She did not choke. None of them did, though in truth the trial was a formality now, for they had all passed a sterner test. Hannas came first in the riding and Morfind in wrestling, Calen with sword and Miriel with bow. She and Lain nearly tied in the footrace, matching each other stride for stride down the road, though at the end his longer legs outpaced her, and they collapsed together on the dusty ground inside the gate. Unlike the trainee trial a year earlier, this run came at the end of the day, when they were already tired and the midsummer sun was at its hottest. Their bodies streamed with sweat, and when at last she struggled to her feet and reached down a hand to him, his grip slid and he fell back into the dirt with a grunt of exhausted laughter. And then they both gasped, cried out, laughed in relief and pure joy, for they had forgotten about the final tradition of the trial until buckets of cold water were tossed over them, to leave them standing – or in Lain's case, sitting – in pools of mud. Others had begun to come through the gate by then, and they hauled Lain to his feet at last, embraced him and Miriel both, heedless of the wet, and indeed they were all so soaked with sweat that it hardly mattered. Hannas came through last but still well before the second glass had run out, and with that the trial was over, and they were left standing in a gasping, sweating, joyful huddle, all talking at once, and for once it didn't matter.

"Over. It's over."

"Is this real?"

"It's real, it's got to be real. We're done."

A sidelong glance at Faelon, who stood beaming on the edge of the crowd: "We're not his any more."

"Huh, never seen him smile like that. Must be glad to be rid of us."

"Of you, maybe. He likes me."

"The fuck he does."

And then, remembering one last tradition: "The pond?"

"The pond! The pond!" And as it turned out, they were not too tired to run a bit more after all.

They came back dripping and laughing, and trooped back to the barracks to change, for there was the final step yet to take, and that was in deadly earnest. They had laid out clean clothes in the morning, a gesture of confidence and a plea to hope, and so they changed quickly. There were joking whistles and much teasing then, for they were all cleaner and neater than they had been in months. Meren fell in next to her as they filed out the door, murmured low in her ear, "He'll ask tonight. Just you see if he doesn't." Miriel shook her head and smiled self-consciously, and pushed the thought from her mind. No distractions now.

For this was the final step, the true end of the trainee year. If a trainee passed the trial but was not chosen by a Ranger as maethorneth, he had to stay in the village, training under the Armsmaster's watchful eye until a Ranger accepted him. It did not happen often, but often enough for uncertainty, and thinly disguised apprehension.

They stood in a loose group on the bare ground before the Hall, Arahael and Faelon, Astorion and Mahar, and nearly a dozen other Rangers. All wore their gray cloaks despite the heat of the day, and their stars glittered in the late afternoon sun. They made themselves into a line as the trainees approached, and Miriel and her companions lined up facing them. The crowd that had been milling about, waiting for them, closed and quieted, and in the hot stillness Arahael stepped forward.

"Master of Trainees, what do you bring me?"

Faelon's voice rang out across the crowd, but as he spoke, his eyes were not on the brannon taid, but on the young men and women before him. "I bring you those who would be Rangers. They have proven strong enough to face the Wild; whether they will join our Company is yet to be seen. They have learned much, but have much yet to learn, and for that they need other masters than me."

Arahael nodded sharply. "So be it." And then to the gathered crowd, "Are there any here who would take up this charge, to take these maethorneth into the Wild, to train them in our ways, to set them against man and beast, land and weather, so they may earn their right to join us?"

And the Rangers stepped forward, a steady, measured pace, many voices as one in the stillness. "I will."

Arahael nodded gravely, and then one by one he called them, going down the line. "Meren son of Mathin."

"I will take him." A young-looking Ranger Miriel did not know, and Meren crossed the dusty ground to stay before him.

"Hannas daughter of Hathor."

"I will take her." That was Telhirion, and Miriel had to force back a smile of relief. He was her mother's cousin, a kind and soft-spoken man, but deadly with sword and knife, and so enduring in toil that his name was something near legend. Hannas will do well with him.

"Calen of Ladrengil."

A pause, and then, "I will take him." There was no expression on Halbarad's face. But he met Calen's eyes, nodded slightly, and Calen crossed the space between them to stand by his side. Miriel frowned, for this she had not expected. True, he seemed to find Calen less of an irritation than the other trainees, but mostly he kept away from them, and it was well known that he never took maethorneth. Why now, and why Calen?

Two more, as she was thinking this over, and then, almost unexpectedly, though of course she had known, "Miriel daughter of Sirhael."

And as she had also known, a female voice rose in answer, the only woman in that line of gray-cloaked Rangers. "I will take her." Miriel's feet moved, though her mind gave them no command. Anna stared straight ahead, said nothing as Miriel came to stand beside her, though Miriel thought the lines of her face tightened. She had not expected warmth, but this—Is what? Nothing. It means nothing. A pause, and then, holding back a smile in spite of unease: It means you are a maethorneth.

At last it was done, ten Rangers and ten maethorneth, trainees no longer. Arahael nodded to Faelon, and the Master stalked down their line, one last time, and they tensed on instinct. But he gripped each by the arm in turn, met their eyes and nodded almost in welcome. When he came to Miriel, a brief, dry smile flitted across his lips. "Good luck, girl," he murmured. And then, "You're going to need it." He said no more, only nodded to Anna and then moved on to the next pair. Miriel felt her lips tighten, but she straightened her shoulders and did not look at either of them.

When Faelon reached the end of the line, he came back to stand in front of them, met the eyes of each Ranger in turn. "Maethanair, I honor you." Almost quiet, but it carried across the dusty stillness. He bowed to the Rangers, and they returned the gesture.

And that was the end. They all knew it, for it was the same every year. Yet still she was not quite prepared for the shouts of the crowd, the cheers and whistles that broke over them in a wave of joyful noise. But before she could move or speak, Anna's voice, low and flat, clear beneath the din. "Which bunk is yours?"

Miriel started, frowned in confusion. "I—top one on the right, closest to the hearth."

"We leave tomorrow. I'll wake you at first light." And she turned and strode off through the crowd.

Miriel stood, staring after her, until she was jolted out of thought by Meren's hand grasping her shoulder, and then his arms around her, and to her surprise she felt him shaking. "Mir," he murmured, so close she felt his breath on her ear. Nothing more, and when he pulled back and looked in her face, he was smiling, though it did not quite reach his eyes.

The food was plentiful, the midsummer bonfire high and bright, the music clear in the warm night air. She danced with Meren and Lain, Morfind and Baranor, and the whole group of them in circles and lines, laughing and sweating and free, for one night at least. At last she found herself with Calen, leaning against a wall on the edge of the firelight. He had been content mostly to watch, though he had danced once with her and once with Hannas, and had let Meren pull him into their circle after. But now they were all watching, the space around the fire clear, as a single drum began to pulse in the night.

Slow and measured at first, calling, warning, as the crowd stepped back, and the Rangers stepped into the light. In time with the drum they paced forward, boots loud on the dirt, slow and then faster as the drum doubled time, muted slaps of hands on thighs, and the sound throbbed in the warm air. They made half a circle, each with another and backs to the fire, beating out time with the drum. She saw Faelon and Astorion together, Arahael and Mahar, and at least a dozen others, all the Rangers in the village. Except – where are they? But she had hardly begun to wonder when Halbarad stepped out of the crowd, followed by Anna. Her face was tense and she did not smile, kept her eyes on him as if the others were not there. But shouts greeted them, smiles and cheers, and he touched her hand, and slowly she looked up, looked round the half circle of Rangers, and nodded. Then Arahael raised his hand, called out clear and wordless over the beat of hands and feet and drums, and the dance began.

The first part was not difficult; she could have done it herself, had she been allowed to join. But then the music changed, and the dancers stilled save for slapping hands and stamping feet, and Arahael and Mahar left their place and moved to the center. It was their right, as the senior Rangers in the dance, and the others whistled and called out as they faced each other. First one and then the other they danced, eyes on each other, some steps the same but others not, and more difficult each time, building to a final set together before they retreated, gasping and grinning, back into the circle. Another pair followed them, and then another, and shouts and cheers rang through the crowd.

Halbarad and Anna were last, dark against the firelight. He said something, and she nodded, and he bowed, and she began to dance. Slow at first, deliberate and precise; Miriel thought she had seen that combination of steps before but could not think where. But the Rangers nodded, whistled, shouted a name over and over. And then she knew. Those were Silevren's steps. Every Ranger chose their own, the ones that felt right in their body, and the true skill was in joining one's own with another's, so that the two flowed into one. And tears glittered on Anna's cheeks as she danced.

They gathered round her when it was done, as they had around Belegon at the burning, and Miriel lost sight of her in the crowd, and she found that her breath was shaking.

An arm around her in the dark, and she rested her head on Calen's shoulder. The music started up again, a different tune, but one that she knew, and she turned to him and smiled. "Want to dance?" And he grinned and took her hand.

It was deep night when the music ended, half-moon luminous amid the stars. Calen's hand was still in hers, his smile warm and full. And beautiful.

That beautiful smile is for me. Me. Not Dar, or one of the other pretty girls. Me.

And who are you?

Silence, and then, warily, painfully, Not that. I want it, but I want other things more.

And she let him lead her away from the fire, let him touch her face with gentle fingers, but when he said softly, "Will you…may I…?" her reply was reluctant but certain: "No. I'm sorry, but no. I can't."

The pain on his face was clear, even in the moonlight. "It's not you," she said quickly. "It's nothing to do with you. I—I must not."

"Why? Others do." Defensiveness in his voice, even a hint of anger, but she could see even as he said it that he heard the anger and felt ashamed.

She smiled wryly. "If I judged myself by what others do…"

In spite of himself, he chuckled a little and nodded.

"And you know what is said of those others. How men speak of them."

"Not all men."

"True. But enough."

He nodded again.

"I can't have that. I won't. It's enough to have to prove my strength, my right to stand alongside men in the Wild. I can't also be worried about…that."

Silence for a moment, and a sigh. "Fair enough." A pause, and then, doubtfully, "They'll still think about it, you know. What it would be like."

"I know. But they must know it's not worth trying, not something I would even consider. And I don't need it either." She sighed. "I don't have the strength for it, nor the space in my heart."

He nodded, turned full to her, for until now he had been looking half away. "Well. Thank you for being honest." And then, choosing his words carefully, "And I hope you would still consider me…It would be too much to ask that this change nothing between us, but I—" He pressed his lips together, drew an unsteady breath and let it out, and though he could not quite manage a smile, his eyes were gentle. "I care for you. I think the world of you, and – forgive me, please don't misunderstand – I love you in a way that has nothing to do with…"

She looked into his eyes, dark in the moonlight, and knew he spoke the truth. And so she touched his cheek, laid a hand on his shoulder. "I would say the same to you." And then, quiet and sincere, willing him to understand, "Thank you."

He nodded, and she slipped her arms round him, and after a momentary stiffness, he hugged her fiercely. "I'm going to miss you, Mir," he whispered. And she knew he felt her nod against his cheek.

They went back to the barracks after, checked their weapons and made sure their gear was packed, for Halbarad also was leaving early. She was nearly ready, had only to pack away the few belongings she would not bring on patrol, mostly winter clothes, and say her farewells to Meren and Lain and the others. They were all there, sweaty and flushed from dancing, but quiet, almost melancholy. She thought it strange at first, for this was what they had hoped for, worked for, ached and bled for. But now that it was here, they realized as if for the first time, though of course they had known it, that it would also mean leaving each other. And Hannas spoke for them all when she said softly, into the firelit quiet after Meren made an uncharacteristically subdued joke and the half-hearted laughter had died away, "You are my family. All of you."

Some of them went to bed after that, for it had in truth been a long day, and they were weary and bruised and aching. But she stayed up late with Hannas and Meren and Lain and Morfind, talking softly about things of no importance, and Calen sat on the edge of the room and said nothing, but his eyes never left them.

At last she could no longer keep her eyes open, and morning would come far too soon. She hugged them all, but kissed Meren on the cheek and said quietly, "Come outside with me."

They stood in the shadow of the barracks wall, and she brushed the tears from the corners of his eyes. "I'll see you again," she said softly.

"When? When, Mir?"

"I don't know. Midwinter after next, if not before." She shrugged, tried to make her voice light, but it broke when she said the words, the ones they had been avoiding all night.

For that was when they would be given their stars, and join the Company as Rangers. If we are deemed ready. If we survive. And now he spoke what she would not, and his tears were plain. "A year and a half?" he whispered. "We've hardly been apart for a day. Ever. Since we were….as long as I can remember." A pause, and then, "You….you're more my sister than my sisters."

"And you have always been my brother, and always will be." And then, hesitantly, certain and uncertain both at once, "We cannot say it, not really." A soft half-laugh. "Not for a year and a half. But it's true."

He smiled a little through tears, shook his head ruefully, and that was pure Meren, and she knew what he would say before he said it. Sincere, almost solemn, and that if nothing else was a surprise. "Rules have nothing to do with it." And he took her hands, and looked in her eyes, and said softly, "Ir cuian ech natho alerui, Miriel." A breath, and then, "While I live, you will never be alone."

She felt a shiver run through her, and she gripped his hands and repeated the words, and then they held each other until both were done with tears.


She started a little when Anna shook her awake, but her body was ready for it. She slipped out of bed at once, careful not to wake Hannas and Lain below her, but she needed no light, so often had she done it. Movement across the room as well, and she knew it was Calen, though neither spoke. They slipped on boots and packs in silence, and he closed the door softly behind them. In the early mist she took his hand, and she thought there were tears in his eyes, though it was hard to tell in the gray light.

"Take care of yourself, Mir."

"Don't let Halbarad get you down."

A soft, dry laugh. "At least he won't talk too much."

"Fair. Doesn't seem like she will either. I guess I'll have to keep myself company."

He laughed in truth then, but quickly sobered. "There is something he said. Yesterday, to Faelon, just before the Choosing. I—" Hesitation, and then, softly, "You ought to know." He drew a breath, let it out. "I didn't hear what Faelon asked, but Halbarad answered, 'It was Silevren's idea. She doesn't really have a choice now, not that she ever did.' Mir, I—I think he was talking about Anna." A pause, and then, more quietly, "She must have found out just the day before."

Found out that Silevren was dead. Is it true? Did Silevren ask her to take me? Even the thought of it gave her comfort.

"I don't know, but…." Calen's voice trailed off, and in the growing light she could see the uncertainty in his face, and so she smiled more broadly than she felt.

"You're probably right. Anna clearly doesn't want a maethorneth; I don't see why else she would do it." And then, more softly, "I hadn't thought about that." She is grieving. And now she can't even grieve alone. That explains, perhaps, at least in part. "Thank you. For this, and everything." She hugged him tight and then let him go, and together they went to meet their Rangers in the Hall.

They left together as well, passing through the gate as the midsummer sun rose over the trees before them. But they were bound in opposite directions, he south to Bree, she north and east to Thurinrim. Not to join the guard at the pass, but to watch the road itself, for the mere presence of Rangers, location and strength unknown, was enough to ensure at least a measure of safety for travelers. And so at the turning of the north road they parted. Halbarad gripped Anna's shoulder, said quietly, "Gwethor nin." And then, the words of ritual, pushing back fear: "Valar guard and guide you, Ranger."

"Valar guard and guide." A half-smile flickered across her lips, and she gestured with her chin toward Calen. "He won't be too much of a pain in the ass."

Halbarad nodded, grunted. "She can be useful too. Sometimes."

"Useful pain in the ass?"

"Something like."

Miriel met Calen's eyes, allowed a cautious smile, and he returned it, and she fixed that smile in her mind, to carry with her into the Wild.


Note: And so, dear readers, Miriel has reached her first major milestone. Never fear, the story continues…but at this point I'd love some feedback. What works for you? What keeps you reading? What are your favorite scenes, images, characters? And more importantly (for the improvement of my writing, at least!), what doesn't work? Where are the holes? Where do the plot, character development, language, etc. not ring true? I am very nitpicky about my writing (I've been known to go back and forth over the placement of a single comma), so no suggestion is too small. And don't worry about hurting my feelings – I'm a teacher, so I have pretty thick skin!