The weather grew steadily colder, and the way was often icy and treacherous; Miriel and Meren might have lost the track completely had they not been with companions who knew it well. Anna grumbled a little at their slow pace, and Aragorn chuckled and said, "You had better go faster than this when you return, Miriel." But in truth it was the weather, and there was nothing to be done for that.
Miriel at last felt whole again, despite the rigors of travel in the Wild on the edge of winter, whole as she had not felt since before the healing. Aragorn smiled to see it, and when he asked her, a few days out from the village, "It is gone, is it not?" she knew what he meant, and nodded.
Slowly their packs lightened, as their food supplies dwindled. They had several miserable nights in the open, when there was no shelter to be found and the unceasing wind chilled them to the bone. But mostly they were warm enough together, though Miriel shuddered to think what it would have been like were she alone.
They crossed the Hoarwell, high and treacherous with autumn rains, and the downs gave way to forest. The land began to rise and become rougher, for they were climbing into the foothills of the mountains. She had never been to Rivendell, and though she had heard many stories from Rangers, they could not possibly all be true. Her mother and Darya had been there as well, of course, but they never spoke of it, and she knew better than to ask.
The path was clearer beneath the trees, though it was in many places blocked by fallen trunks that they had to climb over or under or around. At last there came a day when Aragorn woke them long before dawn, leading without hesitation though Miriel could hardly see her feet, let alone the path before them. But he seemed to know it even in the dark. They went fast, with only a brief rest to eat in the middle of the day, up and down but mostly up, and her legs began to ache and her head felt light. But at last he slowed, began to look about him, not in fear but as if examining each tree. Finally he stopped, and turning toward a large pine he called out, "Eleni or, eleni na."
And from behind the tree stepped a tall figure, slender and wrapped in a gray-brown cloak that blended into the forest shadows. "Eleni laitaima," he answered, soft and clear. And then more slowly, as if he did not often use the Common Speech, "Honored be the stars. You are welcome among us, my lord Estel, you and any who come with you."
Aragorn bowed, as did the others, though Miriel had to force herself not to stare. So this is an Elf. They sometimes joined Ranger patrols in the mountains, and they trained those with the Gift, but aside from that they were little known to the Dunedain. It had not always been so, and in the days of the Old Kingdom it was said that Men and Elves made alliance together. But in the evil time after the fall of the kings, the Elves vanished into their own lands, hidden and secret and silent, and allowed only healers and the occasional beleaguered Ranger to find them.
The Elf turned and slipped back behind his tree, and it seemed that they were again alone in the forest, though they knew now that it was not so. She found the thought both comforting and vaguely disquieting.
They continued on, but not much longer, for as the sun sank behind them and shadows again gathered beneath the pines, it grew lighter ahead, and the trees thinned. And then abruptly, or so it seemed, they stood on the edge of a deep valley. The path fell away before them, down the steep hillside in rocky switchbacks that she knew would strain her aching knees. But there, far below on the valley floor, in a meadow by a swift-flowing mountain river, faint lights shone out in the dusk.
She was aware of Aragorn beside her, his breath not entirely even, and when she turned to him, she was surprised to see the glitter of tears on his cheeks.
"I was raised here," he said softly, in answer to her unspoken question, though of course she already knew it. They all knew the stories, but she had not thought of it in this way before. "It was my first home." And he was silent as he led them down the path into Elrond's valley.
It was deep dusk when at last they reached level ground, and walked through faded grass toward the growing rush of the river, loud with autumn rain. A stream flowed down out of the hills and through the meadow, bridged with planks worn smooth by the passage of many feet. There was no rail, and they crossed carefully in the dusk, water swirling gray beneath them. They saw no one, but clearly someone saw them, for a door opened as they came up the path from the meadow, light spilling down broad stone steps and across a paved courtyard. Another, wider path led away south, across a bridge and along the far bank of the river, vanishing quickly into the gloom. But they turned their backs on the night, and following Aragorn they climbed the steps and entered the lighted door.
Miriel narrowed her eyes against the brightness of candle and lamp. She saw Aragorn step forward and bow once again, more deeply this time, to an Elf who seemed somehow older than the guard they had met in the woods, though how age could matter, or even be told, among those who did not die of it, she could not say. Aragorn spoke to him in their language, and though there were words she knew, or thought she knew, for the Elf tongue was akin to the old speech of the men of the North, she could not follow what was said. But she heard her own name, and Meren's and Anna's, and also nestor, that was healer in the old speech, and she knew they spoke of her. She met the Elf's eyes when they turned to her, and bowed slightly in acknowledgement, and hoped the dim light hid her flush.
Movement then, out of the corner of her eye, and turning she saw another Elf descending the stairs that led up from the entrance hall into the house. His hair was long and straight and dark, and he wore a simple robe of light gray, no jewels nor other finery, nothing to mark him in any way. But looking on him, she had a feeling of age even greater than the other, of deep memory and of distance from the tides of the world. Here was a being on another scale entirely; she felt small, almost bodiless, for her mortal life could mean nothing to him.
Yet he smiled a little as he came down the steps, crossed the floor with a haste that seemed almost eager, and without waiting for a bow he embraced Aragorn. She could not hear what they said to each other, but then he stepped back and smiled more broadly. "It is a cold season for journeying, Estel my son. Yet whatever it is that brings you here, you must warm and refresh yourselves and eat, ere we speak of it." And turning to the others, he said, "Kinsmen from afar, you are welcome in my house. Here you will find rest, and relief for a time from your labors." Then he bowed, and they bowed deeply to him, though Miriel's stiff legs and back ached at the gesture. So this is Lord Elrond. And she felt that she ought to have some reaction more profound, but could not find it in her weary mind.
Aragorn went with Elrond, back up the steps and through the doorway beyond, but the Elf who had greeted them first now gestured for the Rangers to follow him. Through a side door, they entered a long corridor, shadowy in lamplight. She could see doors spaced on either side, and a short way down the Elf stopped, and gestured to three doors, on the side that she thought must face the river.
"We do not often have guests," he said, voice low and slightly halting, as the guard's had been. "But we keep rooms ready for them nonetheless, for we rarely know when they will come. You will find clean clothes, such as your people are accustomed to wear, and water will be brought for you to wash. When you have refreshed yourselves, return to the hall," he gestured back along the way they had come, "and go through the door opposite, and you will find food. If I do not mistake," he turned to Anna, "you have been in this house before?"
And to Miriel's surprise, for Anna had said nothing of it in all their time together, the older woman nodded. "I know the way."
"Very well. May you have rest for a while from your journeys, my friends." And he handed them the lamp he carried, then bowed and left them.
The rooms were small and simply furnished, a bed and a small table, a washstand and two chairs by the empty hearth. Logs were laid ready for a fire, but though it was cold she did not light it. She set down her pack carefully, unfastened her cloak and hung it on a peg by the door. Part of her wished to pull boots off aching feet and lie down, washing and clean clothes and food all more distant than the lure of sleep. But of course she could not, and so while she waited for the wash water, she looked about her with more curiosity. The furnishings were gracefully made and perfectly joined, far finer work than Dunedain craftsmen normally bothered with. And as she looked more closely she saw that they were not plain, but carved with small patterns on edges and corners. Morning glories trailed along the footboard of the bed, cup-of-gold along the head, wood-lilies bloomed on the mantle above the hearth, and vines traced the table and ran down its legs. There was no paint, no color but the grain of wood, but it seemed that each piece had been chosen with care, some smooth and pure, other figured with waves and whorls. They were mostly pine, and she thought of the deep forests that rose up both sides of the valley. But there were other woods as well, birch and oak, ash and cherry, and others she did not know. And gleaming in the light of the lamp as she bent over the table—she drew in a soft breath, let it out and smiled, running her fingers over the smooth patterned surface. Birdseye maple. And then the lamplight wavered as she remembered. 'This wood sings,' Sirhael had said. 'You never know when you'll find it, can't tell from the outside. But split it open, and its death gives up the song.' 'What song?' she had asked. 'The song of birds,' he answered softly. 'The song of the forest.' And as she touched the wood, though cold winds hissed and whispered in the dark, she heard the song of the first birds in spring.
And then the soft creak of the door opening, for even Elvish doors are not silent. She turned sharply, winced as the movement pulled at weary muscles. An Elf stood in the doorway, two heavy pitchers in his hands. He was entirely still, eyes on her as though she were a forest creature that might startle and flee. His face was smooth and ageless, as they all were, but there seemed a weariness in it, a sadness that had no name.
A long moment they looked at each other, and then she said abruptly, realizing he waited for her, "Come in, come in, please." She stepped toward him, took one pitcher and then the other from his hands and set them on the washstand by the basin. One steamed gently, the smooth ceramic warm to the touch, and soft, involuntary sound of pleasure slipped out at the thought of hot water. She looked back up at him, and found a faint smile on his lips.
"The Wild is cold," he said quietly. A pause, and then, "Is there anything else you need?"
"N-no, thank you," she stammered, unnerved by his stillness. And then, on what impulse she could not have told, "I'm Miriel daughter of Sirhael." A wrench in her chest at the name, but her voice was steady, and she hoped it did not show on her face.
"I am Girith." And he bowed and left, closing the door softly behind him.
She stared after him for a moment, a frown on her face. He had not been rude, and she felt that if she had wished to talk, to ask him questions, he would have answered. But there was a distance in him that made almost a wall, and she dared not ask. I suppose they are all like that, she concluded ruefully. We are so far beneath them, our lives so short, our cares so petty. It's a wonder they bother with us at all.
She washed, shivering in the cold air but so grateful to be clean that it hardly mattered. The clothing that had been set folded on the bed fit her well enough, trousers and shirt and tunic. Now that there was no one to hear, she groaned in pleasure as the thick, warm stockings slid over her aching feet, and there were soft shoes set by the door, so she did not have to bother with muddy boots. I'll clean them tomorrow. When she was dressed, she brushed out her hair and braided it again, leaving the braid to hang loose down her back, and went out again into the hallway. Anna's door was open, and she was gone, and Miriel shivered, feeling suddenly alone in this strange house. But she drew a breath, and forced a smile. Anna knows better than to wait for Meren when there's food. And she knocked on Meren's door.
He opened it, but only wide enough for his face. "I'll be right there." A grin, and a wink. "Warm water, you know."
Miriel chuckled, and shook her head. "Take more than that to get the stink out," she called as he closed the door again.
He came out soon after, wet hair imperfectly combed, borrowed tunic tight across his shoulders. But he met her eyes and smiled, and rather than the jest she had felt on the tip of her tongue, she found herself saying, "Well, at least you get to see Rivendell."
"I do, at that. Almost worth the cold and snow." And then his smile widened to a grin, and she heard what he did not say: Almost worth missing Tathar, too.
They found Anna already eating, and after a time Aragorn joined them. He looked weary, Miriel thought, and worried, but he smiled and ate heartily and answered their questions about the house and about the Elves. But of Lord Elrond he would say little, and they knew better than to press. And when at last they pushed back their chairs, sated and sleepy, and rose to return to their rooms, he said quietly, "Miriel, come with me."
She pulled in a breath but said nothing, and did not look at the others, and so she did not see the plain worry in Meren's eyes, the grim understanding in Anna's.
And she did not hear Meren, after the door had closed behind them: "Damn it all..." Soft, and without force, and he let out a harsh breath and hung his head, stared unseeing at the smooth-flagged floor.
"Not what any would wish on one we love." Anna's voice was hollow, almost pained. "But she must do it."
Meren looked up, startled. "I do not—"
"On a sister, then."
A pause, and then reluctantly he nodded. "It is...so hard," he said softly. "I've seen what it does to them. Mirloth was like a mother to me, after my mother died. And now she—she is not—she cannot—" His voice broke, and he turned away in shame. He had never said this before, not even to Miriel, for her own grief was enough.
Soft steps behind him then, and a hand on his shoulder. "That is a risk," Anna said, slowly as if choosing her words. "There are many risks we all take. Sometimes we lose the throw. But still we must play the game, with all the skill and strength we have, each one of us. For we do not know when our time will come." Steady still, but very soft, with the echo of memory. And so he stood quiet, let it settle, and when his eyes at last were clear, he raised them to hers, nodded without speaking, and they went back to their rooms and they slept.
But Miriel followed Aragorn, down one long, lamplit corridor and then another, up a long flight of steps and around several corners, until at last they stood before a tall door, richly carved with designs she could not make out in the flickering light. Aragorn turned to her. "Lord Elrond wishes to speak with you." And then more gently, "Do not be afraid. I have told him enough for satisfaction, but he would hear it from you." Then he smiled a little, turned to the door and brushed his fingers over a shadowed corner, holding the lamp close. She peered at it, let out a soft, surprised laugh. "Maloseg," he said, smile broadening. For there, unmistakable among a spray of wildflowers carved in dark wood, were the blossoms of yellow gorse. And then he knocked, and without waiting for an answer he turned the smooth-wrought handle, and she followed him in.
She afterward remembered little of what Lord Elrond asked her, or what she answered. She remembered only his eyes, dark in the candlelight, that seemed to see all there was to be seen of her, the words almost an afterthought. She felt also Aragorn's eyes on her, though he leaned against a wall in the shadows and said nothing. Yet even his silence was a comfort, for in this strange new place, he was solid and known. At last Elrond looked at her a long moment without speaking, then said quietly, "I remember your sister, Miriel. And your mother." And though neither eyes nor voice softened, she felt pity in them, and she knew Aragorn must have told him all that had happened. "It is a hard way, but I judge that you are strong enough to bear it." He turned to Aragorn. "How long will you stay, my son?"
"Not long," said Aragorn quietly, and she heard the apology in his voice. "I dare not, with winter coming on. If the weather is fair, we will leave the day after tomorrow."
Elrond nodded. "It must be as it must be." A faint smile. "I had not expected to see you again so soon; I must take what I am given and be glad." He turned to Miriel, and the smile broadened, but his voice was gentle. "Such is the gift and curse of a father, to raise a child to be and do in the wide world, and in doing so to lose them. But in the world they live beyond us, and thus does a man become more than himself. Rest now, daughter of Sirhael. But be ready in the morning."
She bowed her head, said softly, "Yes, my lord."
The door closed behind them, and they were alone again, the hallway lit only by the flickering lamp Aragorn carried. He walked in silence, and she dared not break it, though questions throbbed in her mind. But she felt weary and muddled, and the reminder of father and mother, though she knew its purpose, brought her to the edge of tears. She was glad she did not have to speak, nor meet his eyes. But as they came into a long, shadowed corridor that ended in a lighted door, he stopped and turned to her. "That is the entrance hall." He gestured to the light. "You can find your way from here." She nodded, but he did not turn away, only held her eyes, and she found that she did not care if he saw the tears in them.
"Miriel," he said at last, softly. And she felt that he saw into her, saw every wish and shame and hope and fear, and she had never felt so bare before another. But she found a strange comfort in it, a desire to be known, and when he took her hand, she met him. This at least she could do, this much control she had, to be there quiet with him, mind touching his mind as hand touched his hand, offering nothing and asking nothing, only being for a time not alone.
He drew a breath, tightened his hand on hers and then let it go. "It is no small thing that you do, no small gift that you give to the North. My sister, I honor your gift." These last words formal, the ritual of gift and obligation, and she answered as she had been taught.
"The honor is mine to give." A pause, and then, "Goodnight, my lord."
"Goodnight, Miriel." And he turned away, and she made herself turn also, and made her eyes not follow him as he walked into the shadows.
Notes:
The Rivendell guard's passphrase translates as "Stars above, stars below," and Aragorn's reply "Honored be the stars."
This might be a good time to mention geography, as the story's geographical range is expanding. I am well aware of the convention (based apparently on a rather sketchy note on a draft of the Tale of Aragorn and Arwen) that the remnant of the Northern Dunedain lived in the Angle between Mitheithel and Hoarwell. However, given their limited numbers and resources in the latter part of the Third Age, it makes more sense to me that they would keep their primary defensive perimeter relatively close to their defended assets (the Breeland and the Shire), roughly maintaining the borders of old Arthedain. I therefore decided to place their villages in the country east and south of the North Downs, with semi-permanent watchposts at Sarn Ford, Brandywine Bridge, and the road south of Bree. They also maintain more remote watchposts at the bridge over Mitheithel and the High Pass, to protect trade along the East Road, and they send patrols throughout Eriador. I understand the argument for the Angle (nearer to the aid and protection of Rivendell), but I decided to do something a little different.