The rest of the journey was uneventful. That evening they camped on the edge of the forest, and dried their remaining wet clothes around a blazing fire of deadfall. They did not have much food left, but no one felt both energetic and desperate enough to hunt, and so they drank tea and ate a little dry bread, and spoke with wry longing of Raeneth's laden tables in the Hall. Faelon was quiet, as he had been since the river, but he gazed into the fire with a small, quiet smile on his face.

On the second day after the river they passed the place where he said the Last Battle had been, in the rolling lands between the forest and the downs. But there was nothing to see, and they did not stop, and went on long past dark to camp many miles past that place of death. Neither did they turn aside at the ruined fortress of Fornost, bitter memory of its fall hanging dark on the border between history and legend.

Past Fornost their way turned north, narrower now, for it was not the remains of an ancient high road. But it was more heavily trodden, the main path that connected the Dunedain villages on the eastern skirts of the downs, and the easiest way south to Bree and the east-west road. They passed through Rimnost and Ladrengil, and at long last, or so it seemed, they came home.

Faelon had not let them sing when they returned from previous forays, even those of several days' duration, save only that once with Mahar. "A training jaunt is not a patrol," he would growl, and after he refused them twice, they did not ask again. But now, as they came toward the gate, they heard his voice behind them. Not as strong as it usually was, perhaps, and he sang for a little while alone, so startled were they. But soon they joined in, and their voices rang off the wooden ramparts as they strode toward the newly-repaired gate.

"O-yo, calling home the hunters…."

And Miriel grinned joyfully as she sang, for they were Rangers, returning home from patrol.


There was not much after that. They continued to train, of course, and on some days they arrived at the practice ground to find other Rangers standing with Faelon. "For you learn something from everyone you train with. Even if it's what not to do." He grinned, and the Rangers beside him chuckled, though the trainees didn't dare. "But every Ranger fights differently, every Ranger sees differently, and another may teach you something I could not. And at least more of you will get a thorough trouncing, which is all to the good."

A few nervous smiles among the trainees, and they were paired off in small groups. Miriel enjoyed these sessions, on the whole, more than she had almost any of their training up to this point. Some Rangers were affable and welcoming, others more sober, less inclined to talk. But all fought hard, and gave good advice, and she found herself relishing the challenge that each new opponent brought. It was exhausting, frustrating, occasionally humiliating, but it was real. These men, and the occasional woman, were real. They were what she wanted to be.

She had at least passing acquaintance with many of them, for they were friends of her father. Belegon was particularly irritating, at least at first, with his comments about the "Little girl all grown up," and "Look at you, nearly as tall as your sister," and even a murmured "No child's bow now, eh, maloseg?" But she saw the effort it cost him, the grief still in his face when he did not guard it, the way her father watched him in the Hall at night. And so she smiled, laughed, even on occasion managed to give back offhand remarks about old men and their gray hair. And then Belegon chuckled, and called out, "I'd take this one, Faelon. She'll keep things lively, if nothing else." Faelon grunted, glanced at her and then away as if not worth the bother, but with a smile twitching his lips and she thought, perhaps, even gratitude in his eyes.

But one afternoon Belegon was not there, and they saw him the next morning with three others by the gate, full packs at their feet, clearly making farewells. His children hugged his legs, and the little boy cried openly, though the girl held back her tears.

"Thurinrim," said Meren. And then, with a smirk, "Barahir's going with them. All summer, he said."

Her face flushed, and her stomach twisted. But she forced herself to say only, lightly, "I hope he likes heights."

Meren chuckled, elbowed her ribs, and she knew he was not fooled. "Well, we'll be gone, so it won't matter."

It wouldn't have mattered anyway. Sober reality creeping up on girlhood longing, and she shook her head and pushed it from her mind, and ignored Calen's sidelong look.

And after a moment, Calen asked quietly, "What about Belegon's children?"

"The village will look after them," Meren answered at once, for that was how it always was. Gaileth and Toldir were not the only children of Rangers to be left alone.


The bell rang late one evening, two days before the trial. He heard it but paid no mind, breath heaving as he and Falaran took turns lifting a rock and setting it back down on the edge of the practice yard. So intent were they that they did not notice Arahael until he spoke.

"Halbarad." The brannon taid gestured him over, unsmiling, almost reluctant.

Halbarad frowned. "My lord?"

"Anna's returned."

A moment of blankness, and then he sucked in a harsh breath, felt tears sting his eyes. "Where is she?"

"The Stone."

By the time he reached the grove, the tears were gone. The scent of cedars hung in the air; young aspen leaves rustled softly over his head. He passed between the flowering lilacs, and there she was, crouched on the ground, knees drawn up to her chest. She was still but for the fingers of her right hand, moving over and back on the stone, as if they could rub away the name. She did not turn, though surely she heard his footsteps.

"Anna."

"Leave me be."

"Annie, it's me."

She said nothing, but her hand stopped moving. He came and sat beside her on the grass. He did not touch her, made no move until at last she reached out and grasped his hand where it lay on his knee, squeezed it so hard he felt his knuckles crack. And then she was sobbing, head bowed to her knees.

He did not speak, only laid his free hand over hers. His thumb moved softly over her scarred fingers, as aspen leaves whispered on unceasing in the wind.

After a time, she let his hand go and wiped her face on her sleeve. Yet still she did not look at him.

He sat by her in silence, eyes moving slowly up the stone.

Should he be there?

We would have heard.

Are you sure?

He felt a coldness run through him. And then he knew what to say.

"It is dangerous to love. I told him that once. 'Have you the courage for it?' I asked him. He said that he did."

For a long time, Anna did not answer. At last, she said very softly, "I did love her."

"She knew."

"Did Belegon?"

"Yes, I've no doubt he did." A pause, and a sad smile. "And she loved you as well. That was clear from the start."

"If this is love—" Her voice shook, and the anguish in it laid hold of him and took his arms and wrapped them around her before he knew he had moved. She stiffened for a moment but then went slack, her head falling against his shoulder. He shifted a little to hold her more easily, and then he was still.

A bird twittered in the lilac; shadows slipped over the ground. At last, she stirred and pulled away from him. Her eyes were red, but she met his gaze without flinching.

"Have you the courage for it, Anna?"

"I don't know." Yet her voice was calm, and the part of him that had fluttered in fear as the world overturned settled back into silence.

"You do," he said quietly, "and so did she." At her questioning look, he went on. "It might have been you who died first. It might have been Belegon. She loved you with eyes wide open." He laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. "And she chose wisely."


At last it was the day of Midsummer's Eve, and the young men and women who were to take the trainee trials gathered in the courtyard before the Hall, as Miriel and her companions had done.

"Doesn't seem like it's been a year, eh?" Meren murmured to her, as Arahael called them to name themselves, and Faelon stalked along the line, glowering.

Miriel shook her head and smiled.

They watched some of the trials, but spent most of the day resting and readying their own gear, though in truth there was little to do. But tomorrow was their own trial, and they felt that they must do something.

They watched the shooting, the final stage of the trial, and Miriel was gratified to see that none of the would-be trainees met her mark from the year before, let alone surpassed it. But it was a short-lived glow, and when the event was done, and the crowd had moved off toward the Hall, by common consent Miriel and her companions took over the practice ground. They were all anxious, and trying not to show it, and it drove them to restless motion. Miriel fought Hannas first, and then Meren. Hannas was easy, of course, though far stronger than she had been a year earlier. But Meren made her work for it, and she was gasping and sweating, her sword-arm beginning to shake, when at last she managed a move he could not counter, and her sword slipped in to touch his side.

Meren bowed in surrender and stepped close to clap her on the back. "Not bad, Mir," he panted. "Show me that last again, will you?"

She nodded wearily. "Give me a minute."

"Sure. Eh—" he grunted suddenly in a lower voice, "look who's watching." With a surreptitious jerk of the chin, he gestured to the fence by the weapon shed. Out of the corner of her eye, Miriel caught a gleam of golden hair—and froze. Among all the Rangers, there was only one that could be. She swallowed hard and breathed slowly, trying to calm her racing heart. Why is she here? Perhaps only for the feast…Even as she thought it, she knew how unlikely that was.


Faelon, too, had noticed her, acknowledging her arrival with a nod and a thin, satisfied smile. Leaving the trainees to their sparring, he came and leaned against the fence next to her. "Wasn't sure you'd come, Annie."

A brief smile, but her keen, assessing glance never strayed from the sparring pairs. At last, she said quietly, "Her, over there?"

"Yes."

"Sirhael's daughter, isn't she?"

He nodded, almost said something of the other who had trained her, caught himself just in time.

They watched for a while longer in silence as Miriel and Meren went over a pass in slow motion, and again quicker, and still quicker, until at last it was a thing of fierce beauty. After speaking briefly with the pair next to them, they traded partners, so that Meren stood opposite Lain and Miriel faced Calen. Still they watched, Master and Ranger, as the bouts began. Meren made short work of his opponent; Anna snorted softly as Lain, perhaps still weary from fighting Calen, overbalanced on a sweeping attack and left himself wide open to Meren's counterstroke.

"He's usually better than that," said Faelon, a bit defensively.

"I hope he is." But it was clear she wasn't really watching. Her attention was fixed, as it had been from the beginning, on the other pair. After a time, she said abruptly, her eyes never leaving the match, "He's done well."

Faelon nodded, smiled a little. "I knew he would."

A slow breath, and the same steady voice, though he knew the effort it cost her. "Silevren kept an eye on him. Always." And then, softly, "I—I haven't seen Belegon. Is he all right?"

Faelon did turn then, looked at her, forced her to look at him. "Are you?" And when she said nothing, he laid a hand briefly over hers where it gripped the fence. Her lips tightened, and she jerked a nod. He let out a breath, shook his head. Almost gently, "No. But you will be." And then, in answer to her question, "He left with the Thurinrim patrol ten days ago. Arahael would have let him stay longer, but he wanted to go."

Softly, "Nothing left here but grief."

"Something like."

They fell silent again, watching the match. The other trainees watched as well, gathering to one side as each pair finished their own bout. There were occasional cheers, and jeers, but as the match went on they became quiet, for this was something they had not seen before. Fast as Calen was, Miriel matched him stroke for stroke, making up for her shorter reach with a fluid lightness on her feet. Several times, he came near to overpowering her with sheer strength, but each time she managed to break away and recover before he could strike again. The match ranged farther over the ground than was usual, as each sought to use space and maneuver to best advantage. Miriel's face was set in a mask of fierce concentration; Calen's was icy calm. Yet after a time, his lips began to curve in a thin, tight smile. Perhaps sensing that she was beginning to tire, he pressed forward with renewed ferocity and at last managed to slip through her guard. Yet even as he did so, her knife came as if from nowhere and jabbed him in the ribs. His eyes widened, and then he nodded in grudging acknowledgment. They both stepped back and stood gasping as cries and cheers rang through the air.

Anna's face was expressionless, but her eyes glittered. "She knew she couldn't take him, so she let him in, bought his death with her own. Not lacking in courage, that one."

"No, that she is not," said Faelon. And then, his eyes narrowing, "So careful not to look at us – she must have seen you, and guessed why you're here."

Anna turned to him. "And why is that? You still haven't told me."

Faelon chuckled. "Don't play games. You'll take her, and you know it."

"Can she shoot?"

"One of the best I've ever seen."

"How did she fare in the battle?"

"Took Elroch and found Belegon's patrol, then shot four attackers from horseback in the charge."

"Heard about that – that was her?"

"Yes."

"Then she's not killed hand to hand?"

"No. But I've no reason to think she'd shrink from it."

Anna was silent for a long moment. At last, she nodded abruptly. "Very well. So long as she doesn't choke tomorrow, I'll take her."


Note: Again, the scene between Halbarad and Anna is not from Miriel's point of view, but it's important.