A/N: Thank you SO much for staying with me (and Miriel) this far. I started writing entirely for my own personal satisfaction, and it took a LONG time before I was willing to show it to anybody, let alone post it publicly. I am so gratified and grateful - and, frankly, surprised - that other people actually want to read it! As your reward for slogging through all those months of training with Miriel and crew, this chapter is where (in my opinion) the story starts to get good. Please let me know what you think!


The Ranger barracks in the center of the hamlet of Ladrengil was dim and shadowed, but she could tell as soon as they entered that it was empty. No sounds of breathing, no gear on the floor, no cloaks hanging on the pegs by the door.

The boy on the gate had pointed the way but then returned to his post, and they had not thought to ask him if others had arrived. They stood for a moment in the gloom, and then she felt Calen's arm around her shoulder. "We made it," he said softly, with something like wonder.

She nodded, aware but too tired to feel joy, leaned against him for a moment then stepped away and staggered towards a bunk. "Bottom one by the fireplace is mine."

He croaked a laugh. "Fair enough. As you pointed out, I'm taller. Suppose I can take the top."

"Do you want to eat?"

"Sleep first." He dropped his pack to the floor with a thump, sat on a bench and pulled ineffectually as his boots.

"Let me."

Silence, and he looked at her without expression, but at last he nodded. "I'll do you after."

"Oh you will, will you?" she grunted, as she tugged at the stiff, mud caked leather.

"You know what I mean." He tried at exasperation, but even in the dim light, she could have sworn he flushed.


She woke to wind. It banged the door open, and she started, hit her head on the bunk above and groaned. A figure outlined briefly in the brightness of the door before it shut behind him, and even squinting with an aching head she recognized Meren.

"Wind didn't blow you away?" Her voice was strange to her own ears, harsh and hoarse, but he gasped a strained chuckle.

"Tried to. Morfind grabbed hold of my foot."

"Need to clean your boots. And socks." Morfind's voice, from the shadows by the door. "Shall I take them to my mother?"

"Screw you and your mother," grunted Meren.

"I'm going to get dry clothes and a soft bed, and you're stuck here with these two. So who's screwed now?"

"Mir won't do it. I could try Calen…."

The bunk above her creaked. "I'm sleeping. And dreaming of much prettier girls than you."

She laughed, and Morfind whistled. "Shut down," he cackled. "Better luck next time, friend." And then, all mirth gone, "You two make it all right?"

"Got here at dawn. Faelon found us last night. Bastard. But aside from that, nothing to report. You?"

"Belegon got us in the woods. He must know all the same paths I do." Morfind shook his head ruefully. "Thought I was being clever."

Calen chuckled. "They do this every year. Must know every hollow and hiding place in the whole country."

Meren raised his eyebrows, grinning. "I thought you were asleep. Girl of your dreams reject you?"

"Not hardly." The bunk creaked again as he lay back down, sighing loudly.

Despite her aching muscles and pounding head, Miriel found herself surprisingly alert, and hungry. "Local boy, how does food work around here?"

"Well, ya eat it, and then ya shit out what's left," drawled Morfind, in his best country accent. "Work different in that big town away yonder?"

"Yeah. Smartasses like you don't get any."

"Food or girls?"

"Both."

"Damn, that's harsh."

"Builds character." And then they all laughed, as the wind hissed in the eaves and rustled the cold ash in the fireplace. She shivered a little, swung her legs out of bed, grunted as she tugged on her boots. Morfind reached down a hand to help her up.

"There's a hall, like in Elenost," he said, in a conciliatory tone. "Smaller, but the food's hot, and there's plenty of it. Come on, I'll show you."

"Meren?" she asked, to the shape that had settled itself onto a bunk on the other side of the room.

"Later," he groaned, and fell back onto the mattress. She picked up her cloak from where she had dropped it on the floor, shook it out and wrapped it around herself, and followed Morfind out into the day.

It was not actually bright, though the gloomy, fireless barracks made it seem so. Heavy clouds had returned, promising more rain, and the cold, damp wind tugged at her clothes. Sodden leaves scudded along the ground; the village seemed deserted.

"Where is everyone?" She raised her voice to be heard above the wind.

He glanced at her and smiled. "You'll see."

And in the rush of warmth and talk and laughter that enveloped them when they entered the hall, she had her answer.

She returned to the barracks a long while later, full and sleepy and smiling. Heavy breathing told her Meren and Calen were still asleep. It was distinctly cold in the bare room, but there was kindling and wood laid ready, and after a few fumbling tries with hands that still shook, she got a blaze going. She sat before it for a little while, blinking slowly and thinking nothing, until she found her eyes falling closed. She shook herself, got up with a groan, put two more logs on the fire, and crawled back into her bunk and slept.

The rest of them trickled in over the course of the afternoon and evening, windblown and weary and shivering. The barracks slowly filled, the smell of wet wool and dirty socks mingling with smoke from the fireplace, and a continual low hum of movement and talk. Hannas and Gallach were the last to arrive, he limping heavily and she carrying both their packs, her own on her back and his slung across her chest. He hissed with pain as Miriel drew off his boot and sock, and winced as she probed the bruised and swollen ankle. After a few moments, she looked up with what she hoped was an encouraging smile. "Sprained, but not too badly. I'll wrap it, and then you should be fine. As long as you don't do anything stupid."

A strained chuckle. "Who, me?"

"Yes, you," Hannas cut in, rather crossly. She turned to Miriel. "He decided it would be a good idea to jump from rock to rock across a stream, rather than stepping like a normal person. Showing off, is what I think." The last words slow and deliberate, loud enough for everyone to hear, and Gallach flushed and muttered something inaudible. Hannas flicked her eyes to Miriel, and a tiny smile twitched the corners of her lips.

Darkness came down early under heavy clouds. The wind rose to a howl, and even the solid-built barracks began to shake in the gusts. The fireplace smoked, and cold drafts whispered through cracks and corners. They rested, ate, talked quietly, but all with increasing unease, for their number was not yet complete. Tarag was not there. He had gone alone; Lain and Baranor had come across him on the morning of the second day, in the woods to the east of the road, but he had refused their offer of company and slipped back into the woods on his own.

"More than halfway, at least," Miriel said quietly to Meren, who sat beside her on a bench by the fire. At his questioning expression, she added, "In case we have to go find him."

Meren frowned. "Should we?"

"If he's not here by morning."

"The Master said he wouldn't start looking until evening."

"That's why we'll start at first light."

"Little shit."

She nodded, then smiled wryly. "Just you watch. It'll be snowing in the morning."

And it was. The wind had died, and flat gray light revealed a rime of ice crusted over village and countryside. Tarag had not arrived in the night, nor had the Master.

They ate together at a table in the hall, early enough that there were only a few others there.

"Well, what should we do?" Baranor asked the question, but they were all thinking it.

Silence for a moment, uncomfortable shuffling, and then Lain said quietly, "We should go look for him."

"What about the Master?"

"He may not be here until evening." Hannas flushed a little as heads turned toward her, but went on steadily, "It's cold. If Tarag is hurt, he might freeze before they could find him."

Miriel glanced around the table. Reluctance, weariness, distaste, resigned acceptance. "Hannas is right." Soft but firm, and she saw a few nods, Calen and Morfind among them. "But we don't all need to go. Calen and me, Meren and Morfind. Hannas, are you all right to go with Lain? You know the land better than most of us." Hannas nodded. "The others can stay; you didn't get as much rest as we did."

Sidelong glances, awkward shuffling, and then Baranor said reluctantly, "I'll go."

"So will I."

"Not that I give a shit about him, but…."

Miriel looked around the table, meeting their eyes, and pride flared in her, warm despite the visceral weary dread tugging at her body. "The Wild is not kind to a Ranger alone," she sang softly, "but together, my brothers, we're strong."

Nods all round the table, and without another word they got up, returned their dishes to the kitchen, and went back to gather their gear.

Gallach would stay, and that was just as well, for he could tell Faelon where they had gone. The rest of them swiftly reorganized their gear, packing only food and blankets and dry clothes, one pack between two. When it was done, they huddled around the fire, soaking in the warmth as long as they could. "Look for tracks," said Calen. "The snow will help us there. If you find him and he's hurt, bring him out to the road." They had thought of asking the villagers for help—Morfind had offered to go to his father, the village smith, who could surely rouse a full effort—but Miriel shied away from it. "He's ours." And then, "If we don't find him today, the Master will likely bring everyone out tomorrow." But unspoken, though they all knew it: If he is injured and alone in this cold, he may well be dead by tomorrow.

They passed through the gate together but then fanned out across the countryside in pairs. Miriel and Calen stayed close to the road, for they thought it most likely Tarag would be there. Something was clearly wrong, for he was no slower than the rest of them, and better at finding his way than some. It was unlikely that he had gotten seriously lost, lost enough to be half a day behind even Gallach with his injured ankle. No. Quiet, sinking certainty. He's hurt. And he's not stupid. If he can manage it, he will have gotten himself as close to the road as he can.

They walked quietly, though the gusting wind covered even the sound of their own footsteps, alert for voice or movement that was not of the land. They spread wide to cover more ground, keeping in sight of each other in the bare hills to the east of the road, scanning the icy ground for tracks. But they found nothing, nor did they really expect to. If he had gotten this far, someone would likely have seen him the day before.

They halted briefly at midday and ate a little, huddled in a hollow beneath leafless bushes that were some small shelter from the wind. She had carried the pack all morning, and now she passed it over to him. He groaned a little, but a wry smile tugged at his lips. "Only fair," he grumbled. "Can't let a little girl carry my pack all day."

"Just be glad the little girl doesn't have to carry you. Might drop you if you got too heavy. Or mouthy."

He chuckled, but then sobered. "You could, though."

"Could what?"

"Carry me."

She shrugged. "I think so. Not all day, but long enough to get you to the road at least."

"Silevren's tough. I'd take the Master over her any day."

She laughed, but the question came into her mind again, the question she had wanted to ask on the morning of the trial, and many times since. Slight hesitation still, but then, Go on. You won't get a better chance. "How did you know Silevren? Before the trial, I mean."

His face closed, and he looked away from her and did not answer, and she cursed herself for a fool. But just as she was about to speak, to apologize and suggest that they get moving again, he said quietly, "She was the one who found me."

Silence again, but she knew better than to break it, and at last he spoke, tired and resigned. "She was looking for a gang of bandits that had been robbing and killing travelers, on the East Road between Amon Sul and the hills. Silevren and her maethorneth and two others, so I was told. They found the bandits in the end, and killed them. But first they found three looted wagons and five dead Wilderland traders, and a little boy hiding behind a rock." He worried a bit of dry grass between his fingers. "I was three years old, they thought. Perhaps four."

She touched his hand cautiously, stilled the restless movement. "You don't have to tell me."

He let out a breath, glanced at her and then away. "No, I don't," he said softly. And then, "I remember nothing from….before, or almost nothing. I don't know my name, or the name of my family, or where they lived. I don't know if one of the dead men was my father, though I assume it was so. Rangers went over the mountains the next spring and spread the word, but no one ever claimed me." He shrugged. "So I grew up as one of you." Silence, and then, quiet and bitter, "But I have never been one of you." Silence again, and she listened to the wind rattling the bushes above them. Almost suddenly, he turned to her, and his face softened though he did not smile, and there was something like wonder in his voice. "Until now."

She found that his hand was still in hers, and she squeezed it. Melody barely louder than the wind, "Together, my brother, we're strong."

He did smile then, quick and almost shy, and he released her hand and rose. "We should go. Do you think you can jog?"

She nearly laughed. "I can if you can." And then, "You're the one carrying the pack."

"You've got shorter legs."

"Since when has that mattered?"

A brief, dry laugh. "Since never."

"Right then."

They spread out again, and again found nothing but cold wind and bare, icy ground. Some time later the ground began to slope down, and they came among scattered trees. They moved closer together, and at last at the edge of the forest they stopped. It was long past midday; they had all agreed to return to the village by dark, if they had found nothing.

"We should turn back."

She knew he was right, and her aching legs begged for it. "A little longer? I want to get into the forest a bit."

He turned to look at her, curiosity and irritation both in his voice. "Why?"

She frowned, a little frustrated, for she could not really explain it. "I don't know. I just do."

He shrugged. "Very well. But not much longer, or it will be dark before we're halfway back."

She nodded, and led the way into the trees.

They stayed much closer together than they had in the open country, for the noise of wind in bare branches hid the sound of their footsteps. But still they covered different ground, and she saw what he did not.

"Calen." Sharp and urgent, and he stopped moving forward at once and came through the trees to where she was. And then his breath hissed, and he swore softly, and dropped the pack to the ground.

She was already at the bottom of the hollow. It had opened so suddenly before her feet that she had nearly fallen, and the far side was even steeper. In the dark, Tarag wouldn't have stood a chance. He lay huddled at the bottom, half his body in a pool of clear water with shards of ice already forming around the edges. There was blood on his head, and nearby the rock where he had hit it. The dirt and leaves around him were disturbed, as though he had tried to move but hadn't managed to get far.

But he was alive. She found his pulse in the hollow below his jaw, and his breath felt warm on her cold cheek. Yet his lips were nearly blue, and when she pulled off his glove and pinched his finger, the skin remained waxy pale.

"How badly is he hurt?" Calen's voice was quiet and tense. "Can we move him?"

She shook her head. "I don't know." Slight hesitation, and then, "But we have to. He's far too cold, if nothing worse."

Calen stared at the inert body for a long moment, then shook himself. "Right. I'll get dry things from the pack."

With a grunting effort, Miriel hauled Tarag up until his whole body lay on dry ground, and then she began to take off his clothes. It was easier than she had expected, in truth not much different from changing Andreth when she was a baby, though stiffer and more awkward. And slower, for she was careful with each movement, checking for injury. But she found nothing worse than deep bruises, and at last with Calen's help she managed it. "Everything's wet," she said with faint disgust, rolling the clothes and stuffing them in the pack. "He must have hit his head on the way down. Lucky his face didn't end up in the water. He came to and tried to get out, but by then he was too cold." She let out a breath and shook her head. "Damn fool." And she knew they were both thinking it: If he had been with another, this would not have happened. "Well. He's not bleeding and I can't find any broken bones, so there isn't anything we can do here." She turned to Calen, paused and then said hesitantly, "Can you—"

"I'll carry him." Short, almost fierce, and a strange look crossed his face.

Together they got him onto level ground, and then with a grunting effort Calen hoisted the inert body across his shoulders. Miriel draped a blanket over him and tied up the pack, and they set off through the icy forest.

It took longer than she had expected. Calen moved slowly and cautiously under his burden, and the shadows under the trees were deep by the time they reached the muddy, rock-strewn track that passed for a road. Calen stopped abruptly, went to one knee, and she grasped Tarag's body and eased him as gently as she could onto the hard ground. Calen remained where he was, bowed and gasping. After a cursory check that Tarag was as he had been, cold and unconscious but still breathing, she crouched by Calen.

She said nothing, only put an arm around his shoulders and steadied him until his breath calmed, then helped him to his feet. She laid a hand on his cheek, made him meet her eyes. No words, for none were needed. He gazed at her blankly for a moment but then nodded.

"I can take him," she said quietly.

"I know."

She shrugged off the pack and handed it to him, and then she crouched and slid her hands under Tarag's arms. Calen helped as well as he could, and though her aching legs trembled, at last she stood solid on her feet, Tarag settled more or less evenly over her shoulders. A tentative step, and then another, and she turned to Calen and nodded. "He's smaller than you."

"Lucky, that." A tight, mirthless smile, and they set off down the road.

She walked slowly, careful of the placement of each foot, and Calen stayed close for when she stumbled in the growing dark. She was beyond weary, but still she found herself smiling a little. Enough of a test, Master? More even than you bargained for. Huh. We were supposed to have two nights rest before we headed home. And then, Faelon's voice clear in her mind as though he stood before her, 'The Wild doesn't care about your plans.'

It was long past dark before the Master found them. Hoofbeats on the road ahead, and Calen called out, and she stopped but did nothing else, only stood stupidly with the weight on her shoulders. Horses, shouts in the dark, and a lantern was uncovered, and then Belegon's voice close by her, gentle as she had never heard it: "I'll take him, Miriel." Hands on hers, and she loosened her grip, felt the weight slide off her shoulders, and she would have fallen had Calen not caught her. She leaned against him, gasping, unsteady in the darkness. He felt her trembling, held her more tightly and said nothing, until at last her breath calmed. She shifted, and he let her go, though still he kept a hand on her arm. Faelon's voice in the dark. "Is he injured, Miriel?"

"Not badly, so far as I could tell." Surprisingly steady, though her body felt light and weak. "Hit his head and got too cold. Bruises, but nothing else that I could see."

"Mirloth's daughter." And in the light of the lantern she saw a brief smile cross his face. But then it was gone, and he turned back to Belegon. "I'll take him. You stay with these two." Faelon mounted, and with Calen's help Belegon lifted Tarag up onto the other horse.

To Calen, "Hold him steady." And then to Miriel, "Do you know how to tie a man to a horse?" She nodded, for Faelon had taught them this, had made them practice with each other until they could nearly do it blindfold. 'If you have to do this,' he had said, 'you're in a bad place. Best if you don't need to think.' And so she did not, only let her hands do what they had been trained to do, and at last Belegon patted the horse's flank and then handed the lead rope to Faelon.

The Master looked at them both for a moment, face shadowed in the lantern light. "Give me your pack." Calen obeyed, and he set it on the saddle before him. "Others will be coming with horses." A faint smile. "You won't have to walk all the way back." And then, quietly, "Well done. Both of you." He shuttered the lantern, and they were suddenly blind as the clop of hooves faded into the night.

Belegon's voice nearly startled her. "Can you keep going? Or shall we wait here? There was a group of men from the village that should have left not long behind us."

Miriel felt Calen at her side, and though he did not touch her and she could not see his face in the dark, she knew he spoke to her. "Go on?"

She nodded on instinct, though she knew he could not see it. "Yes." And then, "Too cold to stay still." She tried to laugh, but shivered even as she said it.

Belegon chuckled softly. "It is that. Let's move then. But have a care where you set your feet. This road is none too smooth."

"We know," said Calen, and made no effort to keep the weariness from his voice.

"Of course you do." That gentleness again, and he stayed close by them as they set off into the dark.

She remembered little of the rest of that night. The village men found them, and she was boosted onto a horse, and managed to stay on it only by clinging to the mane, miserably cold but too tired to care. When at last they reached the village, men eased her down, and Meren and Lain half-carried her into the barracks. They sat her by the fire, and she did wake up a little then, at the plain worry in Meren's voice.

"Mir? Here's tea. Can you eat? You really should eat…."

She sat up a little straighter, or tried to, leaned away from Lain's supporting arm and took the mug in both hands, for it trembled too much with only one. Mint and red-flower, thick with honey and nearly too hot to drink. She could have kissed Meren, and nearly did.

"It's like you know me." Soft and hoarse, with a masking edge of laughter that fooled no one.

"Might be." He laid a hand on her knee, slipped the other arm around her back. "Might just be, Mir."

She ate a little, more to satisfy Meren than from any feeling of hunger. Calen did not eat, nor drink, but fell into his bunk fully clothed when supporting arms released him, and they covered him with blankets and let him sleep.


When she woke, everything hurt. It was quiet, though soft sounds of movement and breathing told her she was not alone. She had no idea how long she had slept; exhaustion put her body out of its reckoning. It was certainly full day, though, for thin sunlight streamed through the single small window. East, she thought. The window faces east. So at least it's still morning. She was painfully hungry, and took it as a good sign. I should be. Carefully, breath hissing through her teeth as aching muscles protested every movement, she sat up and swung her legs down to the floor. Movement by the hearth – a figure rose in the gloom, and then Meren crouched beside her.

"I cleaned your boots," he said quietly, setting them by her feet.

"Thank you." She slipped a hand into his hair, and he rested his head on her knee. "I'm fine."

"I know."

"We're going to have to get used to this."

He sighed. Very softly, "I know, Mir. I know."

"Do you?"

He lifted his head and looked at her, face pale in the thin light slanting in from the window. But he smiled a little, and touched her hand. "I've always known."

Silence for a moment, and then she nodded slowly. "That's why you didn't fight it. When I said it was over."

A true smile, though wry and weary. "Clever girl."

She shook her head, managed a soft, dry laugh that turned into a cough, and let him help her on with her boots. He steadied her as she stood, and answered her questioning glance toward Calen's bunk with a nod. "He's in the hall."

She nodded, and smiled in relief.

He waited until they were out of the barracks, shivering a little in the cold, bright morning, before he said with deliberate emphasis and a sidelong glance, "You're a good pair, you and Calen." A grin twitched at the corners of his lips, and she shoved him a little with her shoulder, nearly losing her balance in doing it.

"Oh, sorry," she gasped, and ignored the hand that reached out to steady her. "Didn't see you there. Were you saying something?"

He laughed, and shook his head. "Can't remember. Must not have been important."

Hannas and Lain and Gallach were sitting with Calen in the Hall, though only he was eating. The others called greetings, but he only smiled, and said quietly as she sat down next to him, "All right then, Miriel?"

She nodded. "You?"

"My knees feel like an old man's. Aside from that, I'm fine."

She laughed, and settled comfortably into food and companionship.

Faelon was there as well, with Belegon and Sulon, sitting at a table on the far side of the room and talking to a black-haired bear of a man Miriel knew at once must be Morfind's father. Talking about us, like as not. At least he's not talking to us.

But perhaps he was more aware of them than she had thought, for as soon as she had finished eating, he rose and came over to them. They fell silent, and a whisper of dread twisted her stomach. What now? And she knew by the others' faces that they were thinking it as well. But they rose and bowed, greeted him with a respectful, "Good morning, Master."

"Good morning." Brusque, but not unkind. "Calen and Miriel, come with me." No explanation, but they expected none, and with sidelong glances at the others, and a covert eye roll from Meren, they followed him out of the Hall.

But he walked more slowly than usual, and gestured them to walk beside him rather than behind, and he looked each of them up and down carefully. "Sore, but otherwise uninjured," he pronounced at last. It was not a question, and they made no response. But there was approval in his eyes, and though he did not smile, they warmed as if he had.

They walked with him through the village and did not ask where he was taking them, for they had long ago learned not to ask unnecessary questions. At last they came to a house set close by the wall a little away from the others, with a smith's shed beside it.

"Morfind's mother is caring for Tarag." He stopped before the door, gave them each a long, deliberate look. "He has something he wishes to say to you."

It was dim inside, and she stumbled a little on the threshold, was steadied by Calen's hand on her arm. Faelon led them through a door off the main room, into a much smaller room that was bright with sunlight streaming in the window. Tarag lay in a bed along the wall under the window, and the woman sitting in the chair beside him smiled at them as they entered. Though Morfind's hair and build were clearly from his father, his smile was his mother's, and Miriel found herself smiling in return, as though she already knew the woman.

Tarag was very pale, but he turned his head toward them, and though there was vagueness in his eyes, she saw when he recognized them. His lips tightened, and he sucked in a sharp breath, and she thought that he wished to turn away again. But he did not, and he met their eyes, and in the crowded silence of the small room, he said quietly, shakily, "Ani luciel nin cuil."

She thought she ought to know it. Cuil. She knew that, had heard it any number of times with raised glasses, voices sometimes sober but more often not, sometimes spoken but more often shouted, and most clearly in her father's voice. A cuil! he would say, voice raised and joy in his face. At weddings and feasts, the naming of babies and the singing after deaths. In spite of it all, we live.

So life, then. And ani is I, and nin is you. But the other word she had never heard. It sounded like nothing she knew, and she could tell by Calen's blankness that he did not know it either.

"What does it mean?" asked Faelon, quietly but with an edge of steel. Not to her, though, nor to Calen. It was to Tarag that he spoke, and Tarag answered.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, "I owe you my life."

"It is not something you would ordinarily learn yet." Faelon spoke now to them, and there was something in his voice she could not read. "But you have done the thing, and so you have earned the words. You are bound now, each of you. Perhaps there will come a time when Tarag may repay his debt to you, and perhaps not. It is your first, but it will not be your last. We are bound to each other in many ways, we who wear the star, and this is the highest, save one only. But we will not speak of that now." He turned back to Morfind's mother. "My thanks for your care of him, mistress. How long until he can travel?"

She frowned, thought for a moment. "Two days, most likely. Perhaps three." She shook her head. "But not hard, mind you. And no training for a fortnight at least."

"Very well." And then, his voice expressionless, "Come, we must leave your brother to rest."

Back out in the yard, he turned to them. "You do not know what it is, this thing you have been given, this thing you have done. You know, but you do not know." A pause, and then, "It is what a Ranger does." And he turned then and walked away, leaving them staring after him in the sunlight.


Note: Making up more Ranger customs and traditions here; again, if anyone would like to correct my Sindarin, please do!

Maethorneth - lit. young warrior. The second phase of Ranger training, in which a young dunadan is paired with an experienced Ranger; the Middle Earth version of on-the-job training :)