The light was fading fast when at last they approached the foot of Amon Sûl. Aragorn slowed, anticipating the challenge, though neither knew quite when it would come. She found her heart beating fast, and a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. And what thoughts must now be going through his mind? After so long away—how much has changed from what he knew?
A bird call, loud and clear from the boulders ahead, and she saw his shoulders tense. Hardly had she given the answering signal when out from behind the rocks stepped a tall figure, hooded in gray, the Star of the North gleaming dimly on his cloak in the fading light.
"Belegon?" cried Aragorn in joyful disbelief, striding forward. They embraced fiercely, laughing and weeping both at once, and Miriel too found herself blinking back tears. At last Aragorn stepped back, a hand still on Belegon's shoulder. "I am sorry," he said, with gentle directness. "I wish I could have seen her again."
Belegon closed his eyes for a moment, let out a breath. "So do I." Not quite steady, but he swallowed hard, touched his star and nodded. "The shield of the North, brother," he said softly.
"In life, and in death."
Then Belegon straightened his shoulders, and turned to Miriel. "What I'd give to see the look on Mahar's face…how did you find him, Mir? No, tell me later, I'll not keep you here." He gestured to the saddle between Weathertop and the next hill to the north. "We're just up the way there, at the old camping place." His eyes moved back to Aragorn's face, and he reached out to grasp the Chieftain's shoulder, staring intently as if to confirm that his vision was true. After a moment, he shook his head and smiled. "I'm off at sunset; don't eat all the food before I get there." He pursed his lips, gave the shrill whistle that meant friends, and with a final wave, he returned to his post among the rocks.
Aragorn glanced at her as they strode on towards the camp, his eyes alight with joy. And perhaps just a bit of mischief, she thought.
"Are you ready to tell the story?" he asked. "They will all want to hear it. More than once, most likely."
She frowned, taken off guard. "Do you not wish to tell it?"
He shook his head, smiling. "The victory was yours, and the tale is yours also." When she hesitated still, he said in a quieter voice, "Let me give you this, Miriel. It is not a thing that happens every day."
She swallowed. "Very well, my lord." And then, "Thank you."
He nodded, but said nothing more as they made their way up the last slope to the hollow where the Rangers made their camp.
Their welcome was everything she had expected and more, shock and disbelief quickly giving way to a joyful frenzy of greetings, embraces, back-slapping, and tears. Meren, of course, reached her first, held her so tightly she could hardly breathe, and she felt him shaking. "Mir," he murmured, over and over. And then, "Gwethor nîn."
At last, arm still around her shoulders, he grinned and called out, far more loudly than necessary, "Mir, you were sent to find brigands, not Chieftains. You know what Mahar thinks of Rangers who can't follow orders."
She flushed, elbowed his ribs and made a rude gesture with her free hand. But she couldn't let the jibe stand. "Come now, I was exercising…what was it?…'independence of thought and judgment,' hmmm, 'commendable initiative,'…oh, and some manner of skill with a bow, which you've yet to master…" She laughed and danced away from his half-hearted swipe—only to find herself face to face with Mahar.
"Steady," he growled. But the corners of his lips twitched, and suddenly he broke into a broad smile, the most joyous expression she had ever seen on his stern face. Still, she managed a passable semblance of gravity as she bowed and said respectfully, "Captain, I beg leave to report completion of my charge."
"Completion of your charge? And were you charged with finding our errant Chieftain?"
Chuckles behind her, but she ignored them. "No, captain. But I found the raiders, and they are dead."
Mahar raised his eyebrows and glanced at Aragorn. "Is this true, my lord?"
"I believe so." He lifted the captured sword that had been strapped to Miriel's pack. "This belonged to one of them, as did the other I am carrying. But," he turned to Miriel with a half-smile, "this is your story."
Mahar raised his eyebrows, but said only, "Let's have it then."
And so she told them, told it as dryly as she might, yet the part of her mind that stood apart, listening, as if the story belonged to another, marveled to hear the tale.
You make yourself sound like a hero.
I—it's not—it's only what happened.
Tell the truth, and let others make tales of it later, if they will.
But I was afraid the whole time.
That perhaps you do not need to tell.
When she described what they had found in searching the bodies, Mahar's eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
"It seems those were the men you were sent to find," he said after a moment. "But this was five days ago now? Why did you not return at once?"
"I thought we should follow their trail, see where they came from…" she faltered in the face of his skeptical look.
"And I concurred," said Aragorn swiftly, "It turned out to be well that we did so." Briefly, he told of the split in the trail, and the Druad knife. He drew it out of his pack and showed it to Mahar. "The young prince is getting ideas again, maybe?"
"He's always had them," growled Mahar, fingering at the knife. He raised his eyes to Aragorn's, and it seemed that words passed between them without speaking. But then he turned back at Miriel, and though he did not smile, the pride in his eyes took her breath. "It was well done, Ranger. All of it. And I thank you also for bringing our lost puppy home." He said it with a straight face, but after a moment his composure broke and he laughed aloud, pulling Aragorn into a bear hug. "It's good to have you back, boy."
Miriel laughed as well, remembering her own words to Aragorn. It seemed that he remembered them too, for when Mahar released him, he turned to her and inquired, his expression the picture of affronted dignity, "Puppy? Why puppy? And I was not lost, I'll thank you to know. I was simply taking the long way home." And then he went suddenly quiet, all mirth vanishing from his face as he looked past her to one who stood behind.
The man had been hidden by the others before, for he was shorter than many of the Dunedain. He stepped forward now, bowed formally and said without expression, "My lord Chieftain."
Aragorn moved as if to reach out to him, but stopped abruptly. "Hal—" He swallowed hard. "It is good to see you again, brother. It eases my heart to know that you are well."
"I am well, my lord." Halbarad's deep voice was calm, and his face betrayed no emotion. Yet a sudden, convulsive movement, quickly stilled, drew Miriel's eyes down to his hands – hands that were clenched into white-knuckled fists.
A moment longer he held Aragorn's gaze, then he bowed once more. "By your leave, my lord." And then to Mahar, "I must relieve Belegon." Without waiting for a reply, he turned on his heel and strode away down the path.
Miriel frowned. They were friends. The closest of friends; oath-brothers, or so it was told. She thought of her father's joy whenever Belegon returned after a long absence. And Meren…And then she smiled, and thought no more of Halbarad, and let herself be drawn into the warmth of companionship.
Most of the Rangers were old enough to have known Aragorn before he left, though there were a few Miriel's age for whom the Chieftain had been at best a vague memory. These were introduced to him and bowed low, though after he had returned the gesture courteously and turned away, they eyed him with something approaching wonder.
Though all were weary from their separate journeys, incredulous joy at having their Chieftain back among them made for a raucous camp. Laughter rang in the air, and jests flew back and forth as loneliness and hardship were forgotten, at least for a night. Food was cooked and shared around, and stories as well, of how each had fared in their search. She had to tell the tale of the ambush twice more in full, for those who arrived later in the evening, and between and after there were many questions to be answered.
She found herself at the center of attention alongside Aragorn, and though at first she was pleased, before long it began to wear on her. Men she had long looked up to now hung on her words, yet it did not comfort her as it ought to have done. I am no different now than I was before.
As if he sensed her unease, Aragorn stayed close, deflecting the inquiries as much as he could without inviting notice. At first, she did not realize what he was doing. But after a particularly detailed series of questions from one of the older Rangers, she found him glancing at her sidelong, a narrow, assessing look, and not without concern. She smiled slightly, and he nodded in acknowledgement.
At last, the food eaten and the stories told, the Rangers sat by the fire, talking softly or simply staring into the flames. Miriel leaned against Meren, both blinking sleepily in the firelight. Yet weary as they all were, no one seemed to want this charmed night to end.
"Who will give us a song?" Falaran's voice, from the far side of the circle.
"Belegon?" another asked.
"Not tonight, my friend."
A pause, and then Mahar stirred. "Miriel? If you're not too tired…"
And put that way, she could not refuse, though in truth she wished for nothing so much as quiet and rest.
"What shall I sing?" she asked, shifting a little to shrug off sleep.
Falaran laughed. "Since when have you sung anything but what you wanted?"
"Didn't know you took requests," grumbled Meren.
"There have been times," said Belegon quietly.
She met his eyes and inclined her head, wide awake now with memory. Then she turned to Aragorn. "My lord? Surely you've heard many songs in your travels, but there is nothing like the music of home." Yet she felt suddenly uncertain. What if he does not wish me to sing at all?
But Aragorn smiled. "I have indeed missed the songs of my own people." He looked thoughtful for a moment. Then he turned to her, and though the smile lingered on his lips, it was gone from his eyes. "Could you sing 'Return of the Sun'?"
The request surprised her, for it was not a song of victory and fellowship to match the mood of the evening. But she did not question, only sat still and quiet for a moment, pushing all from her mind but the music. Then she cleared her throat, and raised her eyes to the fire, and began to sing.
I will go to the hills in the dark of the morning.
I will go with my love beside me,
And there in the bright and the clear light of the rising sun
It is there that my love will swear to me.
Hear me now, my love, hear me now, once for always:
My heart and all that I have is thine,
And my love will be true, thou light of all lights above
For as long as the sun and the bright stars shine.
In the dew of the morn and the flowers of the springtime
I will love thee, my dear, and with thee will sing
A song of the day, and a song of the summer sun,
And a song of new life that together we'll bring.
And in the dark of the night and the cold of the winter deep
Then too I will love thee, and with thee will sing,
And we'll dance by the fire and heed not the dark of night,
For the winter will fade at the coming of spring.
Many paths, love, there be, through the dark to the morning light,
Many roads, many fears, many miles hard as stone.
Through the years, through the trials, on the dark ways I will walk with thee,
And it may be at last I must walk them alone.
But though long be the road, and hard be the winning,
There will come a bright day when at last it is won.
On that day, oh my love, on that day I will come to thee,
And together we'll dance the return of the sun.
As she sang, she kept her eyes on the fire. Yet on the edge of sight, she caught one staring straight at her. Halbarad must have returned from his stint on guard, and his eyes were fixed on her with an intensity that was startling. Pain and grief flitted across his face before he could hide them. Something else as well, yet before she could begin to sort it out, the song ended. Her voice stilled, and there was no sound but the soft crackle of flame. She glanced sidelong at Halbarad, but his gaze slid away, face blank once more. And in the next moment, it ceased to matter, for Aragorn spoke.
"Thank you, Miriel," he said, very softly. "I—" His voice broke, eyes bright with tears. "I have often heard that song sung," he said at last, "but never so beautifully. Your voice is a gift." He fell silent then, but the faint lift of an eyebrow showed that he, too, was remembering a conversation about gifts.
No one seemed inclined to offer another song, and gradually the Rangers drifted off to sleep, huddled in a circle around the fire. A little longer Miriel sat in silence, watching the flames that now flickered low above the coals, savoring the warmth as sleep crept over her. Meren roused her briefly with a hand on her shoulder, but it was only to ask where she had put her pack. She knew she ought to get it herself, but she could not quite muster up the will. He left the fire for a moment then, returning with his blanket and her own. Long habit requiring no invitation, she lay down beside him and pulled her blanket over them.
"G'night, Mir," he murmured. "Glad you're back. You and the puppy both."
She chuckled sleepily but made no reply, moving closer to his warmth as she drifted off, for the first time in many days, into truly peaceful sleep.
Aragorn did not sleep, not yet. He stood with Mahar on the edge of the dell, a little away from the others. Together they gazed over the moonlit land, wrapped tightly in their cloaks against the evening chill, sharp now outside the fire's warmth, and they spoke in low voices of all that had passed since Aragorn had last received word from his people.
"Miriel told me Darahad is now brannon taid. She said Arahael died last spring." Aragorn sighed. "I am sorry I was not here. He was…very dear to me."
"I know," said Mahar gently. "As he was to us all." His voice darkened. "You have returned none too soon, my lord."
Silence, and then, "Arahur?"
Mahar nodded, grimacing. "Arahael made his intentions very clear; you know he never trusted his brother. He indicated as plainly as he could, within the bounds of propriety, that he wished Darahad to succeed him. But Arahur…" He shook his head. "Ambitious as ever, that one. At the Gathering, he openly challenged Darahad for the leadership of our people. Darahad carried the vote, of course; most of us know he is the stronger leader, and the more trustworthy man, though he cannot claim descent from the kings. But Arahur has retained enough support to be a thorn in his side at every council, challenging his decisions. And even, recently, his personal honor." Mahar grunted. "Darahad is a patient man, but his patience is wearing thin. If something is not done, I fear they will come to blows before the winter is out. And whichever way that fight goes, our people will lose."
Aragorn nodded grimly. "Miriel was cautious in what she told me, and rightly so." He shook his head. "I must return to Elenost with all speed."
"That would be wise, I think." A soft, wry chuckle. "Our charge is fulfilled; we will return with you."
"Good." Smiling a little, "I must learn the names of these children you call Rangers, and see whether you've managed to uphold any sort of standards in my absence."
"I think you'll find the standards quite satisfactory. Though you've just made my task harder," Mahar growled, though the corners of his lips twitched. "I'll no longer be able to cow them with the dire prospect of the Chieftain's return."
Aragorn chuckled. "Yet somehow you will manage." And then, with quiet sincerity, "If they are anything like Miriel, you've done well."
A true smile then, broad and warm. "I can claim no more than a small part of that one. Sirhael and Faelon, mostly, and Anna—"
"Anna?" Aragorn laughed in disbelief.
"Miriel didn't tell you? Anna was her saethir." He shook his head. "Never before, and never again, I am sure. But one of the best pairings I've seen. Silevren's idea, I think, though Faelon never told me in so many words." And then, almost cautiously, "You heard?"
Aragorn nodded. "Arahael sent word, though it did not reach me until half a year later." He let out a breath. "How is Belegon?"
"You've seen him." Mahar sighed. "He lives, and fights, and takes joy in the children. He does not have another woman. Nor is he likely to, I think."
"And the children?"
Mahar smiled sadly. "Children can get used to almost anything." A sidelong glance. "You know that as well as any. Sirhael took them in, and others helped." A soft laugh. "The girl at least will be a Ranger, if he has anything to do with it. Not sure yet about the boy."
Aragorn drew a breath, let it out slowly. "Good. We will need them."
"As we need them all," Mahar said, with weary fervency. But then, carefully neutral, "So you are pleased with Miriel?"
Aragorn gave him a questioning look, then shrugged. "I've rarely seen such shooting. Clever and quick with a sword. And she has…good judgment, good instincts in the Wild. She is not afraid of me, or if she is, she hides it well. Strong, too – she kept my pace for three days without complaint." A wry smile. "And I did not go easy. Why do you ask?"
Mahar was silent for a time. At last, he said slowly, "She is one to watch, I think. Anna told me so years ago. And Belegon much more recently, but he is gwador to her father. So I thought perhaps…" He shook his head. "I thought his judgment might have been clouded by affection."
"No," Aragorn said, gazing out into the darkness. "No, I do not believe it has."
A little longer they spoke, but both were weary, and the night was growing truly cold.
"We'll have snow before long," grumbled Mahar. "It seems like winter comes earlier every year."
Aragorn chuckled softly. "You're just getting old, my friend."
"Is that so? Perhaps this old man will bestir his creaking bones enough to go a round with you tomorrow. Make sure you haven't forgotten the use of a sword in all your travels."
"I have not, but it would be my pleasure to reassure you. And fine lesson, as always."
"A lesson, yes, but for whom?" Mahar smiled wryly. "Welcome home, my lord."
When they returned to the camp, they found all asleep—all but one. Halbarad sat wrapped in his cloak close to the fire, poking idly with a stick at the glowing coals. After warming himself, Mahar strode off silently down the path to check on the sentry.
Dry grass rustled as Aragorn sat down. For a long time, neither spoke. At last, Aragorn said softly, "Are you still so angry then, Hal?"
"I am not angry, my lord." Halbarad's voice was flat, eyes fixed on the fire. "There is no cause for anger."
"But there is, gwador nîn. And you are." Aragorn drew a breath, let it out. "I should not have left you as I did. It was wrong of me, immature, and thoughtless. I grieved you, and I hurt you, my brother and my dearest friend." A pause, and then, voice nearly breaking, "In the dark moments, it is those words that come back to me, denying me sleep."
"Arya—" An anguished whisper, slipping out before he could stop it. He swallowed hard, still not meeting Aragorn's eyes. In a slightly steadier voice, "Then you admit the fault was yours? Or at the least, mostly yours? I suppose I might have had some small part in it as well." A bleak smile flickered across his lips, and his gaze slipped to Aragorn's before returning to the flames.
"I do. Can you not forgive me?"
Halbarad turned at last. "I forgave you long ago," he said quietly. "In principle, at least." A soft breath, not quite a laugh. "Faced with you again in the flesh, I find it becomes a bit harder. Give me time?"
"Of course, brother. Take all you need."
"Will you be staying then?" And he could not altogether hide the hope and longing that crept into his voice.
"For a while, at least. Probably through the winter."
"And then?"
"I do not know." Aragorn sighed heavily. "Always, my desire is to stay here with my people." His eyes flashed in the firelight. "Never doubt that. But there are…other things I must do. It is not my fate to live in peace with those I love. At least not yet, nor for a long time to come." He paused and then said carefully, "Whether I stay or not, things cannot be…as they were between us."
"I know that, Arya. I have long known that."
"Then have you another?" Aragorn's voice was strangely hopeful.
"No." Slowly, reluctantly, "Others. But not another."
"Hal—"
"I know. I know." Guttural whisper, between clenched teeth.
"But knowing and feeling are not the same thing."
"No. They are not."
Silence again, as they watched the glowing coals.
At last Halbarad straightened, and sighed. "You should sleep, Arya. Tomorrow will be a long day. And don't you dare tell me that wound doesn't hurt."
Aragorn chuckled. "I wouldn't dream of it."
They lay down then beside the fire, wrapped in cloak and blanket, each in his own space but near enough to hear the other's breathing.
Notes:
I did warn you about departures from canon...;) Very observant readers of NATWWAL may have noticed hints of a past between Aragorn and Halbarad in Chapters 18, 25, and 36, but they were deliberately subtle, as it doesn't affect that story line. It does play into this one, though this is not a slash fic. Halbarad has a fairly minor role in NATWWAL, but he does appear several times throughout that story, most notably in Chapters 9-10, 18-19, 24-25, and 36. He is Calen's saethir (mentor), and Anna's oath-brother (see below).
"I wish I could have seen her again" - Belegon's wife Silevren, a Ranger and Miriel's earliest mentor, died in the Lossoth attack on Elenost (NATWWAL Chapter 12). Belegon's comment later on about Miriel's singing ("There have been times") refers to the song she sang at Silevren's funeral (NATWWAL Chapter 15).
Gwador nîn (feminine: gwethor nîn) - My oath-brother (sister); this appears several times in NATWWAL, most notably in Chapters 10, 19, and 36. It is one of the most important bonds in Ranger society.
Meren is Miriel's closest childhood friend and oath-brother, and was her companion in training, along with Calen, Hannas, Lain, and others.
If you only listen to one song, it should be "Return of the Sun." It was my first, and I think it is by far the best, and certainly the one closest to my heart. In the recording posted on my YouTube channel (Songs of the North, Channel ID: UC6_2e_2cNS1Zj7Jd-qqEjWA), my sister is singing the harmony.
I've finished editing the next few chapters, so updates should be more frequent now!