She had traveled this road once before with Faelon, remembered bits and pieces of it. Remembered also her friends before her and behind, and would not let herself wonder where they were now.
The road was rough, grass long at the end of summer, but it had clearly been well-made, wide and mostly level over the rolling downs. After several days a way branched off, down out of the hills to the forested lowlands, and two days later they came to Ladrengil. They stayed the night in the village, the small barracks strangely empty with only the two of them; she half expected to hear Calen's voice behind her, feel Meren's hand on her shoulder.
Morfind's mother smiled to see her, and his father the smith clapped her on the back. "Well, at least one of you is still alive," he said, and he too smiled. But there was tightness at the corners of his dark eyes, and she felt his fear.
They left early the next morning, and then it was only another day to Elenost. A long day, and her feet were burning and her legs aching by the end of it, and sweat ran down her face in the hot afternoon. They forded the river, the crossing she had not dared to take with Calen the autumn before, and came at last to the edge of the trees, and the narrow space of cleared land that ringed the village.
Elenost seemed small, dark, huddled in the shadow of the hills that rolled stark against the pale western sky. The sun had set, but the gate was not yet shut, and there was a faint gleam of lantern-light from within. Anna drew a breath, laid a hand on Miriel's shoulder. But she said nothing, straightened against the weight of her pack and strode toward the village along the darkening road. The bell was not rung until they were close, but in the twilight the gate guard must at last have seen Anna's pale hair, and so they were welcomed with bell and song, as Rangers returning from patrol.
Running feet, and voices beyond the gate, and the first to reach them was Andreth, thin chest heaving and eyes bright with excitement. Miriel smiled, almost laughed with joy. But something held her back, and she did not scoop her sister up in her arms as she might before have done. Andreth seemed taller, too tall to lift comfortably now, not a young woman but no longer a little girl. When did that happen?
And then that voice she knew so well, that limping step, and her eyes burned and she blinked, and hoped the darkness hid her tears.
Sirhael greeted Anna first. He held out his arm and she grasped it, looked in his eyes.
"She'll do, brother."
That was all. But it seemed that Sirhael's breath trembled, and it was long before he could reply. At last he said quietly, "I did not doubt her. Nor you." And then she was in her father's arms, the smell the same as it had always been, the strength of his hands, the rasp of his breath. But somehow he seemed a little smaller. Perhaps I've grown, too.
He stepped back and held her at arm's length, smiling. But she felt an absence, a shadow behind his eyes.
"Where is Mother?"
His lips tightened, and the smile faded. "With the healers. Darya too," he said. "Child being born." Miriel nodded, and let her face show nothing.
Arahael came out from the hall, walking slowly. He seemed older, Miriel thought, even than when she had seen him last at midsummer, though his face was hard to make out in the twilight.
"Welcome home." Low and hoarse, but then he raised his chin with a hint of a smile. "I trust there is a reason you are here, Anna."
She bowed. "There is, my lord."
"Then come." He turned back toward the hall.
Miriel hesitated. But Anna glanced at her, gave a small nod. "You too. You were there." She looked at her father, but he only shrugged, even smiled a little, as if to say, You do as the brannon taid asks, Ranger.
Arahael led them not to the main entrance into the Hall but through a small side door. It was very dark inside, and musty after the clean air of the road. She could hardly see, but she knew what was here. Along this passageway, on the west side of the Hall, were the rooms where the Chieftain would live, with his family. But they were empty now, the Chieftain gone away south years ago. Fighting for the lords of Gondor, men said, though what exactly that meant she did not know. Her memory was only of a young man, tall and lean, and she could not for the life of her remember his face.
But there was also a room for the brannon taid, and it was there that Arahael brought them. The old man stumbled in the dimness, and Anna caught his arm and steadied him. He glanced at her, nodded but said nothing, lit candles from a shuttered lamp and gestured them to chairs on either side of the empty hearth. Miriel set down her pack and sat gratefully, barely managing to stifle a groan as she bent aching legs.
"Well, what did you find?" A faint smile. "Belegon sent a message that you had gone north."
"The Druadwaith will not move this year," said Anna, with quiet certainty.
He eyed her.
"My sources are good."
Again the flicker of a smile. "I know." He nodded slowly. "What did you see?"
"The will is there. The young prince has it, and the king will not check it. But not this year." And so she told him, every detail that might matter: numbers of men and women, children and horses, the state of the crops, the fatness of the cows, the number of travelers on the road, the goods for sale in the market at Kunebar, and the state of its people and its houses. What she saw and what she thought, what was certain and what uncertain. It was the most Miriel had ever heard her speak at one time. But then, She does nothing without need. But when there is a need, she does all that must be done.
When at last Anna had told of their escape from the village and the crossing of the mountains, Arahael turned his eyes on Miriel. "Shooting a Druad who's coming to kill you is not the same as shooting a Lossoth in the back, eh?"
"No." Surprise jerked the word out of her, instinct of the heart before mind could consider.
Arahael nodded. "You've a steady hand, girl."
Anna nearly smiled. "And that's not the best of it."
"No?"
And so she told him of the Druadwaith they had met south of the mountains, the arrow that had bought Halbarad the moments he needed. Told also what they had learned from the wounded men, and Arahael narrowed his eyes, regarded her thoughtfully. "They tell you that willingly?"
"No."
He held her gaze for a moment, nodded slowly, and Miriel thought he knew very well how the information had been gained. "Anything more?"
Anna shook her head. "Letters from Bree, but I haven't opened them."
He nodded. "Very well." Then he sighed, and sat back a little in his chair. "Aside from being a fine archer—which we already knew—and a steady hand, which we did not, how is your maethorneth, Anna?"
Anna glanced at Miriel, and then back at the brannon taid. Slow, and deliberate, "Not half bad."
"Ha!" The old man sat up straighter, and nearly grinned. "Well. Then she deserves you."
"Don't know what I did to deserve her."
"Paying your dues, my girl."
But Anna was smiling now, with genuine good humor Miriel had rarely seen. "Paid enough to get me a bed for the night?"
Arahael nodded. But suddenly serious again, "Are you off in the morning?"
"Like to be."
"Very well." He paused, considering. "North Downs?"
She nodded. "In case I'm wrong."
"You, wrong?"
"Happened a time or two."
Arahael chuckled. "Go eat, and rest yourselves." And then, "Well done, Anna."
"Thank you, my lord." Nothing more, and they rose and bowed, and departed. But Miriel felt pride bloom in her like fire, and she felt there might be nothing she would not do to earn such praise.
Her father was waiting in the Hall. She had known he would be, though she had not allowed herself to think about it when they were with the brannon taid. But he sat near the kitchen window, leaning back on a bench against the wall, bad leg stretched out before him and a mug on the table by his hand. Two full plates also, and Anna grunted approval as they sat down.
"All right, then?" he asked, his eyes on Miriel. But she knew the question was not for her.
Anna looked up from the food. "You could say that." Satisfaction in her voice, though she did not smile, and Sirhael let out a breath and leaned back against the wall.
"Well," he said, after a time in which the only sounds were clinking plates and chewing, "what did you think of the mountains, Mir?"
It was not the question she expected. He smiled a little, as if he knew. "You can tell me the rest of it later. After you've slept. But tell me this now." She nodded, for the images were clear in her mind, so clear she could almost feel cold wind on her skin, and taste thin, dry air. But somehow the right words would not come, and those that did seemed faded, inadequate to the point of mockery.
How does one describe that place?
But then she thought of words she had heard, words that both were and were not her own: "Gen faeren mi gwelulim."
Sirhael's eyes widened, and he let out a breath, and it seemed that he too had no words. At last said only, in a small, choked voice that was strange to her, "That is so." And Anna's eyes moved between them, and she nodded.
Then he straightened, brightened as if with an effort. "Well. Let me tell you all the very important things that have happened here since you went away."
Anna grunted. "You'll excuse me." She stood up from the bench and gathered her empty plate and bowl. "Going to sleep."
"Go to the house first," Sirhael said with a smile.
If Miriel had not known Anna well, she would not have seen the sudden wariness in her eyes, the tension that flickered across her face.
"Why?"
His smile softened. "Just go. You'll be glad you did."
Anna stared hard at him for a moment, and then turned away without a word.
When she had gone, Miriel turned to her father, frowning. "What is there?"
Sirhael shook his head, still smiling. "You'll see." And then he settled back onto the bench, took a long pull from his mug, and began to talk.
She listened, smiled and laughed and groaned at the appropriate points. But in truth she soon began losing the thread of the stories, sleepiness slipping over her inescapable as her belly filled.
"Come on then, girl," he said at last. "If you're to leave in the morning, you'll get one good night's sleep at least."
That roused her a little. "Shall I see Mother?"
Sirhael did not look at her, as he stood by the kitchen window scraping her uneaten remnants of food into a tub for the pigs. "I don't know. If she can come, she will come."
Miriel expected the house to be dark, her mother and Darya still with the healers and Andreth long gone to sleep. But she opened the door to light and laughter, a lamp flickering on the table—and Anna on the floor with two children. They were clearly trying to wrestle her to the ground, and not having much luck with it. But they giggled and shrieked with delight, while Andreth looked on, just enough older that she would not join in, but not too old not to wish it.
Miriel knew them at once, a girl of perhaps eight, and a younger boy. Silevren's children. And Belegon's. And then, Of course Father would take them in.
They looked up at the sound of the door, and Anna took the moment of distraction to push them off her and scramble to her feet. "Jumped on me the moment I came through the door," she grumbled. "Of course you wouldn't warn me."
"That would take the fun out of it," Sirhael laughed. "It's good training."
"Testing my patience, more like. Little savages."
The girl's eyes widened. "That's what mama called us."
Anna drew a sharp breath, smile suddenly gone. But she laid a hand on the girl's shoulder. "And she was right." She looked from the children to Sirhael, and back again. "Well. She would also say you are up far too late. My fault, and I'll answer for it. But I need sleep, and so do you."
"You stay here?" The little boy's voice was soft, uncertain, as if he were not sure the request was proper but wanted it enough to ask anyway.
Anna glanced at Sirhael, and he nodded, a small, sad smile on his face. "Mirloth will sleep at the healers' house, as will Darya. Anna can stay here with you."
The little boy smiled; the girl said nothing, but slipped an arm around Anna and leaned against her. And Miriel heard her whisper, clearly meant only for Anna's ears, "I miss mama."
Anna looked down, met her eyes and nodded. "So do I." And then she turned toward the door, and went suddenly still.
Miriel felt a flash of fear and jerked round. But it was only Darya, standing in the doorway they had left open to the warm night. Even in the flickering lamplight her face was pale, tired, loose strands of hair sweaty on her neck.
Sirhael spoke first. "How was it?" Quiet, almost gentle, as if he feared the answer would cause her pain.
But she nodded, and her face relaxed a little. "They're alive. All three of them."
"Three?"
A short, dry laugh. "Twins. That's why it took so long. But they're strong, a boy and a girl. Gelleth is resting."
Sirhael's voice did not ask the other question, but his eyes did. Darya's face softened into a rueful smile. "Mother is fine." A hint of exasperation. "She went nearly too far, as she always does. But she knows her limits, and she did not go beyond them."
Sirhael let out a breath, seemed almost to stagger, and Miriel laid a hand on his arm. "Every time." Almost a gasp, hoarse with anger and relief. "Every damn time." He drew a deep breath, let it out and straightened. He turned to Miriel with a faint smile, and she withdrew her hand.
The children had been watching, wide-eyed. The boy whispered to the girl, and then she asked with tentative eagerness, "Can we see the babies?"
"No." Darya shook her head. "Not tonight. They're sleeping, and so should you be." And only then did she raise her eyes to Anna.
"My fault." Calm and even, no expression in her voice.
"They are happy to see you." But Darya's smile was gone, and Miriel could not read her face.
"I should go," Anna said abruptly.
"No, no," the children clamored. "Stay, please. You're not to leave soon, are you?"
"Tomorrow."
"Oh, then you must stay."
She looked back to Sirhael, and he smiled, and shrugged.
"Very well." Nothing more, and she turned away to the room that had belonged to the three girls.
"I sleep in the healers' house now," said Darya, in answer to Miriel's questioning look. And then, "Welcome home, Mir. Goodnight, Father." And without waiting for reply, she slipped out the door and closed it behind her.
Miriel stared after her, confusion and whispering emptiness tugging at her mind.
She almost started at her father's voice. "You can sleep in our bed, Mir," said he said. Too quick, too bright.
She shook her head and forced a smile, gestured to the floor by the empty hearth. "I'll be fine here." She thrust down the longing for comfort, and ignored Sirhael's protests, and he soon gave in. She knew he was secretly relieved, though he never would have admitted it, his battered body no longer taking kindly to hard ground. But they pulled out enough blankets to soften the floor, and she was tired enough that she fell asleep almost at once, to the whispers and giggles of Silevren's children in what had been her room.
She woke to early light and the door opening, and knew by instinct her mother's outline against the pale sky, though her face was in shadow. She scrambled stiffly to her feet, blinking. Rustle of skirts, and soft breath, and then Mirloth's arms were around her. Neither spoke, but Miriel laid her head sleepily on her mother's shoulder, though she had to bend a little to do it.
At last Mirloth straightened and stepped back, looked her up and down. "The Wild agrees with you." Quiet, resigned, as if confirming something she already knew.
Miriel felt her throat tighten, but nodded and said nothing. What would I tell her? The thought sudden, jarring in her mind. She has just come from saving life. And I have come from killing.
If you had not killed them, they would have killed you. And Anna, and perhaps others.
True. But they are dead, and I killed them.
Mirloth was watching her, and Miriel knew she would get the whole of it from Sirhael. Later, when she is ready to hear it. If she wants to hear it.
And her mother said only, "You are leaving this morning?"
Miriel nodded, knew her mother knew she had no choice, and so she did not make excuses. And when she did not excuse, did not even try to explain, Mirloth gave her a long look, and at last she nodded slowly. "You are so like him." But she smiled a little, rueful affection covering the fear.
The creak of a door, and Anna slipped out of the bedroom. She nodded respectfully to Mirloth. "Good morning, mistress. The children are still asleep."
Mirloth's smile broadened. "They must have been glad to see you."
"They were." And then to Miriel. "Gather what you need. I'll be in the Hall."
Miriel obeyed, unloading her pack that she had set by the door the night before, replacing worn, dirty clothes with fresh ones that Mirloth brought. But there was little else to do. She had her weapons and her gear, everything she needed. And when she thought again of the road, a smile flickered unbidden over her face.
She found Anna in the Hall a short while later, in the small room off the kitchen where the journey food was stored. There were always supplies there for Rangers, hard bread and hard cheese, dried apples and dried meat. Anna nodded to her but said nothing, for she did not need direction, knew to take as much as she could carry, wrap it well and pack it carefully, so they could journey far into the Wild.
When they came out again, Sirhael was eating breakfast with the children at one of the long tables. "Your mother's gone to sleep again," he said, before she could ask. "She needs it, and she doesn't always take it." He shook his head. "Darya came and went, said to stop by the healers' house before you go."
Anna grunted. "Need to get my stitches cut anyway."
Sirhael raised his eyebrows. "Stitches?"
"Druadwaith. Nothing to worry about. Not anymore."
His eyes went to Miriel and then back to Anna, and a grim, tight smile curved her lips. "She did her part, and then some." And then, very softly, the words of the old speech strange in her accent, "Anta anna i hen lin."
Sirhael drew a sharp breath, but then slowly he nodded. "It is a gift already given. Long back, truth be told." A thin smile. "Mirloth knew that before I did, I think."
They found Darya in the healers' house, stirring a pot over the hearth. She looked up, nodded wordlessly to Anna, then turned at Miriel. "How did you sleep, Mimi?"
"Shut up." But she could not repress the grin of irritation and relief that spread over her face.
Darya smiled a little. "Ranger you may be, or nearly, but you're still my little sister."
Anna cleared her throat, and Darya turned back to her. Smile gone as if it had never been, voice calm and detached, "Do you need care? I heard you were wounded."
"Not badly." She jerked her chin at Miriel. "She cleaned it. Halbarad sewed it up."
Darya nodded. "Lucky for you. He does better than most." And then, when Anna did not speak, "Do you need the stitches out?"
"Yes." Quiet, almost tentative. "If you would be so kind."
Darya shrugged. "Of course. Take off your shirt."
Anna obeyed, wincing a little, sat on a chair and rested her arm on the table, and gritted her teeth as Darya selected a small, slender knife.
"You know how to do this, Mir?" Darya asked, eyes not leaving her work.
"I—I've done it once. Mother showed me..."
"Come." Darya gestured her over. "Watch."
And Miriel obeyed, watched as Darya slid the tip of the knife in the loop of a stitch, pressed against the skin and twisted it up. With the slightest pressure, the sharp blade parted the thread. Anna's free hand was clenched white-knuckled on her thigh, but she said nothing, did not flinch and made no sound save a small intake of breath. Two more, and then Darya handed Miriel the knife. "Your turn."
Miriel wanted to protest, knew it was no use but still she hesitated. Anna turned to look at her. "Whatever you do, I've had worse."
Miriel gasped a strangled laugh, drew a breath, and took the knife.
She was not as neat as Darya. The knife pricked Anna's skin several times, and each time Miriel winced, anticipating rebuke. But Darya said nothing, and Anna only watched intently until it was done, a ragged pile of cut threads on the table. Small beads of blood welled, but Darya wiped them away with a wet cloth, and wrapped a bandage around the still-healing scar. When at last she spoke, it was not to Anna but to Miriel. "A little blood is normal. It will heal over in a couple of days, and she won't even need the bandage after that." And Miriel thought, Of course Anna knows this. She's been here before.
Anna's face was perhaps a little paler than it had been, and when at last she pushed herself to her feet, the muscles of her arm flexed as she held herself steady on the back of the chair. But she stood still and breathed slowly, and met Darya's eyes. "Thank you."
Darya nodded but said nothing, and Anna turned quickly away to pull her shirt over her head.
Darya laid her hands on Miriel's shoulders, looked in her eyes. "Take care of yourself, little sister."
Miriel nodded. "I will." Perhaps a lie, and she knew Darya knew it. But there was nothing more to be said, and they shouldered their packs, and went out into the morning.
Notes:
Updates will come more infrequently from now on, my apologies. I've come to the end of the material I edited over the summer, and time and mental/emotional bandwidth are pretty limited at the moment!
gen faeren mi gwelulim - "to see one's soul in the clear air." If you've ever been in high mountains, perhaps you know this feeling.
anta anna i hen lin - "I honor the gift of your child." In my imagining, this is what is said to the parents of Rangers, to acknowledge the sacrifice they make and the risk they take when they give a child to the Company.
