Hunger woke her, late in the evening. She found that she was in the hall, and Aragorn lay beside her, clearly asleep, his face pale even in the firelight. But there was food on a plate, bread and meat and cheese, set carefully by the wall, and she knew he had left it for her. She smiled a little, ate as much as she could manage, and slipped back into sleep.

When she woke again, gray light seeped through the cracks in the shutters. Her entire body ached, and her head felt light, but she drank the rest of the water that had been left for her, and then she was steady enough to stand. Aragorn still slept, and she moved softly, careful not to wake him as she pulled on her boots and drew her cloak about her, shivering a little, and then made her way carefully around sleeping bodies to the door. It was ajar, and she slipped out into the early light. She staggered a little as the cold hit her, put a hand out and leaned against the wall, breathing slowly.

"Miriel." The accent of Wilderland, and she recognized Talis, the village headman, coming toward her out of the gloom. She bowed as well as she could with a hand still on the wall, but he strode right up and embraced her, and she saw the marks of tears on his cheeks. "I have been with my brother," he said quietly. "One of the men you mercied was his son. It is...hard. But at least he did not die in pain."

She nodded, thought he must have been the boy surrounded by his family, and she thought suddenly of Gallach. "I am sorry for your loss," she managed, though her voice shook with cold and weakness both.

He heard it, and took her hand. "Come. You must eat." He smiled a little. "Your Chieftain said you might wake early, and if you did you would be hungry."

How spent he must have been, by the end. And still he could think of others. And then, soft and clear in her mind, wondering and yet also the most natural, obvious thing in the world: Brannon mell.

Talis brought her to his house, where the kitchen was bustling despite the early hour. Smiles and nods, but they let her eat in peace, and when she was done she felt steadier, though with relief from the pain of healing, her wounded leg burned all the more. But she rose, bowed and thanked them, then asked with gestures and simple words for food to bring to Aragorn, and then she limped, slow but steady, back to the hall.

He was awake, bleary-eyed and breathing slowly, but he managed a smile when he saw her, and gasped in relief at the food. "How are you feeling?" he asked quietly, between bites. She thought for a moment, choosing her words carefully, for she felt that this question was important. Not a test, exactly, but a measure. How far can you go? And how quickly can you come back?

"Shaky," she said at last. "Better after food."

He chuckled a little and nodded.

"Everything hurts. But I think I could travel today, if I needed to. Or certainly tomorrow."

He gestured to her leg. "And that?"

She shrugged. "Not deep. It hurts, but not enough to matter."

He looked at her hard for a moment, and then jerked a nod. "Good. We will leave tomorrow then."

Her heart fell, and weariness pulled at her body at the thought of the journey back over the mountains. It must have shown on her face, for he said more gently, "We must, Mir. If we don't go now, we'll never make it home before the snow."

"I know," she sighed, and softened it with a faint, wry smile. "Doesn't mean I'm looking forward to it."

"Fair." And then, "Falaran will stay here, of course. He is out of danger, but he can't travel, not for weeks yet. He will stay through the winter, and return to us in the spring." A pause, and then, quiet and careful, "And Calen will stay too."

She sucked in a sharp breath, felt tears sting her eyes, though she realized now that she had almost expected it.

"It is best," Aragorn went on quietly. "For him, and for them. And for us."

And as she thought about it, she knew it was true. "He should stay with his family," she said at last, though it pained her, and Aragorn said nothing but laid a hand on her shoulder, and did not pretend not to see her tears.

When Aragorn had finished eating, together they found Calen at his mother's house. He was hollow-eyed and bruised, but not wounded, and his younger brother who had fought on the wall seemed inordinately proud of the small bandage round his forehead. Aragorn greeted the family courteously but then gestured Calen outside. In the chill morning their breath smoked, and Calen spoke before Aragorn had a chance to.

"My lord, I—"

"You must stay," said Aragorn quietly, cutting across him. "They need you more than we do."

Calen drew a sharp, shaking breath, let it out slowly. "I would not break my oath."

Aragorn laid a hand on his shoulder. "You do not. It is my wish that you stay here."

"Have I displeased—"

Aragorn shook his head, made a sound of frustration. "Of course not." A sigh, and then more quietly, "Think. You belong to us, but also to them. They trust you, in a way they will never truly trust any of us. But I need them. We need them. If they bow before the Druadwaith..."

Calen met his eyes. "Then Rivendell is put in danger, and the Dunedain lands." Softly, almost wonderingly, as understanding unfolded.

"That is why we are here." A brief, dry laugh. "It's nothing to do with you. Well, mostly nothing." But then, half-smile almost gentle, "It is a joy, brother. They are few enough in the Wild."

They gathered in the hall that night, and it seemed that the customs of Wilderland were not so unlike those of the Dunedain in this, for there was singing, and drinking, and the telling of tales that she could not understand, and most of all the warmth of others to push away grief.

But after a time it became too much, the smoke and the noise and the press of bodies. Calen was with his family, and Aragorn sat in a place of honor by Talis, and so there was none to heed nor hinder her, none even to notice, she thought, as she made her way along the wall and at last slipped out into the night.

The cold air was sharp in her lungs. She coughed and stumbled a little, leaned against the wall and gazed up, blinking until her eyes cleared and stars glittered white and near in the moonless sky. She shivered, and breathed, and looked up at the stars, felt the echo of pain, and fear, and death.

It is not real. Not now. But still she gasped, flinched at the memory of darkness, of how easy it would have been to let go, to give in, to slip away.

No. She shuddered, breathed in cold air and watched the clouds of her breath in the starlight, until at last the pounding of her heart slowed, and death was gone, and there was only the night and the stars. Eleni laitaima, she thought, and smiled a little as the words brought memory of Girith to her mind.

The door of the hall opened, and she shrank back against the wall and was still, shrank away from the effort of speech, the labored stumbling of word and gesture, the grief or gratitude or wonder in strange eyes. No. Not now. Leave me alone.

But the man did not notice her, stopped a little way from the door and stood still, and she could hear his breath, rasping and choked, and she thought that he was weeping. And then he turned a little, and it was Kir's face in the starlight.

Warmth, and the memory of steady arms around her, and without really thinking she called his name softly. He started, turned toward the shadow where she stood, and then slowly he came to her, and she put her arms around him, and he wept on her shoulder.

"My father died," she said, haltingly, searching for words in his tongue. "One year ago. Sickness. I—I was not there." And then she found that she too was weeping, and they held each other as tears turned cold on their cheeks.

At last his breathing calmed, and his shaking stilled, and she felt his face warm against her neck. A change in him, and she kissed his cheek, and then he turned his face and she kissed his lips, and they were soft and alive and wanting. And when at last he drew away and groped in the dark for her hand, she let him take it, let him lead her through the cold night to a stable, warm and thick with animals and hay, and he drew her into an empty stall and found a horse blanket for them to lie on, and another to cover them, and in the close warm darkness they pulled each other away from death.

She held him afterward, cradled his head to her chest and let him sleep, and she found peace in the solid warmth of him. Not as much as if he had been Calen, she thought, with a faint, wry smile in the dark. But that cannot be, and this can. And then, in a voice that made her smile in truth: 'It is a joy, brother. They are few enough in the Wild.'

They slipped out of the stable before first light, and she made her way carefully back to the hall. Aragorn was already awake in their corner, packing his gear. He said nothing, but a smile lifted the corners of his lips, and she hoped the dimness hid her flush.

Calen was waiting for them, dark against the deep blue of early morning. He lifted the pack onto her shoulders, hugged her fiercely and kissed her cheek, cracked lips warm in the cold. "Take care of yourself, Mir. And him." He gestured with his chin toward Aragorn, who was speaking to Talis. "It's late to be starting back over the mountains."

She shrugged. "So it is." There was nothing more to be said. There was danger in it; they both knew that, and Aragorn knew it better than either.

He handed her a thing soft and shapeless in the half light. "Mittens." A small smile. "For you and the Chieftain both. My—mother made them." Only the slightest catch, the word not quite natural yet to say, too new after so long.

She let out a soft breath, knew the gift could not be refused.

"Valar guard and guide you, Ranger," he said softly.

"Valar guard and guide."

Talis tried one last time to persuade them to stay, as they gathered in the frosted dooryard before dawn, cold wind whispering in the dry grass beyond the gate. But Aragorn would not be moved.

"I must be with my people through the winter." Quiet but final. "It is a risk I will take."

"Not a risk for yourself alone," Talis muttered. He drew a sharp breath, as though he had not meant to say it aloud, and then, "Forgive me, lord. It is not my place."

"No," said Aragorn quietly, "but you are not wrong." And then, though still he spoke to Talis, his eyes slipped sideways to Miriel. "But it is less of a risk if she is with me."

Talis frowned, but gave a grudging nod. "Will you at least take a local man to guide you?" He said it without much hope, and seemed unsurprised, perhaps even relieved when Aragorn shook his head.

"I will not put another in danger," he said, but softened it with a dry smile. "We will manage well enough."

And with the eastern sky lightening behind them, they strode through the gate and turned toward the mountains.

Notes:

A short interlude of rest here; never fear, the next chapter will make up for it ;)

Gallach was one of Miriel's companions in training; he died in the Lossoth attack on Elenost in NATWWAL Ch. 12.

Eleni laitaima - Honored be the stars; this is the passphrase Aragorn uses with the Rivendell guard in Ch. 12 of this story.

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