A/N: This story picks up where A Light From the Shadows leaves off. You can enjoy it without having read any of my other stories, though certain things will make more sense if you have. I will try to include references at the end of each chapter; that being said, if anything is confusing to you, please let me know!


The deed took all my heart.
I did not think of you,
Not 'til the thing was done.
I put my sword away
And then no more the cold
And perfect fury ran
Along my narrow bones
And then no more the black
And dripping corridors
Hold anywhere the shape
That I had come to slay.

"The Return," Mary Oliver

"But when dark things come from the houseless hills, or creep from the sunless woods, they fly from us. What roads would any dare to tread, what safety would there be in quiet lands, or in the homes of the simple men at night, if the Dunedain were asleep, or were all gone into the grave?"

Aragorn to Boromir, at the Council of Elrond


~There may have been a time when the dark beneath the stars was fearless. But that time is long gone.~

Winter claimed the Wild, its bite an iron grip. The days were short, the nights long, and wind moaned in bare trees. Black pools turned gray with ice, mist falling as hoarfrost in the hills above Rivendell.

Miriel and Aragorn left the valley of the Elves, climbing up and up in the gray of morning. Wind swept down from the mountains, hissed in their ears and numbed their cheeks, and they cursed and bent their heads and pulled their hoods down low. But they strode over the high moors, came after two miserable days to the Road, and a day later to the hamlet of Stonebridge, huddled beneath the mountains.

They expected to find there the three Rangers they had left at the High Pass at the end of summer. Belegon greeted them, embraced Aragorn fiercely and kissed Miriel on the cheek. But then he turned back to the Chieftain, and the joy was gone from his face. "Dalbarin's scouting the woods, should be back before night fall. But Brethil is dead." He shook his head. "Rockslide, as we were coming down from the pass. Never had a chance."

Miriel sucked in a breath, felt tears sting her eyes. He was Meren's saethir…She thought of her oath-brother's grief, felt it almost as her own. He doesn't know, not yet. And the Chieftain will have to tell him. And then fear twisted her gut, sudden and sharp. If I lost Anna…

No. It's not real, hasn't happened, won't happen. Can't happen. She's too skilled, too strong. She's—

But memory then, years ago yet near enough to touch: Arondir, the old armsmaster, facing a gaggle of youths eager for the trials. 'The Wild is not fair. It's brutal, underhanded, kicks you when you're down. Beautiful, yes, heartbreakingly beautiful too. But not just nor fair. Skill and wits and experience may even the odds, but chance is as strong as any of them, or stronger. Stand here, and you live. Stand here, and a rock falling in the mountains cracks your skull and you die…'

She remembered Brethil, could almost hear his voice, a genial bear of a man whose storytelling prowess was legendary in the Company. He had married Lain's older sister after his first wife died in childbirth. They have a little girl – no, two children now, the youngest barely walking. And another memory: Belegon's children, huddled by his feet as they watched their mother's body burn. So many losses, so many children left behind.

Even the Chieftain…

For they all knew the story, though it had happened long before she was born. His voice, as they stood before the Stone, where Sirhael's name was newly carved: 'I have no memory of my father.' And Brethil's children will have no memory of theirs.

"I would like to go home," said Belegon quietly. "To see his children, and mine."

Aragorn met his eyes. "Of course, brother." Then he turned to Miriel, and she answered before he could ask. "I will stay, my lord." A pang in her chest, and it must have shown on her face, for he reached out and took her hand, and briefly she felt his warmth.

Mother… She drew a breath, let it out slowly. "They need him more than she needs me."

And though she spoke to Aragorn, it was Belegon who answered. "It is what your father would have done, maloseg."

She blinked, stared at him. No. No, it's not. He would never have left her, never stayed away if she needed him…

But he did. This also seared in memory, young though she had been: Mirloth screaming, cursing, begging for her husband in the agony of birthing. And later moaning, weeping softly at night when she thought her older girls were asleep, clutching baby Andreth who would not sleep, and murmuring his name, over and over. 'Sirhael. Sirhael, please. I can't, I can't any more…'

Begging for Father, who was out on patrol. Darya, older than her six years, tried to comfort her mother, and soothe terrified three-year-old Miriel. But we needed Father. And he was not there.

There is nothing I can do for her, nothing any of us can do. She blinked, swallowed down guilt. And though it felt like betrayal, she knew it was true.

Belegon laid a hand on her shoulder, looked in her eyes as though he knew. And perhaps he does. They were always together in those days, oath-brothers, guarding each other's backs. And Silevren as well, she and Belegon lovers long before they had children. Mother always smiled, and said she was grateful for it, for them, that they had each other.

And now Father is dead, and Silevren, and Mother is…

"I'll do what I can for her, Mir. And for Darya." Belegon's voice was gentle, and she blinked back tears, and nodded.

"Do you have his star?" Aragorn asked quietly.

"No."

And unbidden to her mind, the image of a body, bloodied and broken, buried under rock. But his star still shone silver in the dark.

So she stayed in Stonebridge with Dalbarin, twice accompanying travelers as far as the Hoarwell, but there was little traffic along the road in winter. Several times they ventured north, scouting the foothills of the mountains for anything amiss, signs of trouble that might threaten Stonebridge or Rivendell. But they found nothing, and returned each time by way of the hidden valley, and Miriel swore Dalbarin to secrecy regarding Girith.

Dalbarin had eyed them with an arch smile that first morning, and followed her out to the practice ground with question and mischief both dancing in his eyes.

"It's not anyone else's concern," she said fiercely, glared at him in defiance but found her heart pounding. Is this it? Where the gossip starts? Will I become the Ranger who fell for an Elf?

But his smile gentled, and he laid a hand on her shoulder. "Of course not. I know when to keep my mouth shut." A soft, wry laugh. "And I know what it is to be thought…available. I would not for all the world bring that on you. Take joy when you can; we find it seldom enough."

She let out a long breath, laid her hand over his. "Thank you." And then, with a sympathetic smile, "Where is Amloth?"

"In Ladrengil, at least until his sister has her baby. He may come later in the winter, if all is well with her."

"Needed there more than here, eh?"

He gave a shrug of long-suffering patience. "I don't know what he can do, mind you. Probably nothing. But he's good with children, and it's her first. He wanted to be there." Affection now clear in his smile, and she nodded, and thrust down tendrils of guilt when she thought of Andreth's three children, the youngest of whom she had not yet seen. We make our choices.

Amloth did indeed arrive, as the days began to lengthen and the snow softened at noon. He brought word that Miriel was to go to the South Road watchpost. She frowned, for it had seemed that the greater danger was north. "Why?"

"That's all the Chieftain said. South Road." Amloth shrugged. "But Mithrandir came to the village, not long after Aragorn returned with Belegon. He may have brought news."

Dalbarin grunted. "Of course he did. Much news, but little help, that's his way." He blew out a breath, shook his head. "I don't mean that, not really…"

"Yes, you do." Amloth's voice was soft, but utterly certain. "And you are not wrong. There is danger in every direction, and we are spread too thin."

I will not see Girith again. Her first thought, and she flushed, and hoped the men would not see. But Dalbarin smiled, and turned to Amloth. "Did the Chieftain send messages for Imladris?" Amloth nodded, gestured to his pack. "I came here first. Perhaps I shouldn't have, but I wanted to see you…"

Dalbarin's smile widened. "As well you should. Miriel will return by way of the valley, won't add much to her journey."

She met his eyes and could not hold back the broad smile of relief and joy that curved her lips. "Thank you," she murmured. Amloth looked from one to the other, then his eyes widened and he too smiled.


She remembered every meeting, and every farewell. Held them in her mind as talismans, promises of hope. But they had made no promises to each other. There could be none, they both knew that, though of course Girith spoke it first, with that gentle directness she now knew so well. "You will find a man of your own people," he said, looking in her eyes. "If that is what you wish." He smiled a little, and shook his head. "I have no gift of foresight; I speak only of what may be. But this valley is my home, and the Wild is yours. Your oath is to your Chieftain and your people; what we have is not a matter for oath or obligation. You are free, as am I." He smiled in truth, laid his hands on her cheeks, and she felt him in her like sunlight, warm and strong and sure. "And for this time, in my freedom, I choose you."

But the time was all too brief, and as she glanced back in the gray of early morning, saw him standing once more in the door of the great house, hand raised in farewell, she thought, Will this be the last time?

And then she forced herself to turn away, and walk into the Wild.

The East Road was empty, a slop of ice and mud, and often she walked on the brown grass of the verge. But winter was nearly over, the sun far higher in the sky than it had been, and she made good use of the lengthening days. Weathertop rose before her, and she camped one night in its shadow, but the next day left it far behind. The weather here was milder, and the first pale green of spring showed in Midgewater's marshy pools. No midges yet, she thought with a smile, relishing that all-too-brief stretch of time when spring had arrived but biting insects had not.

She left the road before Bree-hill, made her way through the Chetwood as sunset gleamed on bare branches, and came at last to the Rushlights' farm as darkness fell. The older dogs remembered her, their barks greeting without threat, and Will came out of the barn smiling. "Sooner than I thought we'd see you, girl." He looked her up and down, stepped close and put his hands on her shoulders. More gently, "You've seen a thing or two, though. Come in and rest yourself."

"How is young Will?" she asked, as they crossed the farmyard to the house.

The farmer grunted, then flashed a sidelong grin. "Right back at it; you'll see him if you stop by the Pony. No lasting damage, and he's more cautious than he was round them big beasts. So all in all, no harm done, and maybe a bit a' good."

Miriel laughed, but relief whispered through her.

Elma managed a hearty meal despite late-winter scarcity. "Potatoes and turnips is all we have left," she said apologetically. But Miriel shook her head and grinned. "It's hot. That's all that matters."

"That it is." Elma cocked an eyebrow. "As is the water, if you've a mind to wash."

The water was indeed hot, and Elma shooed the children out of the kitchen after supper to let Miriel bathe in peace. She thought of the pools of Imladris, allowed a wistful smile. Some day. But for now, this is plenty.

More than enough, and she found herself blinking back tears the next morning as she bade the Rushlights farewell, rested and fed and clean. And welcomed. And that meant as much as all the others.


The Greenway guard kept watch a long day's journey south of Bree, and she soon realized why Aragorn had sent her there. They were undermanned, three Rangers instead of the usual six, and exhausted, worn down and sick from a winter of too much guard duty in the cold and too little sleep. Morose, too, in a way she had rarely seen, peevish and short-tempered. They were relieved to have her, certainly, and the youngest, her childhood friend and training companion Lain, greeted her with genuine joy. But Gilrath, the senior and thus by default in command, only grunted, "About time," and sent her back out to relieve Hador on watch. She set down her pack, pulled out a blanket against the night chill, and obeyed, though it had been a long day and her legs and back ached for rest.

Lain took over from her halfway through the night, shivering and blinking sleep out of his eyes. "My blankets are just inside the door. Use them for tonight, so you don't wake the others." He grunted. "And don't ever wake Gilrath, if you can help it."

She chuckled. "I'll try not to." She handed him her blanket, waved away his half-hearted protests, and left him a little warmer in the cold, empty night.

The shelter, dug into a hillside just out of sight of the road and roofed with sod, was dark and damp but spacious enough, occupied now by only half its intended garrison. Lain woke her when he returned at dawn, and gestured her to a lower bunk. "Might as well take that one," he said in a low voice. "You'll be in and out often enough at night; mine's just above it."

She raised her eyebrows in question, but he shook his head slightly, then gestured with his chin toward the door. She set his blankets that she had slept in on his bunk, and her pack on hers, and followed him out into the early light.

He was crouched by a stone-ringed firepit, kindling a small blaze to heat water. "Hearth in there smokes." He gestured to the cabin. "Don't use it unless you have to."

She frowned. "Can't you repair it?"

"Could. If Gilrath would let us. Said he tried and just made it worse." He shook his head. "Just because he—" But then he stopped abruptly, head cocked, eyes on the dark door. Miriel heard nothing, and at last Lain's shoulders slackened, and he turned back to her. "Just don't."

She waited for more, but he did not speak, only fed small sticks into the fire. Later. And then, for it must be said but she had not wanted to speak of it last night, not when he had a long, dark watch ahead of him, "I'm sorry about Brethil. How is your sister?"

Lain glanced at her, let out a long sigh. "I don't know. I've been here all winter. Haven't seen her."

Miriel said again, softly, "I'm sorry." And then, "The village will take care of them." As they have done for so many others.

"I know. I just wish I could—" He shook his head, abrupt, almost violent, and turned back to the fire.

I should not have said anything. And she cursed herself silently for a fool.

Lain went to sleep after breakfast, and she was alone in the camp, Gilrath still sleeping as well, and Hador on watch. It felt strange, almost lonely, and unsettling. She had expected the wry, foul-mouthed companionship of those stuck with winter duty, mostly volunteers but that didn't stop them grumbling. She had volunteered herself, both this year and before, for she had little to hold her at home.

Mother…

She blinked, shook her head. There's nothing I could do.

You could be there for Darya.

She doesn't need me. Sharp, almost bitter. She's never needed me. Never needed anyone.

The fire flickered, the last sticks subsiding to coals, soft and gray in the daylight. Need? Perhaps not. But must it always be a matter of need?

Amloth's face came then to her mind, the gentle motion of his hands as he showed how he held the newborn child, rocked and soothed her so his sister could sleep. He was not needed. But she was eased because he was there.

And if he had been here, taking a watch for his brothers?

They did not need him either. They've survived well enough.

We all make our choices. As does the Chieftain.

Gilrath staggered out of the hut a little before noon, grunted what might have been thanks when she handed him a small loaf she had brought from Bree, but he ate in silence and then went to relieve Hador on watch. Lain woke as well, and when Hador returned they ate together, and spoke a little of what they had seen through the winter. But when Miriel afterward suggested training, Lain groaned and shook his head.

"Too tired. Sorry Mir, maybe tomorrow." Guilt in it perhaps, and he added, by way of explanation, "It's been a long winter. We tried to keep a training schedule, at first, but with only three to watch, and I was always on nights, and Gilrath didn't really care…" He glanced at Hador, who looked away and said nothing. "I suppose we could have done it. Should have, but you know how it is…" And his eyes on her were almost beseeching.

I know how it is to…not train? Not stay ready, for whatever might come up that road? Not do what I can to keep myself and my maethanar safe? Anger rose in her, hot and sharp. No, I do not know how that is.

But then something he had said caught in her mind. "Why were you always on the night watch? Did you not rotate?" For that was how it had been at Sarn Ford and the Brandywine and the Hoarwell, and even in the village, every guard post she knew of – rotation every fortnight, to balance fairness with the body's need for routine. Written nowhere, but they all did it.

Lain shrugged. "Gilrath doesn't like nights, and he's senior. His choice."

That also was not written, but every Ranger knew it. And knew also not to use it for this. She bit her lip, anger flaring again. Lain was not looking at her, seemed to be deliberately avoiding her eye. "I need to go check the snares. Rabbits'll be coming out, warm day like this." He sheathed his knife and then walked out of camp, soon disappearing around a curve of the hill.

Hador turned to her. "Let him go. It's been a long winter." And then, rising and stretching with a groan, "I'll train, if you like." A dry laugh. "Been long enough."

Hador was rusty, slower than he ought to be, tentative, reactions just a little off. He was older than her, and stronger, should have beaten her easily in unarmed grappling, where strength mattered most. But she drew him on, lured him to move and then slipped aside, let him waste his strength, and soon he was gasping for breath, sweating in the thin sunlight. One more, and she judged it was time, let him get hands on her but then gave way, and he overbalanced and fell beneath her on the hard ground. He lay there a moment gasping, rolled over with a groan, ignored her proffered hand and pushed himself to his feet. But then he shook his head, lifted his chin and met her eyes. "I deserved that." The ghost of a smile. "Go again?"

She got him to the ground three more times, and he bested her once, and after the last they both sat in the dirt, bruised and gasping, dry grass in their hair. He looked at her. "Haven't been running enough."

"I can tell." Spoken without thought, and at once she regretted it, feared he would not want to hear the truth. But he shook his head, and gave a hoarse, dry laugh. "Schooled by Sirhael's daughter. I should have expected nothing less."

She flushed, and looked away, but pride flared warm within her.

He grunted, pushed himself to his feet. "Bows? If what I've heard is true, you could beat me with your eyes closed. Even if I weren't already shaky as a little girl." And then, "Sorry, nothing against girls…"

She laughed "Oh, I was a menace, Father could have told you that. At least, he told me at every available opportunity." Until I wasn't anymore. She remembered the day, remembered him standing at her shoulder on the range in Elenost at sunset, narrowed eyes assessing her target. Remembered when he turned to her. 'Well, maloseg, I suppose you can come here on your own now.' Nothing more, but she had known it for what it was. I am no longer a little girl.

Lain returned with two rabbits, winter-lean but better than nothing, and so she was full and almost cheerful as she left camp at dusk to relieve Gilrath by the road. She walked carefully by long habit, nearly noiseless on the dead grass, around the curve of the hill and toward the brushy thicket where the Rangers stood guard, shielded from the road but with a clear view of any traveler coming from south or north. Gilrath was there, dark against the pale ground in the fading light. He did not acknowledge her, did not move, only stood with his eyes turned north, until at last she spoke his name.

He stiffened, whirled round, drawing his sword as if to face a threat, and she heard his breath loud in the stillness. She jerked back, held up her hands empty. "It's just me. Miriel. I—I have the next watch…"

He stared at her, gasping, and at last he slowly lowered his sword, and sheathed it. But he said nothing to her, only grunted, and turned back toward camp. She watched him go until he disappeared around the hill, but it was long before her pounding heart slowed.

She asked Lain about it, when he came to take the watch from her in the middle of the night. He let out a breath, consternation clear on his face in the moonlight. "Should have warned you of that. Sorry. Don't startle him. Make noise so he knows you're coming, especially if it's getting dark. He…" Lain stopped, looked away from her. And though they were alone, he lowered his voice. "Something happened, when he was in the Trollfells last autumn. Hador was there, but he won't say anything. Only that it was a bad time. But Gilrath…he's…" Lain shook his head. "He fears the dark. That's why he takes days. All through the winter, he watched from dawn to dusk, and Hador and I split the nights. Neither of them has ever said it, but it's clear enough."

So you compensate for him. A Ranger who startles at shadows, afraid of the dark. We have to be able to trust each other. We have to.

She straightened, forced the thought down. We all compensate for each other. We know our weaknesses, and our strengths. And we all have them. A wry grimace in the dark. Except the Chieftain, of course. But then she remembered crouching on the dirt floor of a stone hut high in the mountains, the darkness she had felt in him, the bitter swirl of regret and self-disgust. 'That is me as well,' he had said, and she remembered his hand in hers. 'And so we will walk the hard road together.' As we must, for none of us is strong enough alone. She smiled at the memory of his voice.

Lain took her smile for acquiescence, and he squeezed her shoulder in farewell and headed back to camp and sleep. And she sat on a rock, gazing out at the moonlit road.


Notes: Okay (deep breath) - I think these are all the references you might need; let me know what I've missed!

Geography: In my 'verse, Stonebridge is a village in the foothills of the Misty Mountains, the last habitable place before the East Road begins climbing up into the mountains. The proximity of Rivendell to the road is a bit debatable; I've decided that after the fall of Arnor, Elrond largely withdrew Rivendell from contact with the outside world, and the road was rerouted to pass south of the valley, before turning north again through the foothills to Stonebridge and the High Pass. Elenost, the main village of the Northern Dunedain, is on the eastern edge of the North Downs (this location makes more sense to me than the Angle for several reasons; ask me if you're interested!). Ladrengil is a smaller village, two days' journey south of Elenost.

Characters: Meren is Miriel's closest childhood friend and oath-brother; he appears throughout Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost and A Light From the Shadows. Belegon is a sort of honorary uncle; he was her father's oath-brother and also shows up periodically in the other stories. Brethil and Amloth are mentioned in NATWWAL but don't appear on-page; Gilrath and Hador are new for this story.

"...the Stone, where Sirhael's name was newly carved..." Miriel's father dies in ALFTS Ch. 6; her mother, a Gifted healer, nearly dies as well trying to save him, and remains a shell of her former self. Darya, a healer and Miriel's older sister, appears several times in the other stories. BTW, for those who are following the timeline, the events of Not Even The Rain occur at the same time as the first few chapters of this story...but of course Miriel doesn't know that yet :)

"Belegon's children, huddled by his feet..." Belegon's wife Silevren, a Ranger and Miriel's earliest mentor, dies in NATWWAL Ch. 12.

Girith, an Elven healer, trains Miriel in Rivendell in ALFTS Ch. 13-16; she returns to Rivendell in Ch. 27, and things proceed from there :)

The Rushlights appear in NATWWAL Ch. 26 and ALFTS Ch. 19; in the latter story, Miriel heals their son when he is kicked by a horse at the Prancing Pony.

saethir - mentor, a senior Ranger who is paired with a trainee for an apprenticeship period
maloseg - gorse, used here as a nickname
maethanar - comrade (lit. battle-brother); English doesn't have the right word, so I made up this one

Miriel's memory of Arondir at the beginning of the chapter is from NATWWAL Ch. 3; her memory of Aragorn at the end is from ALFTS Ch. 25.

It is so good to be posting again! I will update on Fridays, at least for the first few weeks, though it might slow down a bit as I get to the parts I haven't edited yet :) I love my characters and their world, and I love talking about them, so please leave comments, if you are so inclined; I promise to write back!