The relief patrol came a fortnight later, six Rangers for the summer garrison with Baranor as their captain. Miriel's friend Morfind was among them, and she and Lain greeted him with joy. But it was short-lived, and though they stood in the warm spring sunshine, dread again whispered through her as Hador recounted all that had happened.

When it was done, Baranor sighed and shook his head. "It is not the first time," he said softly, looking away to the north. But then he turned to her, a different pain in his eyes, and she knew what he would say before he said it. "I also am the bearer of sorrow, Miriel. The Chieftain said he wished he could have been the one to tell you…Your mother died last winter. "

She nodded, bowed her head as tears blurred her eyes. An arm around her shoulders then, Lain holding her close, and she leaned against him. She was gone, already gone, before ever I left for the mountains. But then, with an ache in her chest: Dar…

"Your sister said to give you this." Morfind's voice, low and gentle. And in the palm of his other hand—she drew a ragged breath, and her hand trembled as she reached out. Her fingers touched smooth wood, golden brown in the sunlight, and closed around a small carved flower.

"Maloseg," said Morfind softly, looking in her eyes. "She said you would understand."

Miriel nodded, swallowed hard, and still her voice was not quite steady. "My father carved this. I don't remember, I was too young…but Darya said he once returned from patrol to find Mother at her wit's end with me." She laughed softly, though tears slipped down her cheeks. "I was teething, chewing on everything, satisfied with nothing. He had brought a sprig of maloseg flowers to give to Mother, but I grabbed it, played with it until I'd torn it to bits." She glanced at Lain. "That's where it came from. The name. And he carved this for her."

"He knew you would leave," said Baranor quietly. "Follow him into the Company. Since you were a little girl, he knew. She—" Baranor fell silent, and looked away from her.

"She hoped he was wrong."

"She wanted to protect you. As any mother would. But instead you protect us." Baranor laid his hands on her shoulders. "As they both did."

Miriel nodded, brushed her fingertips over the maloseg, then slipped the carved wood into the pouch at her belt.

Their camp was loud and cheerful that evening, and Miriel truly realized only then how much the gloom had weighed on her. Morfind nudged her as she sat by the fire, blinking sleepily and fingering the carving in her hands. "Someone else sent you a message."

She frowned. "Who?"

"Be in the village by midsummer."

"What?" She shifted, trying to shake off sleep.

"That's all she said – she wants you back by midsummer."

"All who said?"

Morfind's expression softened. "Hannas." He chuckled. "Starting to get big." He made a rounded gesture in front of him. "Though she's not slacking off a bit, still riding those children as hard as ever."

"Those children," said Miriel archly, "were us not so long ago." But worry whispered in her. What does Hannas need? Is the baby coming sooner than she thought? But there are healers and midwives in the village; she wouldn't need me for that…

"Not so long indeed," echoed Morfind. And then, smile abruptly gone, soft and hollow, "Feels like a lifetime."

She looked at him then, really looked at him: gaunt face, shadowed eyes, the weary stoop of his shoulders. He felt her scrutiny and made to turn away, but she leaned close and caught his hand. She said nothing, but at last he turned back, raised his eyes to hers, managed a bleak smile. "It was a long winter, Mir."

"Where were you?"

"North. Thurinrim road. Chieftain wants it guarded all the time now." He shook his head. "Don't ask me why. We didn't—" He checked himself, lips tight, abruptly shook his head. "Didn't see anything. Shadows in the woods, maybe, sounds in the night." A choked, mirthless laugh. "I sound like a child. But there was something there, Mir. I swear it. We all felt it, even Halbarad."

She felt the dread again, sudden and cold in the pit of her stomach, forced it not to show on her face. "He was your captain?"

Morfind nodded. "Doesn't scare easy, does Halbarad." A dismissive grunt. "I don't think he feels enough to scare."

Miriel shrugged, thinking of the hard-faced, mirthless captain. But then, remembering a hot summer day in Bree: He was kind to you. "He is the Chieftain's oath-brother," she said quietly. "If he thinks something was there, it was there."

"Then we'll be back again next winter, mark my words. Or someone will. For damn sure won't be me."

Miriel forced a laugh. "Fair. You've done your time." But a shadow stole over her heart. Morfind doesn't scare any easier than Halbarad. Joking, light-hearted, reckless Morfind—If he was afraid, is afraid still… She shook herself. Let it go. She met his eyes, pressed his hand and sent a whisper of warmth and comfort. He started, eyes wide, then smiled. "So you really can do it."

"What, did you doubt me?"

A wry laugh. "I learned long ago never to do that." And then, more gently, "It's good to see you, Mir. Been a long time."

She pulled him into a brief, fierce embrace. "It has."

Baranor's patrol took their places on the South Road, in truth an easy post for the summer, and Miriel was glad for Morfind's sake. And she and Hador and Lain, exhausted in body and heart, turned north up the road toward home. In Bree they found that Butterbur had taken her at her word and bought a bag of wool from the Dunlending, though Elma had not had time to spin it all, with the busyness of spring on the farm. Miriel paid the innkeeper, and took what Elma had spun with a smile, though she felt she could not face the farmwife's sharp-eyed questions and did not linger. "I'll return for the rest of it, fear not," she said, and hoped her good humor did not sound forced.

"I always fear for you, girl," Elma said quietly. "And Anna, and all the others. Breefolk don't know what you do for us, and truth be told, I don't want to know. But I know you do it, and some of you die doing it, and I'm grateful."

Miriel nodded, brushed away the stinging in her eyes. "And I am grateful for your welcome," she said hoarsely. "Now and always."

They made good time along the Greenway, turned aside from the road before Fornost and passed through woods and open country, the North Downs on their left rising dark and rocky even in the green of spring. They did not speak much of what had happened, only offered a warm body to lean against, a firm hand to grasp when one woke from tortured dreams. It happened to all three of them, but Hador most of all, and Miriel felt bitter guilt that this was a wound she could not heal.

There came a night when she woke, and felt his restless movement as he slept, heard his breath quick and rasping. Though he had a decade on her at least, she shook his shoulder, as she remembered shaking Andreth from childhood nightmares, and held him when he startled awake, trembling and sweating in the cool night air. On instinct she reached for his hand—and reaching out she felt the darkness, the shadow of fear that curdled a mind defenseless in sleep. Go, she thought fiercely. Leave my brother in peace. A wish only, a vain command thrown in desperation at the dark. I have not the—

An icy hiss, and an echo of fear—and then it was gone, like smoke in the wind. Hador did not speak, but she felt his breathing calm, his body slacken, until at last he slept.

It was nothing she had been taught. Nothing she had even heard of, not from her mother, nor Aragorn, nor even Girith. What did I do? For she had done something, of that she was certain. She had felt the anger, the hatred, the will that resisted. And then gave up. Broke, and vanished. Forever? And even as she thought the question, she felt the answer. For this time.

It was not a thing she knew, and yet she knew it, with a certainty that also was not her own.

What does that mean? For what time?

But there was nothing more. Her mind was blank in the night, her body abruptly exhausted as if she had run miles. She leaned against Hador, and her eyes fell closed, and she slept.

Hador said nothing to her in the morning, or only ordinary things, of breakfast and breaking camp, and he gave no sign that anything had happened between them. Perhaps the memory too is gone… She shook her head, and forced herself to think on it no more. Yet while that journey lasted, they had no more dreams.

They left Hador in Ladrengil with his wife and child, and pressed on along the path they had traveled so many times before, across rolling hills and wooded valleys and streams that flowed eastward out of the downs, until they came at last to Elenost, just days before Midsummer.

They sang as they came up the road, and the gate stood open before them, afternoon light gilding the walls and the hilltops behind. "O-yo, calling home the hunters…" Strong and clear they sang, and in the bright sun of a midsummer afternoon, the words of cold and frost and icy wind seemed far away. The villagers sang in answer, a small crowd only gathered by the bell, for many were still out in the fields or abroad in the woods on such a day. But Lain's sister was there, and he embraced her with tears in his eyes, and Miriel left them to each other. Others greeted her with joy, but the two she looked for, she did not see. After scanning the crowd again to be sure, she turned to the gate guard. "Is the Chieftain here?"

The boy nodded. "In his rooms, I think. He came back from the practice yard not long ago."

She caught Lain's eye, and gestured with her chin toward the Hall. She wanted desperately to see Darya, but the report must be made first. If she's not here, she's working. I can wait a little longer. She turned to Lain. "Let's get it over with." He kissed his sister gently on the cheek, said something in her ear, and then followed Miriel toward the Hall.

The corridor that led to the Chieftain's rooms was dim after the bright afternoon, and they stumbled along it, halting for a moment before his door until they could see clearly. But voices came indistinctly through the solid wood, and there could be no more delay. She drew a breath, and knocked.

Heavy footsteps, and the door was pulled open, letting bright light from the westward-facing windows spill into the shadows. She blinked, could tell even through the glare that it was not Aragorn.

But then his voice, from the room beyond, warm and pleasant, almost relaxed. "Who is there, Hal?"

"Miriel and Lain." And then to them, "South Road?"

She nodded. "We—" Her voice faltered, and she swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. "We bear tidings that the Chieftain must hear, captain."

Halbarad eyed them for a moment longer, then nodded curtly and stepped aside.

Aragorn rose, grasped Lain's arm in greeting. But then he took her hand and held it, and she felt him with her, let him feel her distress. "I am well, my lord," she said, in answer to the concern in his eyes. "But Gilrath is dead." Alarm flashed across his face, yet there was nothing to be told but the truth. She said softly, "He took his own life."

Halbarad gave a sharp groan of dismay, and Aragorn closed his eyes. She felt the pain sweep through him, reached out on instinct to soothe it. But his mind pushed her back, and he released her hand. "Tell me."

And so she told them what had happened, and Lain spoke of what he had seen through the winter, of Gilrath's long, slow withdrawal from the world. Aragorn's face was pale, but he listened to it all, and said nothing, letting Halbarad ask the questions that needed to be asked.

At last, when it was done, and they stood silent before him, he turned to Halbarad. "You told me."

"I did."

Aragorn drew a breath, let it out slowly. "You were right, and I did not listen."

Halbarad gazed at him for a long moment in silence. At last, in a voice so gentle Miriel would not have known it was his, "You have hope, gwador nîn. It is your strength, and sometimes your blindness."

The bleak ghost of a smile. "Is that why I have you, brother? To speak truth to my hope?"

"If it is what I must do, to serve you best."

"You have always done that, Hal. Always." He shook his head slowly. "And perhaps some day I will learn." Then he turned back to Miriel, regret written on his face. "Even your Chieftain may make mistakes, maloseg." A tight, mirthless laugh. "As you know well."

She flushed, shook her head. "You need not—"

"But I do. Then we both may learn." He sighed. "I knew Gilrath was…hurting. I thought he would do better with a task, a duty to occupy his thoughts. But it was not the right duty." He turned to Lain, said with gentle directness, "It was not your fault, nor Hador's. We are stretched too thin, and I put Gilrath in a position beyond his strength. I thought he would…do least damage on the South Road. I was wrong. I am sorry." Aragorn bowed his head, and Halbarad laid a hand on his shoulder.

There was more after that, but little of consequence, the report of a quiet winter on the road. When it was all told, Aragorn turned to Lain with a melancholy smile. "Your sister will be glad to have you home."

Lain nodded. "She will." And then, slowly, as if he both wanted and did not want to know, "Have you new orders for me, my lord?"

"Not yet." Aragorn glanced at Halbarad. "You will have them soon, but you have earned a rest first."

Lain bowed, and departed. But when she turned to go as well, Aragorn said quietly, "Stay, Miriel." And then, "Give us a moment, Hal."

Halbarad glanced between them but obeyed, his steps quiet for so large a man. Aragorn watched the door close. Then he turned to Miriel, and took her hand. Again she felt him with her, felt sorrow and regret, but also care, warm and comforting as a hearthfire on a cold night. "Your mother was gone before I came home. Darya said she went without pain."

Miriel nodded, felt the sudden sting in her eyes, did not resist when he pulled her close. She remembered a cold morning before the Stone, let him hold her as he had held her then, let his shirt soak up her tears. But this felt different; she felt older, far older than could be accounted for in the time that had passed.

"You have taken on her legacy, as well as his," said Aragorn, and she felt the soft rumble of his voice in his chest, and was not surprised his thoughts echoed hers. "Grieve for her. But know that she lives on, in you and your sisters, and in the lives she saved." His arms tightened around her. "As will you, when your time comes."

She felt it in her, truth if not quite comfort. She nodded against his chest, made herself step back from him though still his hand clasped hers. And then in answer to a need, though she could not have named it, "As your father lives in you, my lord."

He blinked, drew a breath. "So I have been told." But then he seemed to shake himself, and smiled, warm and full for the first time. "You will find Darya in the healers' house. It will bring you joy, I think, to see…what she has done in your absence. And Hannas will be returning with Meren and the trainees before sunset."

She let out a small laugh of surprise and joy, felt a sudden, fierce desire to see her friends. He pressed her hand, and then released it. "Now go, maloseg. Your sister is waiting for you."

She approached the healers' house with eager steps, ready to shut out the Wild, at least for a time. Yet when she came into the kitchen, Darya was not alone. It took only a moment, and her mouth fell open in wonder, and a wide, incredulous smile spread over her face.

Anna set down the knife she had been sharpening and moved to Darya's side.

Sudden joy flooded Miriel's chest, and she laughed. "Dar? Really?" And then, shaking her head, "I should have known."

Darya frowned a little, though it could not entirely erase her smile. "Why? I didn't."

"But I know both of you, better than…well, just about anyone. I should have seen it. Or suggested it, even if I didn't see."

"I was careful that you should not see, Mir." Darya's voice was uncharacteristically gentle, and her eyes glittered unwonted bright.

"As was I," said Anna. A pause, and then, "Should have trusted you, both of us. Might have gotten here years ago."

"Maybe," returned Darya, glancing at Anna, "and maybe not. But we are here now." She took Anna's hand, and Miriel somehow knew this was a debate that had played out many times between them. "Some are not pleased by it. That you should know."

Miriel shrugged. "There are some who are not pleased by me, and my doings. What of it?"

And to her utter shock, so rarely had she heard the sound, Anna laughed. Not a dry chuckle, nor a bitter derisive snort, but a full-throated, joyful laugh. "Nothing. It is nothing."

Miriel made them tell her everything, and she winced at Anna's scars, then took her sister's hands and said quietly, with utter seriousness, "Thank you for not letting her die."

Darya gave a soft half-laugh. "Funny, she said the same thing." She glanced at Anna. "But I really did it for me. Selfish, I suppose."

Miriel smiled, though she saw the echo of grief in Darya's eyes, knew they both thought of their mother. "Convenient, then, that our self-interest is the same. It's almost like we belong together."

Darya raised her eyebrows. "Mimi," she said to Anna, with a distinct older-sister smirk, "has been a pain in the ass since the day she could talk."

Anna snorted. "Really. Couldn't tell."

"And you were the picture of sweetness."

Darya laughed. "No. I'm just always right."

Anna glanced at Miriel, and rolled her eyes.

"You chose her," Miriel grumbled. "I've been stuck with her since birth."

Darya and Anna looked at each other—and abruptly, though Miriel had not moved, it was only the two of them in the room. "And she…" Anna swallowed, her eyes suddenly very bright. Soft, and wondering, "She chose me."

Hannas found Miriel in the Hall later that evening, sliding wearily onto a bench beside her with a full tray of food. Her face was flushed, her boots still crusted with mud.

"Hungry?" Miriel asked with a broad smile, as she gave her friend a one-armed hug.

"Starving, always." Hannas glanced down at her belly. "Apparently that's a good sign?" She shrugged, shook her head. "They tell me all sorts of things, every damn woman in the village. And half of them contradict the other half."

Miriel laughed, though she felt suddenly, unexpectedly unsettled beneath the joy. But then her thoughts returned to the woman at her side, the only other woman in her year, the only sister among a dozen brothers. She had been a constant, a steadying force, reason and calm and quiet competence. Always there. And now she is…we are…

"I'm still a Ranger, Mir," said Hannas quietly, looking in her eyes.

Miriel knew she should not have been surprised, but still she flushed in shame. "I know. Of course. I—I didn't…" She drew a breath, composed herself. "I'm so happy for you, you and Telhirion both. It's just…"

"Different." Hannas nodded. "I know. It is for me, too." She smiled. "But it's right. I also know that. Right for me, I mean," she hastened to add. "We all make our own choices."

"At least we have a choice."

Hannas raised her eyebrows. "True." And then, lifting an eyebrow as her smile broadened, "And your sister has chosen. Finally."

Miriel laughed, nodded. But then, frowning a little at the last word, "Did you know? I mean…before they…"

"I had my suspicions." Hannas shrugged. "Small things, glances. The way Anna avoided her."

"Anna avoids everyone. Especially healers."

"I know. I—can't explain. That's why I never said anything. I'm sorry, Mir, perhaps I should have."

Miriel was quiet for a moment, then shook her head. "I wouldn't have believed you." A soft, dry laugh. "They had to figure it out on their own. Too stubborn for their own good, both of them."

"You would know." Hannas chuckled, elbowed her in the ribs. But then her smile widened, and she lifted a hand, gestured to someone across the room. Following her gaze, Miriel felt her heart leap with joy as Meren came striding between the tables, the dirt of the practice yard still on his clothes. She swung her legs over the bench, rose and embraced him fiercely.

"You stink."

"Glad to see you too, Mir."

"Master of Trainees, eh?" She pulled back, eyed him critically up and down. "Too skinny, still. And you, enforcing rules?" An incredulous laugh, and she shook her head. "I just can't see it."

"Ah, there's where you're wrong. I know all the ways to break the rules, everything those children might try. So I know exactly what to look for."

Hannas nodded. "Perfect preparation, actually. Who would have thought?"

"Certainly not me," said Meren, with a wry half-smile. "Wouldn't have considered it. Tathar's the one who asked Faelon; I'd forgotten her father was Master when we were young."

"And he agreed?"

"He was eager for it." He sighed. "His wife died last winter." And then, more gently, "The same fever that took your mother. She had been…frail for years; that's why he took the post, so he could be with her more." He shook his head. "Nothing to keep him here now."

She nodded, swallowed past the sudden ache in her throat, let him pull her close.

"She is at rest, gwethor nîn," he said softly.

Even Darya had not said that, though it was clear enough in her eyes. Her life was gone, long before her body.

"I loved her, too, Mir. I—" His voice broke, and she felt him trembling as he pressed his face to her neck.

"I know," she whispered, her lips by his ear. "I know."

When the tears were done, he let her go. "Now on to real news." He wiped his eyes, and smiled. "How is your Elf?"

Her stomach dropped, and she flushed but said nothing. Dalbarin, that lying bastard…

"The Chieftain told me," said Meren, more gently than she had expected. "I was—" He glanced at Hannas. "We were worried about you, Mir. He told us what you had done, all of it. And then winter patrol, and your mother…I knew you didn't know, but when you found out…" He laid a hand on her shoulder. "It was foolish. I know that now. But it felt like you were so alone…" A soft, self-deprecating laugh. "So he assured me you were not, that you could take care of yourself. And find others to take care of you when you needed it." Another glance at Hannas. "That it can't always be us."

She felt a sudden, unreasoning flash of anger toward Aragorn. It was not his to tell…

His duty is not only to you, and yours is not the only need. She let out a slow breath, willed the anger to flow out with it.

"He didn't tell anyone else, Mir," said Hannas quietly. "It will stay with us."

"I know. And I'm—" She smiled, lifted her eyes to her friends. "I'm glad you know. I just…didn't expect it."

"So…" Meren grinned. "Now that's cleared up—answer my question."

Miriel flushed again but straightened her shoulders. "He is well, I suppose. I haven't seen him since winter."

"That is not what I meant."

"I know. But it's all you're going to get." She glanced round at the crowded Hall. "At least here."

Meren laughed. "Fair enough. But I expect the rest later." He glanced at Hannas. "You've given us enough grief over the years; now it's our turn."

"I have not—"

"To be fair," Hannas arched an eyebrow at Meren, "she shielded me from your nosy self on the East Road patrol two years ago. Might have gone differently if she hadn't."

Miriel nodded sagely. "Telhirion might have kicked your ass clear over the mountains. I was looking out for you."

"Huh. You were looking out for her, and ignoring me."

"As it should be," said Hannas, putting an arm around Miriel's shoulders with a smug smile. "We girls need to stick together."

Meren groaned. "Valar help us all…"

They ate together, and spoke mostly of the joyful things, of Anna and Darya, Hannas's marriage to Telhirion the winter before, the latest antics of Meren's toddling daughter and infant son—"You would not believe how far he can send a stream of…"

She told them of Gilrath but did not linger on it, and they did not press. At last, the talk turned to the trainees. "They're not that bad, really," Meren allowed. "I mean, stupid and clumsy and infuriating—"

"But no worse than we were," said Hannas reprovingly.

"No, I suppose not." Then he glanced at her, and his tone changed, as if his words held more than they said. "And some of them are damn good, or will be."

Hannas nodded slowly. "That they are." She drew a breath, and Miriel knew that somehow the conversation had shifted. "We asked Morfind to pass on a message to you. Did he?"

Miriel frowned. "He said I should be in the village by Midsummer…" And then, with a sinking sensation as she realized where her thoughts were leading her, "You can't mean—"

Meren met her eyes. "We want you to take a maethorneth, Mir."

Notes:

"So you really can do it." The possession of supernatural healing ability by Dunedain who are not in the line of the kings is one of my departures from canon. Miriel's development as a Gifted healer is one of the important narrative threads throughout ALFTS. Her sister Darya is a Gifted healer, as was her mother.

Thurinrim Pass is another element of my invented geography. Located just north of Mount Gundabad, where the Misty Mountains begin to curve eastward, it is the only way over the northern reaches of mountains that is passable by carts, and is thus used for trade by the Druadwaith and the dwarves of Ered Mithrin. The road is maintained and the pass garrisoned by the Rangers. For more details of this history and geography, refer to NATWWAL Ch. 20.

"But then, remembering a hot summer day in Bree: He was kind to you." Refer to ALFTS Ch. 18, when Miriel healed Willie Rushlight (and then Halbarad himself). This is the last time they saw each other; it's worth rereading, as background for things that happen later in this story.

"Home the Hunters" is sung by Rangers returning from patrol as they approach the village gate. Words original, melody from the Irish song "Oro Se Do Bheatha 'Baile."

gwador nîn/gwethor nîn - My oath-brother/sister; one of the most important bonds in Dunedain culture.

"She remembered a cold morning before the Stone..." The development of friendship and trust between Miriel and Aragorn is the other major narrative thread, indeed really the heart, of ALFTS. This scene references Ch. 8, when he comforts her in the wake of her father's death.

Anna and Darya's relationship is still quite new; we are maybe two months past the end of Not Even the Rain. When I wrote that story, I didn't know the context for this scene, only that I wanted to show it (mostly because it's so darn sweet!), so I included it in the epilogue. It was very satisfying to finally connect the dots :)

Hannas and Telhirion have been together for perhaps a year and a half at this point; for more on their relationship, refer to ALFTS Ch. 19.

maethorneth - an aspiring Ranger who has finished the trainee year patrols with an experienced Ranger (saethir) for an apprenticeship period. Miriel was Anna's maethorneth; refer to the second half of NATWWAL (Ch. 19-36). Being asked to serve as a saethir herself is thus one of those gratifying but disconcerting "We're the grownups now?!" moments ;)