battle the enemy in only his shirt and breeches. He had no protection whatsoever. No boots. No mail. And now, no shield.
Miriel did the best she could, throwing punches and trying to knock the goblins off their feet. She did feel an all too brief moment of triumph when she managed to wrestle an axe from one of the beasts' hands. Now, she was able to fight back. Wanting to maximize her effectiveness, she threw aside the shield and wielded her weapon with both hands, hewing every lanky black creature within striking distance.
There was such a ruckus, such confusion. Before Miriel knew it, the goblins had managed to separate her from Bregolas. She and the warrior were no longer fighting side by side. The despicable creatures pressed on, forcing her backwards. She was so engrossed in battle that when she stepped backwards and her foot landed on nothing but air, she could only scream as she tumbled backwards over the edge of the shelf. She let go of the axe, wrapping her arms protectively around her head before she inevitably collided with the rocky face of the mount. She landed hard on her side, the impact knocking the wind out of her. Miriel's body continued to bounce down the slope, hitting ridges and protuberances of stone until she finally came to a stop. She groaned in pain, thinking that she must have surely broken something.
From above, an Orc trained his bow on her. He pulled back on the string, prepared to make his kill, when a cloaked arm stopped him, thrusting the weapon to the side. "Leave her," hissed the voice.
A distraught Bregolas, who remained on the shelf, couldn't tell if the cloaked figure was male or female.
"Our task is done," the cloaked figure added, turning toward Bregolas who lay on the shelf, his body pierced in many places.
"But the man is still alive," protested the goblin, looking at Bregolas as he gasped for air.
"Not for long," replied the figure coolly. The villain shifted its gaze back to Miriel, who remained some distance below, writhing in pain on the slope. "The games are about to begin," added the cloaked figure with a chortle, before ordering the Orcs to withdraw. The beastly creatures then stamped on the path in which they had come. The sound of their cruel voices fading the further they climbed.
Miriel hurt all over. She slithered across the rocky ridges of the mount toward the road, which appeared to be the only way she could reach the shelf above. Once she made it to the road, she limped speedily up the winding path, calling Bregolas' name in a hoarse voice.
Her anxiety grew when Bregolas didn't respond to her calls. When she tried shouting his name even louder, her voice croaked and broke, making her sound more like a wounded animal than a woman in distress. To add to her misery, it seemed like it was taking forever for her to reach the shelf. The pain in her body was excruciating.
When, at last, she reached the ridge, she saw Bregolas sitting, hunched over, surrounded by dozens of dead Orcs.
"Bregolas!" she cried, hobbling toward him as fast as she could.
The warrior slowly lifted his head, and looked at Miriel. His hands clutched his stomach. She stomped over the corpses that littered the area, dropping to her knees in front of her companion. Her eyes hurriedly swept over him. Tears immediately formed in her eyes. He was injured. Badly.
"Oh, Bregolas!" she wept. "You're hurt."
"This is the end of the line for me, Miriel," he sputtered.
"NO!" she cried, prying his hands from his stomach so she could more closely inspect his wound. The warrior fell back. Miriel cradled his head before it could crack against the stone floor. She then pulled him onto her lap. "Let me see," she said, pulling up his shirt. She gasped at the sight. His stomach had been sliced in a couple of places. Blood poured from the gashes. She quickly pulled his shirt down, trying to use it to stanch the flow. "I can fix this," she said, trying to sound hopeful, her eyes searching for their bags amidst the carnage. "Remember, you said I could be a healer."
Bregolas fixed his bleary eyes on the Slayer. "My wounds are fatal, Miriel. There is naught you can do."
"Don't say that," she argued, tears streaming down her face, as she clutched his body tightly in her arms. "Don't say that," she repeated in a fainter tone, now feeling his warm blood soaking through her own garments.
The warrior reached up, and touched her cheek. Miriel clasped her hand over his. She could feel him trembling all over.
"I'm sorry I failed you," he uttered softly.
"You didn't fail me."
"Your hair, Miriel. Get it for me."
"What?" she asked between sobs.
"It's in my bag. Your braid that… that I cut off."
Miriel remained frozen, shocked by his bizarre request.
"Get it for me. Please," he said, now coughing up blood.
The Slayer felt traumatized. She knew he was dying. She gently lay him down and scrambled to their bags several feet away. Her mind was spinning. Her hands shook so much that she could hardly control them. She bawled as she dug through his bag, finding the braid that he had cut from her head at the start of their journey.
She rushed back to Bregolas, pulling him back into her lap. She placed the long braid into his hand. His bloody fingers closed around it. He slowly brought his clenched fist to his chest, spluttering out the blood that was rapidly filling his lungs.
"Don't leave me, Bregolas," she cried in despair. "I can't do this without you."
Struggling to speak, his glassy eyes looked back up at his beloved. "I now see my folly. I've been deceived."
Miriel was confused. His words didn't make sense. "Deceived? By whom? What are you talking about?"
"Beware of… wolves in sheeps' clothing," he finally said. "Beware of Hal - " Bregolas stopped speaking mid-sentence. His glassy grey eyes stared blankly at the sky. He had died.
"Bregolas!" Miriel cried, trying to shake him back to life. "Bregolas!" Tears poured down her face, as she clung to Bregolas' lifeless body, utterly terrified at having lost her trusted companion…