The clouds broke, and the level rays of the sinking sun turned the brown land around them briefly gold. But the wind grew colder, and when at last the dark forced them to halt, Miriel was shivering in her still-damp clothes. They made camp in near silence, for all were too weary for labored, translated speech. But the oldest of the Lossoth men pointed to himself and said, "Kalo," and then to the other two, "Sani, Savi." And then another word in their tongue, and Valya smiled. "Brothers," she said.

They ate cold food, hard waybread and dried meat soaked in cold water, and the Lossoth a strange, gray-white thing that smelled faintly of fish. "Seal fat," said Barahir, when Daeron asked, and the boy shuddered and drew back. Miriel tried a little of the piece that Savi held out to her, found it oily and salty, strange and slightly unpleasant, but palatable enough with the dry waybread.

The Dunedain huddled together in the night, but the Lossoth did not seem cold, wrapped in their furs. They spoke little amongst themselves and less to the Dunedain, yet with three more to watch, their shifts were shorter, and despite the cold they all slept more. The ground had hardened again, and the frozen footsteps of their enemies were easy to follow. Around noon the next day, the clouds drew in again. It began to snow, but lightly, not enough to hide the trail. And late that afternoon, they came to the river.

Barahir spoke to the Lossoth, and then turned to Halbarad. "They think it's solid; the raiders clearly crossed. This river is shallow, and it flows slow in winter. Two days of cold is usually enough. They're not sure, but the closest ford is at least a day upriver. They're willing to risk it."

For their people. But they are not ours. Should we—

"We'll go," said Halbarad. "Spread out – keep at least four paces between you. And loosen your pack straps; if you go in, get it off or it will drag you down. Falaran, give me your bow." Falaran looked almost as though he was minded to protest, but the captain's tone brooked no dissent. Reluctantly, he laid the bowstave in Halbarad's hand. And perhaps Miriel only imagined Halbarad's brief glance, the lift of an eyebrow, there and then gone. I'm the better shot, and they both know it. If one of us has to lose a bow, better it be Falaran. But then Halbarad turned away, and stepped out onto the frozen river.

He prodded the ice ahead of him with the bowstave, but it seemed solid enough. The rest of the patrol followed, Miriel last of all. As she walked, she planned for the worst, to keep her mind from fear. If Halbarad goes in…If the man ahead of me goes in…If I go in…She shuddered, but made herself consider it calmly. Don't panic. Don't breathe water. Shed your gear. Get to solid ice. She unfastened the star that held her cloak and slipped it in her belt pouch. At least I will not lose that.

Cold wind blew, whirling the thin snow in her face. They were halfway across. It's solid. We're going to—and then the cracking. Without a word, the patrol surged forward over the slick, snow-covered ice. But it was not enough. A sharper crack, Daeron's panicked cry, and then the ice tilted beneath her, and she fell.

She clamped her lips shut. Don't breathe water. If you breathe water, you'll die. The air trapped in her clothes buoyed her, though her pack threatened to drag her down. Shrugging and clawing desperately at the straps, she managed to get it off, and felt suddenly much lighter. She allowed herself to breathe then, great gasping breaths as the cold knifed through her. That's the worst of it. Now just get to the edge. Cries and shouts but she ignored them, blinking water out of her eyes, searching for solid ice. The green water around her was choked with broken chunks, but they were no use. And then fear jolted through her again: Where is Daeron? Turning about clumsily, she saw him floundering, perhaps ten feet away. He had not managed to get his pack off, and even as she watched, his head slipped below the water.

Her clothes were now fully waterlogged, and she felt the weight of her sword dragging her down. Yet her mind was abruptly, strangely calm. If I go after him like this, neither of us will come up again. She managed to unbuckle her sword belt with stiff fingers, raised it as high as she could and hurled the sheathed sword like a spear towards solid ice. Valar, please—Relief flooded through her as it landed with a dull thunk. But she was already turning, swimming as strongly as her chilled limbs would allow toward the spot where Daeron had disappeared. There was no sign of him. But the river is neither deep nor swift. He can't have gone far. Taking two long breaths despite the racing of her heart, she plunged under.

The icy water burned her eyes but she forced them open, searching the murk for a deeper shadow that might be a man. Waterweeds loomed, brown and dead but still floating, slimy and ghostlike. She flinched, batted them away with frantic, breath-wasting motion. Calm yourself, girl. There's not much time. Yet in that freezing, unearthly void, calm would not come. Desperate for air, she strained her eyes, saw nothing but weed and rock, and she had lost all sense of direction. At last, she could stand it no longer. Twisting and pushing as hard as she could off the muddy riverbed, she clawed for the surface. Light grew rapidly, brown sediment swirling against the brightness, and then she was up, gasping and blinking in the sudden brilliance of the cloudy winter afternoon. From somewhere off to her right, a voice called her name. Halbarad, she realized dimly. "Miriel, here. Come—" But she ignored him. A few quick, gulping breaths, and she dove back down into the gloom.

Yet her limbs were becoming sluggish. Won't last much longer. One more try. Only one. In the brief respite on the surface, she had noticed a ruffled patch of water, downstream from where Daeron had fallen in. A rock, she realized suddenly. A big one. The eddies must have weakened the ice, and the current would sweep anything in the water to the far side. She saw the loom of a great, oblong boulder just downstream, felt her legs scrape against the smooth-worn surface—and there it was: a twitch of feeble movement, only a few feet away. Her lungs already aching for air, one swift pull and kick brought her to him. She grasped him around the chest with one arm and struggled upward. He seemed heavy as a lead weight by her side, and blackness began to gather at the edges of her vision. Yet they were in truth not more than a few feet down. With a last, desperate thrust, she felt her head strike something solid and push it aside. And then she was back on the surface, gulping lungfuls of frigid air.

Her thoughts came slowly. Edge…must find the edge…And then, clear into her muddled mind, a familiar voice, strong and commanding.

"Here, Miriel," called Halbarad. "Come here, swim to me." Turning, she saw a dark shape lying flat at the edge of the ice. Forcing her limbs to move, she swam clumsily, Daeron's limp body a dead weight at her side. He coughed feebly, so she knew he was alive, but he seemed too exhausted to struggle. A small mercy, she thought, as she crossed the last few feet of ice-choked water. When she reached the edge, she twisted awkwardly and thrust Daeron toward Halbarad's outstretched hands. He hauled, and she shoved, and between them they got the boy onto the snow, where he lay coughing and retching. Falaran had come up with Halbarad, crawling on the thin ice; he grasped Daeron's wrists and pulled him away toward the safety of shore.

Halbarad turned back to Miriel. She managed to get her arms onto the ice but found there was no more strength in them, nor in her legs. She kicked a little, feebly, but could not raise herself out of the water. Halbarad grasped her wrists and pulled, but it was not enough. Cursing softly, he inched forward, closer to the perilous edge, closer and closer as the ice creaked beneath him, until at last he seized her beneath the arms and with a swift, grunting effort, drew her from the freezing water. She lay beside him in the snow, gasping and shivering. Tired. So tired…She closed her eyes.

"No," rasped Halbarad, his voice close to her ear. "No, not here. Get to shore. Then you can rest. Can you crawl?"

I want to sleep…But something in her, deeper than conscious thought, laid hold of her limbs. Cold-stiffened muscles moved; she raised her body from the snow. On hands and knees she crawled, foot by agonizing foot, with Halbarad beside her, until at last the ice was firm enough, and then he stood. He dragged her up and drew her arm over his shoulders. It was well that he did so, for she found her feet clumsy and her balance gone. Walking like a drunk…A small voice within her laughed a little. If only Meren could see – he'd never let me live it down. The smile did not quite reach her lips as she staggered along, leaning heavily on Halbarad, until they reached the shore. She stumbled on the suddenly uneven ground and clutched at him.

"Steady," he murmured. "Not much further – do you see the fire?" Yet she was shivering so hard her vision blurred, and she could make little sense of what she saw. Sudden warmth on her face, and she blinked at the ruddy glow, but it seemed only to make her shiver harder. Halbarad still held her firmly with one arm; with the other, he began to fumble with the lacings of her tunic, growled in frustration as the sodden cloth refused to yield.

"Valya, help me," he snapped. Miriel felt herself lowered to the ground, heard soft, muttered curses, both Halbarad's voice and Valya's, as chilled fingers struggled to loosen her rapidly freezing garments. She tried to help them, but her numbed limbs would not respond, and in the end she fell back, shivering, as they stripped her like a child. At last the bite of cold air on her skin, and immediately after the scratchy, blessed shelter of a blanket. Then strong arms were around her, and Halbarad pulled her back against him. She shivered violently, arms clutching knees drawn tight to her chest. Halbarad held her close, the warmth of his breath on her neck.

"Will these serve, captain?" Valya's voice, worried, even afraid.

Do not fear—But she was shivering too hard to speak.

"Yes," said Halbarad. "She's not hurt, only cold." And then, close by her ear, "Valya's brought dry clothes, Mir. Can you stand?"

I don't know…She felt Halbarad lifting her up, and her legs held her weight, though still she leaned against him. It was awkward, and cold, and she knew the Lossoth men must be staring. And Barahir—But she brushed it off without so much as a grimace. If any man wishes to look on me now, let him.

The clothes did not fit perfectly; she was broader in the shoulders and narrower in the chest than Valya, and a bit taller, but they were close enough. She sighed in relief at the feeling of soft, dry cloth on her chilled skin, and by the time she was fully dressed, she had regained enough control to pull the blanket about her and sit on her own. Her face tightened and she bit her lip – feeling was beginning to return to her feet and hands, and pain along with it. But that's good. If they can feel, they're alive. And she thought of the snowstorm in North Pass, the small stone refuge that had saved their lives. My turn now, brannon mell. And then, with the faintest of smiles, Just as well you aren't here. I'd never hear the end of it.

Halbarad crouched on the far side of the fire, carefully pouring steaming water into a mug. He brought it over to her and held it out. Yet when she tried to take it, her hands shook so hard it nearly spilled. She hissed in frustration, but Halbarad said softly, "Here, I'll hold it." He brought the cup to her lips, and despite the urgent desire for warmth, she drank slowly, cautious not to burn her mouth. When it was gone, he brought her another cup, and then a bowl of porridge. As he lifted a steaming spoonful, pride reasserted itself.

"L-let me have it," and she grasped the spoon. He looked at her skeptically but handed it over. The first spoonful she almost spilled, and the second, but by the third, she had managed enough control that she reached out with her other hand and took the bowl from him. Still he crouched by her, and irrational though she knew it was, resentment flared, and she had to fight back the urge to push him away. She swallowed hard and looked him in the eye.

"Thank you, captain," she said slowly, carefully, wishing her voice did not shake. "I can manage now."

He looked at her for a moment but then nodded. "Very well." He stood abruptly and turned away, skirting around the fire to kneel by another blanket-wrapped figure who huddled, supported by others, on the far side. Daeron, Miriel realized with sudden, sinking dread. In her own misery, she had forgotten about him. Yet between the dry clothes and the warm food and drink, she felt herself reviving, and with it came the twinge of duty. Scraping the last of the porridge from the bowl, she set it on the ground and got shakily to her feet.

Daeron's eyes were closed, and he breathed in great, shuddering gasps. His entire body shook; it seemed that despite dry clothes and Falaran's warm body behind him, the chill still held him fast. She knelt by his side on the trampled snow. Falaran looked up at her, relief warring with surprise and concern on his face.

"He should have begun to warm by now. Was he injured?" she asked, grasping for calm despite the tremors that still shook her.

Falaran shook his head. "Not that I saw. He swallowed some water, but it came back out." He grunted. "Most of it on me."

The ghost of a smile flitted across Miriel's face, but it vanished in the next moment as she laid a hand on Daeron's pale, cold cheek. Stilling herself with an effort, she opened her mind.

Fear – cold, fluttering panic, desperate search for air, paralyzing terror of death by water. Not a rational fear, not persuadable, deep-rooted in the core of him. She remembered a sunny day, hot for the season of the year – and the panicked shrieks that rent the air, the sudden splash, the terrified, hiccupping cries of a child barely saved from drowning. That fear holds him still.

Gently, deliberately calm, she called to him, more thought than words, thoughts of safety and warmth and rest. She felt weakness wash over her, but she pushed it back. Not yet. Please, not yet.

With a swiftness that was startling, the boy's thin body stopped shaking. His breathing calmed, and his head fell back against Falaran's chest. Falaran drew him closer, murmuring soft words Miriel could not hear. Daeron's eyes remained closed, but the sudden, familiar ache at the back of her head warned her that she was nearing the end of her strength. As gently as she could manage, from the bare edge of control, she broke off and withdrew. She straightened a little, and met Falaran's eyes.

"See—" A hoarse croak; she cleared her throat and tried again. "See if you can get him to drink something hot, and maybe eat a little."

Falaran nodded, and then reached out to lay a hand on her arm. "Miriel—" he began, but she cut him off.

"Just look after him." Without waiting for a response, she rose – more swiftly than she should have, for her vision abruptly darkened. Breathing hard, she stumbled forward, groped blindly at a tree trunk for support, leaned against the cold, rough bark and tipped her head back, staring up unseeing into the darkening sky. She did not move when she heard the crunch of footfall on snow behind her, not even when the man came so close she could hear his breath. But the deep voice could not be ignored.

"You disobeyed my order," said Halbarad quietly.

She rolled her head toward him but made no response; speaking seemed a monumental effort.

"You might have died, Miriel." His voice, though pitched low enough that the others could not hear, now had a hard edge. "Once was brave, but twice? Twice was reckless."

She straightened, shoved free of the tree trunk and turned to face him. "I might have died." Still her voice shook, but she didn't care. "Daeron would have. I had the strength; I had no choice but to use it." She shrugged. "'Here do I swear myself to my maethanar.'"

"And if your brothers are fools?"

"My oath is not contingent."

"Perhaps it should be."

"I've acted foolishly before; I will surely do it again." A soft, bitter laugh. "Would you leave me to my fate, captain? Should I have let Daeron drown?" It was unfair, and she knew it, knew also that she skirted the edge of disrespect, but she was too tired to care.

Halbarad let out a long breath. "No, and no. But there is a reason all Rangers must learn to swim. There is a reason for every demand, and more often than not that reason is written in blood. Miriel, he's going to get someone killed." Halbarad shook his head. "He doesn't belong among us."

She was silent for a long moment. At last, quietly, "Perhaps not. But he is still worthy of life."

Halbarad gazed past her into the gathering dark, firelight throwing black shadows across his face. She shivered, and not entirely from the cold. His expression softened, and he laid a hand on her arm. "Are you sure you're all right?" Concern flickered in his eyes – concern, and something almost like fear. "Aragorn would never forgive me if I let you come to harm."

She stiffened, suddenly angry again. Exhaustion as much as anything else, she knew, but still it rankled. "Let me? You're not letting me do anything, captain, aside from my duty." She shook off his hand and stepped back. "My oath is his, and he may judge me for it. Not you."

He flinched. Very softly, "I know." And then both were silent, as they remembered whose life it had been last time, and why. "We choose, all of us," he said at last. "And we must accept what comes." He reached out, gripped her hand, looked in her eyes. "I will lose others. I know that. But not today. Thanks to you, your courage," a raised eyebrow, "your disobedience, not today." He nodded, and released her hand. "Now come, you must rest. You're off the guard rotation for tonight."

She inclined her head in grateful acknowledgement, so that she missed the smile that flickered across his lined, weary face.

Valya was already wrapped in her blanket by the fire. Miriel laid herself down close beside her, and Valya shifted toward her with a sleepy grunt. Despite the cold, Miriel felt herself falling into sleep almost immediately, disjointed thoughts drifting away into silence. Yet when an unexpected third body settled against her back, she stirred.

"Hush," whispered Halbarad. And then, so softly it might have been a dream, "You'll sleep warm tonight, ellenen." And she did.

Notes:

In my 'verse, there are a small number of Dunedain who possess some level of the healing gift that Aragorn displays in the books. Miriel is one of them, as are her mother and her older sister.

"And then both were silent, as they remembered whose life it had been last time, and why." Miriel and Halbarad are remembering the events of Dark Things Ch. 9-13. When Halbarad calls her ellenen, he is also referencing that section, as well as Ch. 17.

brannon mell - beloved lord

maethanar - comrades