They were talking and laughing companionably, and they pulled Miriel and Meren into the circle with smiles of congratulation. There were introductions then, not the formal naming of the morning but truer acknowledgement, now the tension was gone and all knew they would indeed be companions in training, and longer. She had heard it from her father, and seen it too, as no doubt had the others: Your brothers in training are brothers for life.

And perhaps in death, she found herself thinking, with strange detachment as she looked around at the joyful faces. Hers mirrored them, she knew, for the joy was in her heart too, and such was the instinct of one in a group. But still – Which of us will die together? For each other perhaps, but death is still death. Perhaps they will tell of it in years afterward, but likely not. And she thought of singing, of songs sung in memory, and in warding. 'And the wind will long recount the story, reverence and glory when I go.' For the wind sees all, and sometimes it is all that sees. Will it be the only witness for me? And then, 'If I should fall in the cold and darkness…' Looking around the circle, Will one of them bring home my star?

Something must have showed on her face, or perhaps it was the stillness of her body as her thoughts turned inward, for Meren said softly, beneath the chatter, "What's wrong, Mir?"

She shook herself, turned to him and smiled. "Nothing. Just thinking."

"Ah, there you go. Shouldn't do that. Leastways, I try not to, when I can avoid it."

"I know," she said drily, and he grinned, and it was gone. At least for this time.

And then they all became suddenly quiet, for Faelon had broken away from the knot of judges and walked slowly towards them. Deliberately slowly, she thought, and she almost smiled but pushed it back. They all turned to face him, shuffling closer together by instinct, and she felt comforted by their closeness.

Faelon came to a halt, looked over them all with expressionless eyes. Then he nodded, once, sharply. "Come with me."

They came. They followed him without speaking, glances passed between them but no words, until they stood again before the judges, and before the brannon taid. They straightened on instinct, and went still as his glance roved over them, but then he smiled a little.

"Master of Trainees," he called, clear and formal, loud enough to carry over the suddenly quiet crowd. "What do you bring me?"

"Those who would join the Company."

"And shall they join?"

"Time will tell. They have passed the first test. There will be many others. If they pass them all, they will join us."

"May it be so."

They were the words of ritual, and a cheer rolled over the crowd, and even Faelon smiled a little. "Enjoy yourselves tonight," he said, carrying beneath the noise and holding them, even as they itched to break away and find their families. "You will all sleep in the trainee barracks. Bring your gear with you." He grinned, both laughing and vaguely menacing. "You're mine now. And morning will come early."

Andreth was nearly jumping with excitement, and Miriel heard her voice even before she found them, in the midst of the joyfully milling crowd.

"There she is! There, there! Miriel!"

They stood together, and though there were tears on Mirloth's cheeks, she smiled, and Miriel embraced her first. "Mother," she said quietly.

Mirloth pulled back to look in her face. "I am happy for you, child." But there was no joy in her eyes.

There was no need of words for her father. Sirhael laid heavy hands on both her shoulders, gripped so hard she nearly winced, nodded once sharply, yet she felt his big body trembling when he embraced her.

Darya stood to the side, her face closed. She too laid a hand on Miriel's shoulder, only one, light and slender, and she said quietly, "It is what you wanted." This was not the time nor place for a fight, so Miriel only nodded, and jerked her chin a little up in defiance. It is. And I have taken it.

Darya's face tightened, and she withdrew her hand and turned away.

The Midsummer feast was raucous, and there were fires and music and dancing, and all the doors of the Hall were open, food carried on great platters to trestle tables set up outside. Miriel ate until she could eat no more, then she danced, in circles and lines, with Meren and with Lain, and she took the hand of Hannas, the shy girl from Gaerfarin who was such a rider, and brought her into a group of women for the Maidens' Dance. Hannas smiled a little, and she danced well, but Miriel got no more from her than that. Yet when the dance was done, she said softly, all in a rush as Miriel was turning away, "Will you show me the barracks? I—I've not been there yet."

Miriel smiled, though her heart sank a little, for she had glimpsed Meren's brother Barahir through the crowd, and he was talking to Meren with no other woman near, and the next dance called for a partner. But she gestured to Hannas, led her out from the crowd and up through the village, past the practice ground and the Ranger barracks, to the smaller building behind that was for the trainees.

Though the sun had set, the long midsummer twilight was still bright enough to see when she pushed open the door. It was a single room, plank-floored with bunks in tiers of three along the walls. Most had been claimed, she could see by the gear piled on them, the lower more desirable for ease of access and the upper for warmth in winter, and all that was left for Hannas was the middle. She took the far end on the right, closest to the large stone fireplace, and Miriel nodded slightly. Hannas caught it, asked the question with her eyes. Miriel had half a mind not to answer, at least not until this strange silent girl would speak, but she relented. "Good choice. Mine's the one above." She gestured with her chin. "This end's warmest; we'll be glad of it when the snow comes."

Hannas smiled a little, and Miriel sat down at the long heavy table that took up the center of the room, while Hannas set her gear on the bunk.

"That box is yours." Miriel gestured to the middle of the three open-topped wooden crates beneath the lower bunk. "Left is the bottom, right is the top. And you get one peg to hang your cloak, and another for your belt." There were rows of pegs on either side of the door. "And that's it." She smiled wryly. "It's more than we'll get in the Wild, they say. And I guess we'll have to get used to sleeping with the boys."

Hannas actually laughed a little then, and the warmth it brought to her face made Miriel feel more kindly towards her. "My brother is a Ranger. He told me."

"Well, at least there are two of us. Some years there's only one, or none at all."

Hannas nodded. "He told me that, too." A shy, sidelong glance. "I was glad to see you."

It was Miriel's turn to chuckle. "I know most of the boys, so I'd have been all right, I think. But suppose I'm glad you're here too."

"You suppose?"

And now Miriel laughed, and relief made it louder and longer than simple amusement would warrant. "Well, you made all the rest of us look like children with your riding."

Hannas ducked her head, and when she raised it even in the dim light Miriel could see her flush. "I—I do love it. My father raises horses, in the hills north of Gaerfarin. He says I learned to ride before I could walk, though I don't think it's true."

Miriel grinned. "Well, my father says my first word was 'bow,' and I don't believe that either."

Hannas smiled, then asked tentatively, "What did your father and mother think? About you being a Ranger, I mean? I saw you with them, afterward, and your sisters…they must be your sisters, yes? You look so much alike."

"We do not." It was immediate, instinctive, and she surprised herself with its vehemence. "I suppose a little, maybe," she relented after a moment. "But Darya's beautiful, and Andy's pretty, and I'm…just me."

She had laughed along when others said it, for it was a thing often said in the village, where everyone knew everyone else, and the most engaging topic for gossip was the prospects of the young women. Such a lovely wife, they had said, when Sirhael married Mirloth, and when three daughters came, one after the other, it was sure they would be beautiful when their time came. Darya was indeed reckoned so, but she was twenty and had not yet married, had shown no interest whatever in marriage, and she had apprenticed herself to the healers alongside her mother. Little Andreth was cheerful and high-spirited and pretty enough, might even grow to be beautiful in her own time. But, the old women lamented with a half-mournful, half-mocking shake of the head, it skipped the middle one; that poor girl looks more like her father than her mother.

Miriel knew it was true, and mostly she took pride in it, for it made her tall and strong. And if the boys did not look sidelong at her and whistle to her and ask her to dance as they did other girls, she didn't mind, or told herself so. I've a better friend than any of them in Meren, and what does a Ranger care for such things? And she convinced herself, most of the time.

Hannas knew none of this, of course, but after a moment she stepped away from the box where she had been stowing her things, came over and sat by Miriel and took her hand. "You are you. And I'm glad you're here. Now come on, I've done. Let's go get some more food."

They found Meren by the food table; Barahir was nowhere to be seen, and for once Miriel was grateful for it. She introduced Hannas, or what little she now knew of her, and Hannas told them more, and Meren told her of himself, and enough of Miriel that they were all soon laughing, and then of course Miriel gave it back, and they laughed until tears rolled down their cheeks.

Hannas went to join in the dance then, but Miriel stood on the edge of the firelight talking to Meren, still unsettled enough that she had no wish to dance. But she started a little at a sharp, familiar voice behind her.

"Miriel."

She turned without thinking, the habit of obedience to that voice ingrained in her. Silevren gestured her over.

"You did well today."

She bowed her head. "Thank you, mistress."

"It means nothing, you know."

Miriel frowned. "But…I'm a trainee now."

"Yes. You have permission to try to become a Ranger. And you'll earn your star, I have no doubt. But the true test is not today." Her eyes narrowed. "Nor a year from now, nor on the day that you become my sister. Your true test will come in the wild. You will not know it's coming, and it will not be fair, and if you fail it, you will die. And it will not be fought with your bow. It will be fought with your sword, or with your empty hands. And I am afraid, Miriel, deathly afraid, that you will fail."

"Why – "

"You aren't strong enough."

"But…I'm better than most of the boys –"

"You win because you're quick, and clever." Irritation was plain in Silevren's voice, and the words sounded more like criticism than praise. "But the day will come – it may not be your first fight, or your fifth or your tenth – it may not be your first year in the wild, or your second or your third. But one day, inside five years, I have no doubt, you will meet a foe strong enough that all your speed and all your cunning will mean nothing, and on that day you will die." She broke off suddenly, closed her eyes for a moment. When she spoke again, it was in a softer voice. "What I say now, I say not to burnish your pride, but to show you your duty." She sighed. "Mir, I've been at this game a long time. You're the best natural archer I've ever seen. Your body is lightning fast, but more important, so is your mind. You keep your head in a fight, losing or winning. Nothing rattles you. And the others – they listen when you speak, and they do what you say. I've seen it. They know, even if they would never say it."

"Know what?"

Silevren fixed her with a piercing gaze, her eyes dark in the firelight. "They know you could be a captain someday, if you live. They know you could be one of the leaders of our people. You told me you wanted to be a Ranger to serve the North, to protect those who cannot protect themselves. I also swore an oath, to use every weapon that came to my hand to defend my people. You are one of the best weapons I've seen in a long time."

She fell silent then. In the quiet of the summer night, Miriel could hear the frogs in the pond beyond the wall, and the crickets in the grass, and the laughter of the dancers by the fire. But it was to her own heart that she listened.

At last, she said quietly, "What must I do?"

"Let me train you. You must work harder than the boys, if you want to be as strong as they are. I will make you strong. Strong enough so that when you meet that man, you will kill him. And the next. And the next, and the next, and so on through the years, until the day the Chieftain calls your name before the Gathering. I want to see him pin the captain's eagle on your star."

Miriel was silent, gazing into the night, and her eyes saw not the moonlit village but the wild beyond, and the stars that wheeled above the mountains.

"I'll do it." At last, she turned and looked the older woman in the face. "I'll do it."

Silevren nodded, her face grave but a hint of a smile at the corners of her eyes. "I thought you would." Her voice sharpened. "Meet me at the practice ground, after the evening meal tomorrow. And don't eat too much."

She slept uneasily that night, the sounds of unfamiliar others around her in the dark, and restless eagerness in her chest. Tomorrow, the thought whenever she woke, it begins tomorrow, and anticipation surged through her, and it was long before she could sleep again.


Note: Song lyrics 'And the wind will long recount the story, reverence and glory when I go' are from 'When I Go' by Dave Carter and Tracy Grammer. I haven't been able to find a clear statement that the lyrics were inspired by Tolkien's work, but I can't imagine that they weren't. Just too many parallels in language and imagery to be a coincidence. Look it up, you'll be glad you did :)