The weather was mostly fair, the hot dry end of summer, but there were afternoons when fierce thunderstorms swept down from the mountains, rain and lightning and whipping winds, sending the Rangers scrambling for shelter in the bare hills. It happened late one afternoon that they came suddenly to the crest of a ridge and saw the eastern sky dark before them. The wind was already rising, tugging at the short, dry grass. Halbarad looked around at the bare ridge and shook his head. "Can't stay here."
The eastern flank of the ridge was steep and rocky, as all east-facing slopes were in this country, scoured by uncounted years of mountain storms. They went down as fast as they could, on the bare edge of control, for lightning was a deadly peril on the high ridges. They strung out along the slope, Halbarad and Lain the most agile among them, though Miriel would have been close behind had she not stayed back with Valya. The younger woman did her best, but running downhill over uneven ground with pack and weapons was a skill she had yet to learn. Several times she stumbled, once almost fell, caught herself and staggered to a halt, gasping.
"Easy there." Miriel laid a hand on her shoulder, shook out her own aching legs. "It's only a storm. Not worth risking—"
And then a cry below them, and Meneldir fell heavily to the ground as the first drops of rain began to fall.
"That. Damn." And then, "Be careful." And Miriel ran down the slope, leaving Valya to make her own way behind.
Halbarad, climbing back up, reached Meneldir at the same time she did. "Knee," Meneldir grunted, face tight and pale. "Stupid, sorry—" And then his voice cut off in a gasp of pain as he tried to straighten his leg. Halbarad pinched his lips together, as though holding back angry words. But he said nothing, and with hands far gentler than his eyes, he pushed up the trouser on Meneldir's injured leg to bare the knee, already bruised and swelling. Then he met Miriel's eyes, gave a slight nod and shifted back to give her space.
It was a thing familiar now, as it had not been at the inn-yard in Bree the summer before. Not comfortable, of course, nor easy, but she knew the way of it, examined the knee with hands and eyes and that which was neither but saw within. Pain and damage, tendon and muscle wrenched and weakened. "Not broken." She let out a breath, lifted her eyes to Halbarad and saw a little of the tension leave his face. She turned to Meneldir. "We'll help you down. Don't put any weight on it." Miriel gave her pack to Valya, who stood silently by, worry written on her face. And as the rain became heavier, she and Halbarad half-carried Meneldir, cursing and stumbling, down to the bottom of the shallow valley.
There was another ruin there, not a watch-tower, for the location was wrong, and it was far too small. But the foundation stones were solid, and the patrol crouched within them, stamping down the brambles and pulling cloaks over their heads for meager shelter as the rain turned to hail. There was much cursing, and not only from Meneldir, as ice stung their heads and backs even through the fabric. Lightning flashed over the fells, and thunder seemed to shake the very ground, and Miriel put an arm around Valya, spreading her cloak over them both. But at last the storm rumbled its way west, and the hail turned again to rain and then ceased entirely. A cold wind flowed down from the fells, whispering chill with the first breath of autumn.
Though the storm was gone, low, heavy clouds tumbled across the sky. Halbarad stood up and walked out into the open, gazed up and down and around the shallow valley, and at last shook his head. "Nowhere better we can get to tonight." And as the others set about making camp, Miriel turned to Meneldir.
A more thorough examination confirmed her initial assessment. She caught Halbarad's eye, and he crouched beside her on the wet ground. "Well?"
"It could be worse."
Meneldir grunted a pained, mirthless laugh. "Good to know."
"Left alone, it would likely be a week before you could walk any distance in these hills." She turned to Halbarad. "I can…shorten that, to a day, maybe two."
"But it will weaken you."
It was not a question, and she nodded. He has seen it enough with the Chieftain. "It will."
He glanced from one to the other. "I need you both. Whatever you can do and still walk tomorrow, do that." He met her eyes. "Be careful, Miriel."
The barest hint of a smile. "I'm always careful."
A hand on her shoulder, surprisingly gentle. "I know."
She felt them watching her, felt Valya watching, but she did not allow herself to think about it, only laid a hand on Meneldir's knee. "Have you been Gift-healed before?"
"N-no." He was shivering a little, but the stutter was not only from that. "I…"
He is afraid. It was not unusual. Rangers were most often injured far from home and help, and they either recovered or died in the Wild. "It will feel…strange. Unsettling, even wrong. But you must let me in. I can do nothing if you do not allow it."
He bit his lip, flexed his fingers and gripped the grass at his sides. "Go on then."
She nodded, and closed her eyes.
When she returned to herself, it was nearly dark. She was cold and desperately thirsty; her left knee ached fiercely, and her head felt light, and her eyes would not quite focus on the shape that she knew was Meneldir before her. But an arm then around her shoulders, and she felt a waterskin set to her lips. "Drink, Miriel." Halbarad's voice, low and close to her ear. She drank. More loudly, over her head, "Valya, she needs food." And then, quiet and close again, and she could almost hear a smile in his voice, "Need to train her to take care of you. First time she's seen it?"
Carefully, Miriel nodded.
"I think she was more afraid of it than Meneldir." A soft, wry laugh. "She'll learn."
"I—" She coughed, cleared her throat. "I didn't think to…"
"I did. Ah, here is food. Steady?"
She nodded again, more confidently as her head cleared. Then the warmth of Halbarad's arm was gone, and Valya crouched by her side, a steaming bowl cupped in her hands. Miriel shifted away from Meneldir, who lay seemingly asleep, leaning back against the stone foundation wall. She met Valya's eyes, saw the worry in them even in the fading light. "I'm fine. Food and sleep, that's all I need." Not true, but she doesn't need to hear that now. She held out her hands, and Valya passed her the bowl, watched her narrowly as she ate the first few bites. "I'm fine." And then, forcing a small smile, "You'll have to get used to this, if you're to patrol with me."
Valya nodded, slow and deliberate. "I know." And Miriel knew she was not the only one pretending to be steadier than she felt.
The wind died away as darkness fell, and a few stars showed through breaks in the clouds. They were all cold, and unsettled by Meneldir's injury and the fierceness of the storm. They huddled together amid the crumbling stones, all except Halbarad, who took the first watch, and gradually Miriel heard their breathing around her ease into sleep. She was exhausted, with that blank weariness that came only after healing, every fiber of her body crying out for rest. Her leg ached, but she was warm enough, curled on her side between Lain and Valya. I have slept with far worse pain. She closed her eyes, and breathed slowly, and let her mind fall away.
But sleep would not come. She drifted, perhaps dozed. But then abruptly she startled alert, heart pounding, unreasoning fear flooding her mind. She blinked, turned her head up to find the stars, forced her breathing calm. Let it go. Whatever it is, let it go. And then that voice she knew so well, and she felt a smile, though it did not come to her lips. 'Calm is my soul, and clear, like the mountains in the morning. Calm is my soul…' Again, and again, and gradually her heart slowed, and her mind drifted.
It was a noise that dragged her awake. She was sure of it, and started up, cold sweat on her neck. The fear again, stronger than before, and she found she was trembling, laid a hand blindly on Valya in the dark, and Lain, felt their bodies shaking, though they did not wake.
Speak. Wake them. They must wake.
But her lips would not move, and she sat as if frozen, eyes wide, trembling in the dark.
A dream. A dream, as it was before. She tried to think of his voice, his hands, his warmth in the night. But those memories would not come.
This is no dream.
A force on her mind then, pressing in, cold as death, and as irresistible.
No. No. No, no, no…
The voice in her heart faded, froze until it could not speak, could barely whisper.
No…
But then another voice, like hers, like his, but neither. Soft and steady, felt as warmth in dark, the first touch of sunlight on cold earth. Calm is my soul, and clear, like the mountains in the morning. Calm is my soul, and clear, like the mountains in the morning, Calm is my soul… Over and over, to the beat of her heart – a voice, or an echo, not a voice she knew and yet she knew it, warmed to it as to an old friend.
And the wind washes away all fear.
She felt her body calm, felt the fear but it could not touch her. Its grip was gone, wailing thin in the darkness, dying to the hiss of the wind. She felt the others around her shift, felt their breathing ease, felt them settle back into sleep.
But sleep was now the farthest thing from her mind. Strangely alert, clear-eyed and clear-headed as if waking from a full night's rest, she slipped out of the blankets, and staggered to her feet.
The night was clear, the clouds entirely gone, and stars shone bright above her. Slow, cautious, limping on her aching leg, she made her way out of the old stones. Movement to her left, harsh rasping breath, and she started as a shape rose from the grass.
Halbarad's voice in the dark, hoarse, almost desperate. "Miriel?"
"I—I'm here…"
He let out a shuddering breath, and sat down heavily on a rock.
"Are you all right?" It was not proper, not to a captain, but she was suddenly too worried to care. Moving carefully in the dark, she came to him where he sat, head in his hands. She laid a hand on his back, and felt him shaking. "Captain?" She almost said his name, bit her tongue and pressed her lips together, though fear again clutched cold at her heart.
He sighed, straightened, drew a slow breath and looked up at her.
"Miriel."
She moved back from him and said nothing, let him master himself.
"I thought I heard your voice."
"What?" All courtesy gone in startlement, she stared at him, tried in vain to make out his face in the dark.
"You must have felt it."
"I—" She swallowed, forced her voice steady. "I did."
"It was there, and then your voice was there. And then it was gone."
Silence, as the moon rose over the mountains to the east. She did not ask, wanted and did not want to know, and there was only the sound of his breath and hers in the night. At last, softly, "What was it?"
"I don't know." Harsh through clenched teeth, and she flinched at his anger, stepped back and stood silent.
I should not have—
"Gilrath was my friend, Miriel." Soft, choked, anguished. She would not have known it was his voice had she not seen his lips move, in the thin, cold light of the sickle moon. "We grew up together, went through training together. Like you and Lain. I—" He broke off, dropped his head again to his hands.
It is not gone. Sudden, cold knowing. He does not know, he cannot see…
I can see.
And before she could think, before she could remember his anger, his coldness, his rank, there was only the Chieftain's voice in her mind. 'Take care of him.' Ignoring the pain in her knee, she knelt before Halbarad on the cold ground, and laid her hands over his.
She did not speak, either with voice or without, only thought of warmth, and offered it. No push nor insistence, not even asking. Only an offer, from her hands to his. This that is mine I would give to you, for I have enough and to spare for us both.
He let out a long, shuddering breath. She felt a strange flush, and then he breathed easy, lifted his head, wary wonder in his eyes. "A Gift indeed," he said softly.
The morning was cold and clear, though the day promised to warm quickly when the sun at last rose over the mountains. Halbarad met her eyes over the fire, nodded but said only, to the patrol at large, "We'll go down the valley. No climbing today." And then to Meneldir, slow and deliberate, "You owe her."
"I know."
They went slowly that day, Meneldir leaning heavily on a stick, and made camp in the early afternoon. Halbarad used the extra time for training, and as Miriel watched—for the captain insisted that she rest, along with Meneldir—she smiled with pride at how far Valya had come. She is one of us now.
That night was quiet, and Miriel thought perhaps there was more than one reason Halbarad had decided to move camp. She slept solidly until dawn, for he kept her off the guard rotation again. "I need you back as soon as can be. Both of you. And that means you must sleep." And in truth both she and Meneldir were stronger in the morning, and moved more easily, down the valley and then back up the next. The day after, Meneldir was able to climb, though slowly, and the patrol continued on its way east toward the mountains.
They saw no threats, only the tracks of deer and woodcats, rabbits and wolves and the occasional bear. The latter were a concern, to be sure, but not likely to attack a group of their size in the fat of late summer. Were we here at the lean end of winter… She though of Anna, and let out a breath to steady her fear.
As the days began perceptibly to shorten and the evenings grew cool, they came to the ridge of high country where the fells ran up into the mountains. Halbarad led them swiftly up now, sure of the way despite the steepness. Their legs ached and their breath came hard, hands scraped and knees bruised from the rocky slopes. And still he led them on and up. Miriel more than once heard Lain cursing under his breath, and she managed a wry smile. But she smiled in truth as she watched Valya, silent and dogged, keeping up as well as any of them.
They crested the ridge on a windy afternoon, sun shining but a bite in the air that said the night would be cold. Miriel's legs and lungs burned, but she let out a breath of wonder as they stood in a grassy saddle and gazed at the land falling away on either side of them, north and south. The mountains ranged in both directions, harsh and dark, snow still clinging to their highest peaks. Dense pine forests cloaked the lower slopes, seemed to swallow even the golden afternoon light. Wind rippled the short grass and set seed heads dancing, and small purple flowers gleamed in the sun. But the wind chilled the sweat on their faces, and they did not linger.
They made camp that night well below the crest, and Miriel felt obscurely relieved to be on the south side of the fells. As she sat on guard late in the night, she thought of the hidden valley, somewhere out in that darkened land, and of Girith, and she smiled.
But the feeling of wellbeing did not last. As they descended and angled west, tracking now along the southern skirts of the fells, she began again to feel increasingly uneasy. There was no reason for it, no sign to be heard or seen of any presence but their own. But the others felt it too, found themselves starting at bird calls and cracked sticks. Halbarad was thin-lipped and silent, but they shifted to watching in pairs at night, and he led them down the slopes, away from the looming rocky bulk of the fells.
One night Miriel was on guard with Lain, thinking against her will of what Morfind had told them, of shapes in the woods and shadows in the night. Stop it. But her mind would not obey, and she felt her heart beat fast and her breath come short. Stop. It. And then, taking firm hold of herself, she forced into her mind the words she had heard so often, from her father and so many others: 'The Brave One did not say, 'Do not fear,' for courage is not the absence of fear, but the will to master it.' Courage is not the absence of fear, but the will to master it. Courage is not the absence of fear…'
And then, small and soft, as a bell through morning mist: Ellenen. The voice was not her own, and she shuddered, as at the touch of cold water. But the fear was gone. She turned to Lain, heard his breath harsh in the stillness. "Are you…" She reached out, found his hand, and he gripped hers.
He let out a long breath, and turned to her. "Fine." And then, though she could not see his face in the dark, she thought perhaps he smiled. "As long as you're here, I'm fine."
They had all slept poorly, it seemed the next morning, Valya sleepy-eyed and stumbling in the chill and Halbarad in a foul mood. Dalbarin and Amloth were better off than the rest, and Miriel felt a moment of bitter envy for the comfort they had in each other in the night. You made your choice, girl. But there were times when a part of her wished she had made another.
They slipped and stumbled their way down a long slope, where an outcropping of rock had over millenia shed pieces of itself that hid in the grass, eager to catch the unwary foot. Or even the wary one, Miriel though bitterly, as her boot slid and she nearly fell into Valya. The younger woman turned abruptly, and Miriel glowered and looked away. But as the shock faded she drew a breath, turned back to Valya and forced a wry smile. "Watch the rocks."
Valya's shoulders relaxed, and she nodded. "Will do." And then, quiet, almost tentative, "You all right?"
Miriel nodded. "No harm done." Another small smile. "Only my pride." She clapped the younger woman on the shoulder. "There are things you ought not learn from me."
Valya opened her mouth to laugh—but a sharp whistle from the slope below made them both jerk round. Lain, fastest of them all over the treacherous rocks, stood at the bottom on the shallow valley, gesturing them toward him. Eyes intent on the ground before her feet, but with a sudden hollowness in her chest, Miriel jogged down the slope.
When she and Valya arrived, Halbarad was crouched by Lain, fingers brushing the rocky ground. He looked up, his eyes hard, and he spoke only a single word. "Trolls."
Note:
"Calm is my soul..." This memory is from ALFTS Ch. 2, when Aragorn wakes her from a nightmare after the fight at the crossroads. The mantra, which she now associates with him, is actually Nietzsche (Prologue to Thus Spoke Zarathustra), probably the only thing of lasting value I took from that particular college class. As I said then, just feel the image, and ignore the source ;)