A/N: This story picks up immediately after the end of Dark Things; as always, you can read and enjoy it even if you haven't read any of Miriel's previous adventures, though certain character interactions will make more sense if you have. And fair warning - this is going to be another long one. I'm pulling together several short-ish stories that occur over the space of about a year, and I thought about posting them each individually, but it really makes more sense as one narrative. There's a lot of filling in the gaps and retconning that needs to happen, though, so the pace of updates will be slower than in the past. But the last section is already written, and it's my favorite part, so I promise we'll get there eventually!

I've been having a surprising amount of fun making podfic recordings of my earlier stories, so for this one, I will post a podfic version of each chapter on AO3 as I go along.

The frozen river was perfectly smooth, covered in a thin layer of snow. No one spoke, but the same thought whispered through them all – Will it hold? We've been cursing the cold, but has it been cold enough?

Halbarad stood still, gazing at the flat blank white. At last, turned back to the others.

"We must go on."

He moved slowly, and they followed one by one, steps as soft and careful as any woodland tracker. Miriel went last, tried not to think about the weight of men ahead of her straining thin ice.

Skirling snow hissed around her ankles. Halbarad was halfway across now, moving more confidently as the ice proved solid. Miriel walked carefully still, but fear began to recede, and she lifted her eyes to the bare branches of trees crowded close to the further bank. At least there will be a fire tonight…

And then without warning – a creaking, weird, unearthly, as of some great creature stretching icy joints. A sharp crack, and she started, flinched back as the ice broke at Daeron's feet in front of her. A cry, high and desperate, a splash and more cracking—and she plunged into icy water.

A month earlier

"I'm coming with you, Arya."

"You don't even know where I'm going."

"Doesn't matter. North. That's what Darahad came to tell you, yes?"

Aragorn sighed. "There are…troubling tidings from the Lossoth. Nothing clear, not yet. But they are uneasy. They feel a threat growing, they say. A shadow." And as he said the words, he watched Halbarad's face.

But Halbarad did not flinch. "When do we leave?"

"Brother, you are not—"

"I'm well enough."

"I—" Aragorn had been going to say, I don't need you. But the words caught, and he found he could not speak them. For he had never been able to lie to Halbarad, even when it would have been easier for them both had he done so. He settled for a faint, wry smile. "You need rest, gwador nîn. And you won't get it on the road north in winter."

"I need you." Low, and raw, "I need you not to leave me."

Silence, save for the hiss of the fire and the sound of their breath.

At last, Aragorn said softly, "In the end, brother, it is you who will leave me."

Halbarad dropped his eyes, seemed almost to sway where he stood. "I know." But then shoulders straightened, chin raised, and he met Aragorn's gaze steadily. "Yet that end is not now."

So the Chieftain would lead a patrol into the Lossoth lands, though Rangers rarely went so far north in winter. Whisper and rumor, nothing certain, food caches raided and strange footsteps in the snow. But something in it made him uneasy, a change in the pattern, a false note, a flaw in the grain. And so, though they owed the Lossoth nothing, they would go.

Miriel felt her heart sink a little when she learned where they were going, memory of the cold, empty northern lands she had traveled with Anna. And that was in summer. But it truth it was no choice. He asked me, and I will go. A thin smile. And Valya should see the North.

She found Falaran in the Hall that evening, for he was to go on the patrol as well, with his maethorneth Daeron. "How's he doing?" she asked in a low voice, nodding to where Daeron sat a few tables away with Valya and two other maethorneth.

Falaran shrugged. "Better. He was ill earlier in the winter; that's why we're still here. But he's learning." He glanced at her. "Slowly. I—" He broke off, shook his head and looked away.

Miriel waited, for clearly there was more he would say, given time.

At last, Falaran let out a long breath. "Maybe I was wrong. I wouldn't have done it, of my own choice. But Daerthon asked me to, and he was my saethir. So I owed him, or thought I did…"

Miriel nodded, and swallowed down a sudden lump of grief as she thought of another of Daerthon's maethorneth, remembered the story Lain had told of how Daerthon had saved him from wolves in the mountains. Saved him for the trolls. Hot, and bitter, and she blinked back stinging tears. And then, with abrupt, cold dread, "Does Daerthon know about Lain?" Will I have to tell it again?

"Yes," said Falaran quietly. "He's at the South Road now, but he was here when Amloth and Dalbarin returned. He…took it hard. He loved Lain, almost as a son."

"I know." A pause, and then, "As he loves you. Which is why you took his son."

Falaran nodded. "No one else was willing to. He's…a good lad. Kind, and loyal, and he works hard. But Miriel, he's just not strong enough. And—" He broke off, shook his head in frustration. "I don't think he wants it. He says he does, and there's no doubt he wants to please his father. But he doesn't want it for himself. Doesn't have the…the need, the fire. I—you know what I mean."

"I do." She remembered it, the fierce desire that had burned in her when she was young. She touched her star, and smiled a little. That burns still.

Falaran saw both smile and gesture, and he nodded. "We all do. Each a little different, but we all have it. You can feel it." He gestured toward the maethorneth again. "I can feel it in Valya, without even talking to her. But I…can't feel it in him. Sometimes I wonder if it's me, something I've done, or not done…"

Miriel gave a small, mirthless laugh. "We all wonder that, I think."

Falaran smiled. "That's what Daerthon said. Even him, and he's had what, four, five maethorneth over the years? Apparently it gets easier, but it's never easy."

"But he was made captain, yes? So at least that's over for him."

"Last summer, after you left. Gwainor decided he'd had enough, finally." Falaran chuckled. "He was Master of Trainees for my father, and Fa said he was old even then, or seemed it. Daerthon was the clear choice to take his place, though there were voices for Arafion."

"Voices?" Miriel grunted. "His father's friends, you mean."

Falaran nodded, lowered his voice. "Arahur knows his time has passed. That was clear when the Chieftain came home. He'll never be brannon taid now."

Miriel frowned. "How does he—"

"Halbarad. It's clear as day the Chieftain favors him, trusts him above any other." A small, wry smile. "And it is a trust well-earned, for all that our young captain can be…well, you know him."

A rush of memory, so sudden and sharp it took her breath – the icy wind from the mountains, his fevered body in her arms, the desperation as he faded. And his eyes on her as he lay in Elrond's house, and the name he called her by.

"I do."

"They said…," Falaran looked at her, then went on carefully, "Amloth and Dalbarin said you saved his life. And nearly lost your own in doing it."

A slow breath, releasing the darkness. Calm is my soul…

"I did." That is all he needs to know.

All I can bear to tell.

Warmth then, Falaran's hand on hers. "Galu edraith a cuil," he said softly. And at her look of confusion and surprise, he smiled. "Meloreth is my aunt. She raised me, mostly, after my mother died. I…know something of their ways, the healers." He squeezed her hand gently. "What you give, and what it takes."

She nodded, and said nothing, and it was enough.

He released her hand and straightened. "So. Darahad will be brannon taid for a long time yet, Valar willing, and Halbarad after him. Arahur's chance is gone. But he still has hopes for his son, and so he wanted Arafion named captain. Do you know him?"

Miriel shook her head. "Not really. I patrolled with him once, years ago. Seemed a good enough man, but I wouldn't have pegged him as a future brannon taid." Not like Halbarad. And she found herself holding back a smile.

Falaran nodded. "And he knows it, though his father doesn't. So the captains chose Daerthon, and the Chieftain sent him to the South Road after Midwinter. Aragorn wanted a captain there. After…last winter." He glanced at her, and then away.

After Gilrath.

"He is…a good choice," she said quietly. "Steady." She smiled. "And now you will take his son north."

Falaran glanced sidelong at her. "Barahir is coming, too. He's patrolled the north often, knows the Lossoth customs, and their tongue."

"Ah. Has he?"

"He likes it, can't imagine why." A short, dry laugh. "Finds it convenient, maybe? Makes for an easy answer, whenever a woman starts getting too insistent. 'Have to go north, be gone months, wouldn't want you to waste such beauty in waiting…'" He laughed. "You know him, too."

"That I do." And Miriel smiled, and somewhat to her surprise, it was not forced, or only a little.

"Oh, come on. It's not like he didn't know."

"He—what?"

"You were a girl, and Meren was not—is not—the most, ah, discreet of younger brothers."

She flushed, in spite of herself, and allowed a shame-faced laugh. "Both true." But Barahir has chosen his way, and I've chosen mine. And then, soft and warm in memory: 'Dunadaneth.'

But Falaran was not ready to let it go yet. "So not Barahir, and lucky for that, I suppose." He grinned. "But what about others? Come on, Mir, there must be someone. You're not blind, nor made of stone."

She let out an exasperated breath. "I don't sleep with Rangers. You know that. You all know that; I've told it to enough of you." And word had gotten round, she knew, for in recent years they had mostly stopped asking. And those who know about Girith won't tell.

Falaran laughed. "All right, fine. But what about…" And he named the village cooper, a forester, and two farmers.

"In their dreams." And she too laughed. But it had begun to grate, and she pushed back from the table and rose. "The Chieftain will want to leave early. We have gear to check, and farewells to make."

But when she and Valya had finished packing, and made their way through the chill evening to the house Meren's family shared with Hannas and Telhirion and the baby, she found that there would be one less farewell than she had thought.

"We're coming with you," said Meren, "at least as far as the North Downs watchpost. The Chieftain wants the trainees to see the north, thinks it'll be good for them." Meren grinned at the dismay on Miriel's face, glanced sidelong at Valya and winked. "Worse than anything Faelon did to us."

Valya regarded him stone-faced, and said nothing. Miriel turned to her. "Want to reconsider, Val?"

"No." Valya lifted her chin, voice expressionless, but the corners of her lips twitched. "I suppose I deserve it."

Meren laughed, and clapped her on the shoulder. "So true, my girl."

"I don't," Miriel growled.

"You absolutely do," said Hannas, from the corner by the fire where she sat, rocking Isilmir. "Or shall we ask Faelon?"

"Oh, there's no need for that," said Meren. "I remember it all."

Miriel laughed. "Because you were even worse than I was."

"Never claimed to be otherwise. It's an asset, really – I've done it all, so nothing they do surprises me."

Hannas raised her eyebrows. "Nothing?"

"Well, almost nothing," Meren allowed. "Every trainee group has its own unique…"

"Personalities?" suggested Miriel.

"Stupidities," said Hannas, with her mild smile.

Valya's lips twitched. "We're all idiots in our own way." She turned to Meren. "That was it, yes?"

Meren chuckled wryly. "At least you learned something."

"Well, you said it enough times."

"Only as often as it was true. Which was…" Meren glanced at Hannas. "Every day, more or less?"

"More," said Hannas firmly. "Your memory's slipping."

"I'm trying to be positive. Optimistic. Encouraging."

"Delusional."

"Yes, maybe that too." Meren laughed. "Don't judge."

"Who, me?" said Hannas. "Never."

"I, on the other hand," said Miriel, "will judge you forward and backward and into tomorrow. It's my duty. I'm being helpful."

"Gwethor nîn, I knew I could count on you." And there was laughter still in Meren's voice. But his eyes spoke only truth, unquestioned and unwavering.

"Always, brother," said Miriel quietly.

It was thus a large group that gathered before the Hall in the morning, breath clouding white in the cold winter dawn: Meren and the dozen or so trainees, Miriel and Valya, Falaran and Daeron, Aragorn and Halbarad and Barahir. The trainees grumbled and looked glum, and even Barahir grunted with effort and cursed under his breath as he hefted his pack.

"Too heavy for you?" Meren's voice was hoarse with cold, but a grin twitched at the corners of his lips.

Profanity loud now, clear and deliberate in the still air, Barahir cursed the weight, and the winter, and younger brothers, and the trainees tried valiantly to hold back laughter. Even Halbarad cracked a smile, and shouldered his own pack with a single smooth movement. "Show-off," Barahir growled, with a sidelong grin.

And only Miriel saw, perhaps, because she looked for it – the tightness at the corners of Halbarad's eyes, the slight stiffness in his hips. Why is he here? He needs rest, not winter patrol. She bit her lip, and thrust down a sudden flash of anger at the Chieftain.

They were all burdened, even the trainees, not only their own gear but also supplies for the North Downs watchpost, and food and goods to trade for information from the Lossoth. It was the heaviest pack Miriel had ever carried on patrol, and she glanced sidelong at Valya, as the younger woman shifted under the weight.

"You all right?"

"Fine."

Miriel grunted, not quite a laugh. "Ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer."

"Something like."

But sometimes it is the asking that is important.

The weather remained fair, though cold, as they journeyed north. They went slower than they would have without the trainees, but Meren had his charges stand the night watches, so the Rangers were relieved of at least that burden. Miriel watched Halbarad, as much as she could without seeming to, and after a time she realized Aragorn was as well. His face showed no emotion, no reaction, even when Halbarad stumbled on icy snow, staggered under the weight of his pack and nearly fell.

He's worried.

So why bring Halbarad at all? There were other Rangers in the village; any could have taken his place.

And then, watching them, how they spoke, and how they were together without speaking – Perhaps the choice was not his.

But mostly she walked with Meren, and listened eagerly to all he had to tell – of his children and Tathar, Hannas and Isilmir, the trainees, and of course village gossip. But more than anything, it was a joy simply to be with him, his familiar stride, his laugh, his warmth at her back in the night.

Slowly though they went, at last the downs on their left sank toward the plains, and they came to the North Downs watchpost. It was dug into a south-facing slope, stone-walled and roofed with sod like the South Road watchpost where she had spent the previous winter. Larger, though, for it served as the base from which the Rangers patrolled all the northern lands of what once was Arnor.

Faelon had command of the winter garrison, and he greeted them and the supplies they brought with weary relief. "I thought we might see you soon. Hoped, anyway – though not them." He cocked his head at the trainees. "Thought I'd gotten rid of 'em. What happened?"

Meren laughed, and the trainees shifted uneasily, for he had told them many times that they were lucky to have him as Master and not Faelon. "Just a reminder of all you're missing."

"Fuck. That." But then Faelon turned to Aragorn, all jest gone from his voice. "Lossoth came ten days ago, half a dozen of them. Said their southern settlements had been raided, and most of their food stolen. I judged it true, seemed of a piece with what we had heard before, what Darahad told you. And they certainly looked lean enough. We sent all we could with them." He shook his head. "Good thing you arrived when you did."

"It would have been sooner," said Meren, casting a hard look over the trainees, "if the children here were as strong as they should be."

"Work to do yet, eh?" Faelon's voice was harsh, but he glanced sidelong at Meren, and Miriel caught the wry amusement in his eyes.

Meren and the trainees left early the next morning, with light packs and lighter hearts, for they had accomplished their task, and were headed home.

Barahir embraced his brother, gave Meren a loud kiss on the cheek and laughed as his face, already flushed with cold, grew even redder. "Take care of the children, dear," he called, loud enough for the trainees to hear.

"Oh, go fuck yourself." But then Meren's eyes brightened, and he smirked. "You'll have to, unless you can find a Lossoth girl. Whereas I will go home to my lovely wife. What shall I tell your latest? Firien, wasn't it? No, that was the one before—"

He jumped back out of range of Barahir's half-hearted cuff, nearly slipped on ice but recovered and stood grinning in the cold. "Try harder next time."

"I will, don't worry your pretty head about that." But then the laughter was gone from Barahir's eyes. Quietly, with the fierceness of desire that is not truth, "And there will be a next time." A small, wry smile. "Take care of yourself, little brother." He glanced at Miriel. "And I'll look out for your gwethor."

Meren nodded, let out a slow breath, white in the winter dawn. And then he turned to Miriel. He embraced her fiercely, held her for longer than he usually did; though he would not allow tears, not in front of the trainees, she felt his breath shaking. "It's been too long, Mir," he whispered.

She kissed his cheek, and forced a smile. "It has. At least we had this."

"Take what we're given, and do what we must, eh?" And then the words of ritual, pushing back fear: "Valar guard and guide you, gwethor nîn."

She swallowed hard, gripped his arm. "Valar guard and guide."

He stepped back from her, and turned to Valya. "Thank you for proving me right." A sidelong glance at Miriel. "Happens seldom enough."

Miriel snorted, not quite a laugh, and Valya almost smiled.

Footsteps on snow, loud in the dawn and then fading, and Valya gripped Miriel's shoulder before returning to the warmth of the hut. But Miriel watched as they climbed the shallow valley, dark figures dwindling until they vanished over the crest, and the snow was again gray and empty.

Footfall behind her. Heavy. Not Valya. She drew a breath, and composed her face. But when she turned, it was only Halbarad. "It is hard to watch your gwador go," he said quietly. Nothing more, and he stood by her, gazing south.

That is why you are here. And her eyes blurred with tears in the cold winter dawn.

Notes:

And we're off! As always, I'm grateful for any comments, no matter how short or long, and I promise to respond. Thanks to everyone who weighed in on the end notes! I'm going to continue including a stripped-down version, mostly just references in case folks want to go back and reread the events Miriel and others are remembering. And at some point, I'll go back and add more details to the appendix, probably including summaries of the other stories.

The conversation between Aragorn and Halbarad most directly references Dark Things Ch. 17, though of course there's a lot more behind that... ;)

Miriel's previous, fairly brief foray into the northern lands with Anna is in NATWWAL Ch. 35.

Lain and the trolls - Dark Things Ch. 8

Gilrath - Dark Things Ch. 2

Political tension around the selection of the brannon taid, the Chieftain's second-in-command, comes up in a conversation between Aragorn and Mahar in ALFTS Ch. 4.

"the icy wind from the mountains, his fevered body in her arms, the desperation as he faded. And his eyes on her as he lay in Elrond's house, and the name he called her by." Dark Things Ch. 9-10

Miriel's adolescent crush on Barahir - NATWWAL Ch. 20.

Girith...well, most recently Dark Things Ch. 1 :)

galu edraith a cuil - blessed is the saving of life
gwador/gwethor nîn - oath brother/sister