"The Chieftain? Your Chieftain's here?" Koren frowned. "Why?"
"Damned if I know. Said he wanted the mountain air."
Koren barked a laugh. "And we'll find out when he sees fit to tell us."
"As always." Falaran gave an exaggerated sigh, then turned to Miriel. "How was your first pack trip?"
"Never again," she said, but grinned, her heart suddenly full of joy.
On the level ground in front of the hut she stood still as willing hands lifted the pack from her shoulders, straightened and stretched and groaned, and made herself not look for him. But movement then on the edge of sight, two men coming down from the rocky height above the pass, careful on scree then bounding the last few steps down to the road, and that loose-limbed stride could be no one else.
He greeted Koren first, welcomed him in the Wilderland tongue, and she knew enough of it by now to understand thanks for their labor. Koren introduced Tam, who stammered and bowed, for once caught without words.
"And my Rangers," said Aragorn at last, turning to them with a smile, though she thought disquiet lay beneath it. "How do you find Wilderland?"
The question was to Calen, and she pulled in a soft breath, for she knew the answer was not easy. But he said quietly, after a moment, "Strange. But not as strange as I had thought. Perhaps you were right, my lord."
"Perhaps?" Aragorn's smile widened a little. "Well, there will be time enough to be sure." He turned to her, lowered his voice. "That pack must weigh as much as you do."
A small, self-conscious laugh. "Near enough, my lord."
"And how did you bear it?" Smiling still, but the jest was gone.
And before she could answer, Calen's voice, quietly defiant. "As well as any of us."
A long look, and then, almost gently, "I expected nothing less." He smiled. "Come, let's get you unpacked. And you'll be off cooking duty for tonight at least." They laughed, as they were meant to, but Calen's eyes when they met hers behind the Chieftain's back were thoughtful.
"What?" she asked in a low voice, as they began untying the straps of his pack.
"He's always testing us, isn't he?"
She shrugged. "Of course. They all are." He did not respond, and at last she nudged his shoulder, though her hands did not cease their work. "So what? Don't worry about it." A small laugh. "I don't."
"You do, though." Quiet, and serious, and she could think of nothing to say, for she knew he was right.
Dinner that night was better than it had been for weeks, the fresh supplies and their bearers loudly praised, especially once the wine was served out. There was music and laughter, and she sang Lady of the North but refused a second request, wine and weariness tugging her limbs as she leaned against the rough stone wall. Calen's head rested on her shoulder, his eyes nearly closed. She nudged him. "Go to sleep. But not here." He chuckled drowsily, pushed himself to his feet and staggered off to find his bunk.
Her body was tired, but her mind was not. Why is he here? She thought of what Falaran had said, when he had first read the message back at Hoarwell bridge. They are worried about the Druadwaith...And she thought of her own journey with Anna north of the mountains years before, vague warning of threat in a dusty barn, then desperate flight over the plains, and another mountain pass.
Aragorn was speaking quietly now to Koren and Belegon, on the other side of the hearth, their faces shadowed in the firelight. Or listening, mostly, as Koren spoke, and though his face was calm, there was a tightness about eyes and lips that told her he was not. What is it? If the Chieftain is worried...She shook herself. Stop it. He'll tell you when you need to know. So said reason. But her body was restless, and she pushed herself up on aching feet.
The night air was cold on her face, and she shivered and blinked and woke a little. Smiled even, for though it would be hot for weeks yet in the lowlands, the mountain summer was almost done, and autumn whispered in her.
Soft creak of the door, and a quiet step behind her.
"Maloseg."
He said it even before she had turned to face him, and she thought, Does he know my back in the dark? But then, more reasonably, He must have seen me go out. What does he want?
"Belegon tells me you journeyed in the lands of the Druadwaith, when you were maethorneth with Anna. Apparently you were her mute younger sister?" Even in the dark she could hear his smile. "That must have been...interesting."
Instinctive, protective caution, and so she said only, "Yes, my lord."
Aragorn laughed softly. "We were trainees together, Anna and Halbarad and I. He got us in more trouble..." Even in the dark she could hear his smile. "She was the voice of reason. Mostly." He laughed again. "But sometimes she called his bluff. She would give him this look, when he was rattling on, and she'd say—I can still hear it—'Shit or get off the pot, Hal.' And then everyone knew there was no backing out."
Miriel could not help but laugh, hearing it indeed in Anna's voice. Halbarad she could not place, for it seemed so different from the man she knew. But time changes men. As does the Wild. And then, with a soft flush of fear: How much will it change us?
Aragorn must have seen her expression shift, for he said quietly, "She can't stand bullshit, so she doesn't take maethorneth. I wish she would. But she took you." A hand on her shoulder, eyes on hers in the dark. "You were lucky, Miriel."
"I know." Very softly, "And I think she persuaded Halbarad to take Calen. We were never sure, and we didn't dare ask..."
"She did. Though apparently it didn't take much persuading. Calen has a way about him." He smiled, and glanced sidelong at her.
She flushed, said hurriedly, "I—yes. He...they said they would spread the word. The villagers. About his family." Can you not speak sense, girl?
But he said thoughtfully, "Ah. I told him that might happen, before I sent him up here. I did give him a choice, but he wanted to come."
"I know," she said softly. "He told me."
"He is one of us, but he is one of them also. That is a rare thing, Miriel." He smiled. "Like Anna. Now, what do you remember of the Druadwaith? I have been in their lands myself, and I spoke to Anna, but I would have your telling of it."
What can I tell him that she could not? But the Chieftain had asked, and so she must answer. And try this time to speak sense.
She told him what she knew, what she had seen and heard: the dry northern plains, the dusty village, the pursuit to the mountains – and at his asking, what she thought about it. Hesitant at first with this, but he seemed genuinely interested, and so she went on, and almost forgot she was speaking to the Chieftain. When at last she was done, he nodded thoughtfully. "They are more like us than we might wish." A dry laugh. "Perhaps that is why we fight."
She frowned, for this did not seem to bear any relation to what she had said. The moon had risen, and he could see her face clearly, and he smiled. "You want to know why I am here."
"I—yes, my lord." No use denying it.
He turned his eyes to the dark lands to the east, shadowed under a heavy yellow moon, and his lips tightened. At last he turned back to her. "The Druadwaith mean to attack Wilderland," he said quietly.
She pulled in a sharp breath, as memory flooded through her, and fear with it. "And we mean to stop them." Softly, but it was not a question.
He fixed her with a hard look. "Yes." A pause, and then, "I wanted to come here myself to see, and talk to the Wilderland men. But there is no doubt now. Their northern lands will be attacked before autumn."
She frowned. "We—they didn't say anything in the village..."
He raised his eyebrows. "Not that you could hear. That is why Belegon sent Koren. He is a trusted man among them, second son of one of their lords. They tell him things they would never tell us. And he tells us what we need to know. It has been thus for many years."
"Then we are reliant on his word? An outlander?"
"Yes." Anger in his voice that she had never heard before, and she flinched. "And he has never yet led us wrong." He sighed. "Men are men, Miriel, no matter where they were born. And they do things for much the same reasons. The Druadwaith live in a poor land; in many years, they do not have enough to feed their children, and so they look south with longing. The Wilderland men must protect themselves, as must we. And so we make common cause. Should there come a time when we have need..." He shook his head, a faint, wry smile flitting across his lips. "I hope it does not come in my time. But if it does, then at least we know their names, and they ours, and perhaps they will think that they owe us a debt." A brief, dry laugh. "Or perhaps not. But at least we tried."
She did not entirely understand it, but she understood enough. "Better to build a bridge than burn one?"
He smiled. "So it is. Now, you must rest. Don't even try to tell me you don't hurt."
She laughed ruefully. "I haven't been this sore in years. Faelon should make the trainees pack supplies up to the mountains."
Aragorn raised his eyebrows. "Not a bad idea. Shall I tell them it was yours?"
"Do you want them to hate me?"
He chuckled. "I suppose Faelon can take the blame."
"The credit, do you mean? For one more opportunity to build character?"
"Yes, that." A wicked smile. "Maybe you have Mistress of Trainees in your future."
An immediate, instinctive groan of disgust, and then disbelieving laughter, and she clapped a muffling hand over her mouth.
"You are enjoying yourself entirely too much out here, Miriel." Belegon's deep voice, in the doorway behind them. "Am I not working you hard enough?"
"N—no, captain. I mean, yes, captain, you are, I—"
"Let her go, Bel." Even with her eyes on the captain, she could hear the smile in Aragorn's voice. "It's been a long day."
The Druadwaith were kin from afar with the men of Wilderland; in their telling, the lord of Rhovanion had once had twin sons but favored one over the other, and the spurned son left the narrow land on the borders of the great wood in search of wider spaces of his own. He found them on the dry grasslands north of the mountains, and led there any who would follow him. Winter was bitter on the plains, and they dug their houses into the earth and roofed them with sod. But in summer the grass grew green and tall, and they raised small sturdy horses, able to pull great loads on the rocky mountain paths and withstand harsh weather, and long-haired cattle and sheep. They found gold in the mountains, and gems, and struck up a trade over the northern passes with the kingdom of Arnor.
The men of Númenor considered them wild folk, and called them Druadwaith, and looked down on them, though eagerly they bought their gems and horses and fine things made of wool. For the most part there was peace, but on occasion a lord would rise who wished to claim more than was his, and would ride in force over the passes. And so when the Witch King rose, and bent his malice on Arnor, he found some among the Druadwaith who would listen to him. It divided their people, for though they desired more than their cold northern land, they had no wish to be ruled by this sorcerer, but only wished to rule themselves. But that choice was not given to them, and the long years of war were dark on both sides of the mountains. It was told among them that they had turned against him before the end, and fought against the orcs and trolls of Angmar in the final battle. But which stories were true depended on who was doing the telling, and when the history of that time was at last written down many years later, by scribes in the service of Aranarth, there was no mention of it.
When the war was at last ended and the Witch-King fled, the Druadwaith were pushed back north of the mountains with all the other remnants of Angmar. Miners and herdsmen, they scratched out a bare living for their families in a harsh, unforgiving land.
The men of Rhovanion still ruled their homeland, east of the mountains and west of the forest, a land of rolling hills and swift streams, rich vineyards and great timbers that they floated down the rivers and sold at great profit to the men of the south. And for many lives of men they were at peace, untroubled by their kin to the north. But without the threat of an enemy to unite them, they looked less and less to the household of their lord, and though each village swore allegiance to the lord's family, in practice it meant little, and they ruled themselves.
In time, the young prince of the Druadwaith came to hear of this. Though it had grown slowly, his power had grown as the king grew old, and he had many men loyal to him, mounted on sturdy horses that could ride for days with little water or food. And he thought with envy of the farmlands and forests of his ancestral homeland, and he thought perhaps now was the time. The northern lands had been growing harsher, slowly but unmistakably, winters colder and summers drier, and the frail buffer between survival and starvation grew thin.
He had thought first of striking across the mountains, as it was said the kings of old had done, and he sent a scouting party into northern Eriador, and began gathering horses and men and weapons. Yet the king thought it rash, and when the scouts did not return, the young prince let himself be persuaded to wait. But that was now years past, and restless desire grew in him again, and this time he looked south to Wilderland. Perhaps now we will take back what ought to be ours.
And so he began speaking to his lords, chiefs of the greatest households, persuading them, for he could not order. But he was a persuasive man, handsome and well-spoken, a man that other men would wish to follow, though they did not entirely know why. Not all were persuaded, but he let those go, for he did not need them. He had enough, he thought, to make a first effort. And if it goes well, success breeds success, and victory leads to victory. They will see, and then they will beg to join us, for a share of the spoils.
He tried to be quiet about it, but the mustering of men for war is a hard thing to hide, and the Dunedain had long had spies in the north. Word came to Aragorn, not certainty, but hints and warnings that together were enough. It will be a trial this year, he thought. They are not strong enough for conquest, not yet, and the men of Wilderland are too many. But they will think to try the defenses and find them wanting, score a victory and build their support, and so the true attack will come next year, or the year after. The key, then, is that this must not be a victory. But also, it must be won by the men of Wilderland. There are not enough of us. And even if there were, for this once, we cannot spare them forever. A few of us, perhaps, but it must be their fight.
And so Aragorn had come to the pass with only three Rangers, and left two of them there, and would take down with him all the Wilderland men, and with them Falaran and Calen. That much he had planned. But as he thought about it that night, talked through it with Belegon and Koren, something was not right. Something was missing. He frowned.
We need a healer.
Those were the words that took shape in his mind, and came to his lips. That made sense. It was rational. But there was more he could not explain, a feeling of dissonance resolving into harmony, a missing piece slotted into place, a hollow emptiness filled.
"Miriel will come with us."
Belegon glanced at him, but after a moment he nodded. "I'll be sorry to lose her. But she's more use with you."
Aragorn nodded, and pushed himself to his feet. "Best let them know now."
And so he spoke to the Wilderland men, and to Calen and Falaran, and then he found her outside. And he smiled a little at the excitement she could not entirely hide, and remembered how young she was still despite all she had seen and done.
Notes:
The Druadwaith are entirely made-up, and so the history recounted here is as well. A lot of it will be familiar to readers of NATWWAL, but there is some new information, and it seemed like too much for a footnote, so I decided to include it in the main text. Sorry for the info dump!
Miriel and Anna investigate rumors of the Druadwaith military build-up in NATWWAL Ch. 21-23, and encounter the scouting parting in Ch. 24-25. It's one of the better-written and more exciting sections of that story; you should read it, if you haven't :)