Sad Wings of Destiny

WARNING! WARNING! WARNING!

The following chapter is rated �R� due to graphic depictions of brutal and horrific violence that some readers may find offensive and/or disturbing. If you are easily bothered by such imagery, do not read! Consider yourself warned!

Miriel ran as fast as she could. She feared that the men on the road could hear her. Her booted feet crunched the dead leaves that blanketed the forest floor and the water skins draped around her neck noisily bounced into one another as she sprang over the uneven terrain. She must�ve gone a good mile or so at full speed before she found herself unable to run any further and collapsed onto the ground, breathless. She held her breath for a few moments, listening intently as to whether any had followed her into the forest. All she heard were typical woodsy sounds - birds chirping merrily in the tree limbs above, the scurrying of little critters on the bed of dry leaves, and the occasional rustling of leaves from an unfelt breeze.

She allowed herself to breathe in rasps once again, as she reached for one of her water skins. It was a hot day and the forest seemed even hotter. Miriel took a long drink, her eyes searching above for any patches of blue sky amidst the canopy of trees. There were very few places where she could actually see the sky. And, from the looks of it, the trees appeared denser in any direction she decided to tread. After a short break, she carried on, trying to stay on a north-west course, when possible.

Miriel soon came to realize that there was no way she would make it out of the forest before nightfall. Darkness always fell on the woods earlier than the open planes and fields. She didn�t like the thought of being alone in a place so unfamiliar. There were so many strange noises in the woods at night. She clearly recalled her first night on watch duty near the borders of Rohan shortly after she and Bregolas had left Minas Tirith, and how the noises amidst the darkness had frightened her so. That seemed so long ago, even though it really wasn�t.

The Slayer plodded on, lost in her thoughts. She wished that there was some way she could speak with Buffy. She longed for her company and counsel. Miriel couldn�t help but wonder if it was possible for loneliness to drive one insane. She sure hoped that wouldn�t happen to her, but she already loathed walking in silence. She began to sing softly under her breath, finding solace in songs from bygone days.

She and Bregolas had studied the map quite a bit before his demise, and she knew that she had entered Rhudaur, which, at one time, had been part of the ancient kingdom of Arnor. She couldn�t remember any other specifics from the map, other than the vast region of Eriador, and the small town of Archet, which, for some reason, stuck in her mind. She hoped that some of her kinsmen still dwelled in the hills at the feet of the Misty Mountains as they had in times past, and wondered if she would come across strangers as nice as Gunnulf and his family.

As soon as that thought crossed her mind, Miriel heard Bregolas� voice in her head, saying, Gunnulf betrayed us. Do not forget that, Miriel. It is folly to trust strangers.

She chuckled. �Even in death your voice continues to haunt me,� the Slayer said aloud. �Do you forget, my friend that Eir� provided us with food and Grimbeorn with horses?�

Miriel heard no response from her dead friend.

�Oh no,� she said in dismay. �I think I�m already treading down the path of insanity! What am I doing having conversations with a dead man?�

The Slayer didn�t speak aloud after that, fearing that talking to herself was a sign of madness. She continued on, taking breaks every now and again to rest and check on her dwindling supplies. Since Bregolas� death, Miriel found herself drinking more water than she should. To her, the air in the forest seemed exceptionally hot and no matter how much she drank, her mouth felt parched. Four water skins were already empty and if she didn�t ration the rest, the remaining two would be empty before she left the woods.

When the forest began to grow dark, and Miriel found herself stumbling over dead tree limbs, she decided that it was best to stop for the night. Leaning against the bole of a beech tree, she ate another scant meal of cheese and honey cakes, wishing that she had meat to sate that hungering that never seemed to go away.

When darkness settled about her, the Slayer kept the crossbow clutched in her hand, ready to fire should some beastly creature jump out of the shadows. All the nightly noises sounded louder than usual, increasing the girl�s paranoia threefold. O, how she wished that Bregolas was with her, or, better yet, Buffy, who always seemed fearless and brave when Miriel was not.

Then she heard it!

Crunch, crunch, crunch.

The Slayer frantically leapt to her feet, spinning toward the sound. The hair on the nape of her neck stood on end. There was no doubt in her mind that she was hearing the sound of heavy footfalls on the bed of dead leaves, slowly coming her way.

Crunch, crunch, crunch.

Her mind was racing, her heart nearly beating out of her chest. She raised her weapon, pointing it in the direction in which she heard the sound. She knew that it was no squirrel or coney foraging for food at that hour. This was something� bigger, much bigger.

Mustering her courage, she shouted, �Sh-show yourself!� Her voice sounded weak, even to her. But, the moment she spoke, all fell silent. Her eyes darted from tree to tree, searching for any moving shadows. Whatever it was, it was hiding. It was hiding somewhere nearby. The sudden stillness increased her trepidation. She�d rather the thing lurking in the woods jumped out at her. At least then she could defend herself. The anxiety of waiting proved to be much worse.

Her heartbeat started to return to its normal rhythm when she suddenly heard something sniffing, the same sniffing sound she had heard whilst she was hiding by the road. The thumping in her chest increased again, and Miriel didn�t like the thought of sticking it out any longer. With her weapon trained in the direction of the hidden beast, she carefully crouched down, grabbed her bags with her free hand, and pulled the straps over her shoulder.

Crunch, crunch, crunch.

The moment she heard the footsteps again, she bolted. Miriel had gone maybe a couple of yards before she careened into a tree, sending her ricocheting onto her back. The unexpected collision sent her weapon flying from her hand. Terrified and dazed, she whimpered as she clambered to her knees, her hands desperately searching the forest floor for her crossbow. Finding her weapon, she then got back on her feet and took off again, keeping a hand stretched out in front of her to avoid colliding with another tree.

Brambles grabbed at her legs, their prickly thorns piercing both her breeches and skin. She moaned, trying to fight her way through the thickets. From behind, she heard a snap of a twig breaking in two. The unseen beast was following her! She was breathing so loudly that she no longer heard the crunching of dried leaves beneath her stalker�s feet. The underbrush and density of the forest caused her to run hither and thither. Miriel became disoriented and had no idea in which direction she was fleeing.

The ground then began to climb and she knew that she had come upon another hill. Her eyes sought out the night sky above, yet the branches of the trees formed a leafy dome, preventing her from using the stars as a guide. With her eyes fixed above, and her hands wildly stretched out before her, feeling for obstacles, a branch smacked her in the face, scratching her from the bridge of her nose and below her eye to her right jaw line. Miriel let out a startled cry. Her face instantly burned with pain.

Still, she continued running, weaving between trees, and pulling herself free from the briars that snagged at her clothing, which only helped her assailant by slowing her down. Sweat seeped from every pore and tears rolled from her eyes though the Slayer didn�t realize it at the time. Her adrenaline was pumping, the muscles in the back of her calves ached from climbing the incline of the hill.

The burning in her calves let up some when she reached the top of the hill. She nearly stumbled over a protruding root or rock, but luckily caught her footing again. But, as she made her descent, she tripped once again, this time losing her balance altogether. She rolled forward, head over foot, her bags flinging off her arm. The back of her breeches suddenly became wet and for a second Miriel thought she had peed herself. But it soon became painfully obvious that at least one of her water skins had smashed open, spilling out the last of her water. That was her last thought, for her head struck a rock, knocking the young Slayer unconscious�



In a hazy state, Miriel heard an indistinct voice calling her name.

She groaned.

The voice spoke again, a little bit more clearly. �Miriel! Wake up! Wake up!�

She began to feel a dull pounding on the left side of her head.

�Wake up! C�mon, Miriel! Please, wake up!� she heard the voice say again. That time, she felt her body being shaken as the voice spoke.

In her confusion, she uttered, �Andreth, I want to sleep longer.�

�Andreth?� said the perplexed voice. �I�m not Andreth. It�s me, Miriel. It�s Buffy.�

For the briefest of moments, Miriel had thought that she was home, safe in bed. As she came to her senses, that delusion was quickly broken. Not only did her head ache terribly, but also her entire body.

�B-Buffy,� she stammered with a groan, blinking her eyes open.

�Yeah. C�mon. You need to sit up,� said the elder Slayer, sliding an arm beneath the girl�s shoulder, and easing her upright.

�Oh, my head,� moaned a still groggy Miriel, placing her hand on the left side of her head. She winced when she touched the large knot on the side of her skull.

�Let me see,� Buffy said, taking a closer look at Miriel�s injury. �You�re bleeding,� she announced, as she looked at her blood-covered palm. �We need to keep pressure on that.�

The swords that hung on either side of Miriel stuck out awkwardly, the hilts thrust painfully into her hips. She readjusted the weapons to lessen her discomfort.

�What happened?� Miriel asked, still somewhat dazed.

�You fell,� answered Buffy, pulling a bandanna from her pocket and holding it to her prot�g�s head.

The girl gasped. �I was being chased,� she recalled, shifting her gaze toward the top of the slope. She saw nothing moving amidst the shadows. She looked back at Buffy. �Something was following me.�

�Yeah, I know,� replied the elder Slayer, her eyes doing a swift scan of the hill. �I think it�s gone now.� She shifted her eyes back to Miriel. �You okay? Anything broken?�

�I-I don�t think so,� answered the girl. �My belongings. Where are they?� she asked, her recollection of the tumble down the hill becoming more clear. She surveyed the immediate area. �And my water skins? I think they were damaged. One of them broke.� She glanced between her legs. I�m wet.�

�At least you didn�t piss yourself,� chuckled Buffy, trying to keep the mood light. �Do you think you can stand? I think you need to stand.� The elder Slayer wasn�t sure how one properly addressed head injuries, but felt that Miriel should get on her feet as soon as she possibly could.

Miriel held the bandanna to her injury as she struggled to her feet. Her head began to spin, and she grabbed hold of Buffy to maintain her balance.

�Steady, now. Steady,� said Buffy. �You might have a concussion.� The elder Slayer began to question her own advice. �Maybe you should sit,� she then said, helping the girl onto a large boulder a foot or so away.

�I wish you would make up your mind,� barked an irritated Miriel. The pain in her head had become so excruciating that her mood had turned foul.

�No need to bite my head off. Jeez!� Buffy complained. �I�m trying to help you and that�s the thanks I get. Pfft.�

�Sorry,� groaned Miriel. �My head hurts awfully bad.� She glanced at the slope. With her eyes adjusting to the darkness, she spotted her bags scattered about the hillside. �I could use some tonic. I think that will help ease the pain.�

�Tonic. Yeah, right,� answered Buffy, before taking off up the incline to gather Miriel�s bags. �Tonic,� she grumbled under her breath. �I should just make some Tylenol materialize.� It�s not like the medicine will work, she thought to herself. Miriel�s knocked out. She�ll need the real stuff when she wakes up. Despite her view of the matter, Buffy felt it was best to help the girl out as much as possible, even if it was only in a dream. The last twenty-four hours had been traumatic for the young Slayer, and Buffy didn�t need to add to it by being ornery.

She obediently brought Miriel�s things back to her, including the two broken water skins. �I�m sorry, Miriel,� said Buffy upon her return. �Looks like you did break a couple of your bottles in the fall. If you wanna look on the bright side, this one still has some water,� she added, shaking one of the containers so that the contents swished around inside.

�What am I to do without water?� asked a disheartened Miriel. �I cannot survive without it.�

Buffy eye�s scanned below. She could hardly see anything other than black shadows against the dimness of night. �I�m sure you�ll come across a water source soon. I mean, this area was once inhabited by people, right? You might find an old well or spring or something.� The elder Slayer tried to sound hopeful.

�And what if I don�t?�

Buffy tossed the bags at Miriel�s feet, feeling a bit annoyed with her prot�g�. �What�s with all the negativity? Can�t you see that the glass is half full?�

Miriel glared at her mentor for a moment or two, before reaching down for the bag that contained her medicines. �That�s easy for you to say,� she remarked. �All your needs are being met! If there�s something you desire, you simply go to the market and purchase it. I do not have that luxury. Life is hard in the real world.� She found the bottle of tonic, popped the cork, and as she brought the bottle to her lips, it slipped from her fingers and fell to the ground, shattering. Miriel�s eyes instantly welled with tears. She began to cry.

With her frustration mounting, Buffy grabbed Miriel by the shoulders, and snapped, �Enough already! Christ, Miriel. This is a dream. Think your headache away. There�s no need for all this drama. We�re� in� a� dream,� she said, enunciating each word slowly.

The baffled young Slayer stared at her mentor. �Huh?�

�You heard me,� answered Buffy, folding her arms across her chest. �You can change anything here. You have control over this environment, not vice versa. If you don�t like what you�re experiencing - do something about it. You have that power.�

�I had forgotten,� sniffled Miriel, wiping away her tears. Only a second later, the pain throughout her body dissipated and the darkness that surrounded them began to wane, as the sun began to climb into the sky. �These dreams of ours seem so vivid, so real. It is hard to forget that we are not in the waking world.�

�I know,� answered Buffy, grateful that the girl was finally getting a grip. �The mind�s a powerful thing. And to think we only use ten percent of our brainpower. Imagine if we used more. God only knows what kind of things we could do.�

�We only use ten percent of our brain?� queried the girl, raising her brows in doubt. �How could you know such a thing? Who could make such a determination?�

�Scientists, I guess,� answered Buffy with a shrug. �That�s what they always say. But that�s beside the point. Right now, we have to deal with the present, with your situation.� She glanced down at the water skins. �Water�s the most pressing issue. If only we knew where we could find some,� she added with a heavy sigh.

�Perhaps I should sprout some wings and fly overhead. Then maybe I could spot a spring or some sort of water source,� she remarked jokingly, returning to her old self.

�Hmm, can you?� asked Buffy, wondering if such a thing was possible. �I mean, you don�t necessarily have to have wings. You can be like Superman, and fly through the air like a speeding bullet.�

Miriel rolled her eyes. �Do you not see that I jest?� she answered, her tone riddled with sarcasm. �I cannot fly! Men cannot fly!�

�Actually, they can.�

The young Slayer couldn�t help but feel that her mentor was toying with her. �Don�t be ridiculous! Only winged creatures can fly!�

Buffy�s lips slowly curved into a smile; a mischievous glint came to her hazel eyes. �Field trip time!� she announced, delighted at the opportunity to prove Miriel wrong.

�Field trip time? What in the name of the Valar does that mean?� The young Slayer assumed that Buffy was speaking of some place in Middle-earth, and hastily added, �I�ve seen the Gladden Fields from afar, and have no desire to look upon them again. The midges were atrocious!�

It was now Buffy�s turn to roll her eyes. �I�m not talking about the Gladden Fields. I�m talking about taking you on a trip, a journey to - �

�Oh, no!� interjected Miriel, rising from the boulder. �I have no desire to return to that queer place you call a mall.� She shook her head. �I do not like it there!�

�I�m not talking about the mall,� replied the elder Slayer. �You said that men can�t fly. Well, I�m gonna show you that they can.�

�That�s impossible!� barked Miriel with a derisive snort. �You�re playing with me.�

The smile widened on Buffy�s face. �You�re about to see something that no one in your time could possibly ever imagine.� She reached out and grabbed the girl by the elbow. One second they were standing on the hillside, the next, they were standing on the observation tower of the Sunnydale Airport.

Miriel gasped. Her jaw dropped as she looked upon airplanes for the first time. Buffy chortled at the expression on her prot�g�s face. She thought that if the girl�s eyes opened any wider, they might pop out of their sockets.

�Those are called airplanes,� revealed Buffy, pointing to the various flying machines. �They�re a type of vehicle that people ride in.�

�What? How? I- I do not see how�� Her words trailed off, as a nearby 727�s engines roared to life. The sudden, loud noise frightened her, causing Miriel to clap her hands over her ears.

A laughing Buffy tugged at Miriel�s hands, pulling them from the girl�s ears. �It�s alright!� she shouted over the din. �You�re safe. Just watch.� The jet began to back out of the terminal. �See the windows,� she continued, pointing to the many small glass panes along the side of the aircraft. �A plane�s like, like a huge carriage with wings,� she explained. �In a few minutes, you�ll see it take off.� She then turned her attention to another runway. She nudged Miriel. �Look! There�s one landing over there.� She pointed to another plane as it made its descent.

The spellbound young Slayer watched as the other plane landed, its tires screeching when they made contact with the runway. Buffy was right. Never in her wildest dreams could she have ever imagined a vehicle such as that. It was unbelievable.

�There are people inside that airplane,� commented a stunned Miriel, noticing faces in the window of the 727 that was backing away from the terminal.

�Yeah,� answered Buffy in a �that�s pretty obvious� sort of way, �Ergo the word - vehicle.�

So enthralled was Miriel that she didn�t offer any retort to the elder Slayer�s comment. She continued to watch the nearby jet, as it raced down the runway and took off into the air. �Amazing,� she uttered under her breath. �Nobody at home would ever believe me if I told them that such a flying contraption existed.� She chuckled. �They would think I had gone mad.� Suddenly, Miriel became alarmed and grabbed Buffy by the arm. �I haven�t, have I? I haven�t gone insane?� She thought that, maybe, after a day in the wilderness alone, she was beginning to lose her mind.

�No, you�re not crazy. You�ve just witnessed one of the ways we travel. In the future, that is. In the far, far future. Planes are way quicker than a car.�

Questions then speedily flew from Miriel�s mouth: �How come the wings do not flap like a bird? What material are airplanes made from? How do they stay in the air? What is that noise? How does it move? What is that white mist that follows behind?�

�Whoa! Hold your horses, soul sister,� said Buffy, overwhelmed by the bombardment of questions. The elder Slayer then tried to explain, in the simplest of terms, how an airplane worked. She did her best to keep the technical jargon to a minimal and was somewhat surprised by how much she actually knew about the topic. Seeing how captivated Miriel was, Buffy added to the experience by boarding one of the planes with her charge.

The young Slayer keenly inspected the interior of the plane in wonderment. She began to have a new appreciation for the ingeniousness of mankind. To make flying machines out of metal with seats more comfortable than any carriage Miriel had ever ridden in was outstanding. She sank into one of the cushioned seats beside her mentor.

�Buckle up,� said the elder Slayer, fastening the girl�s seatbelt.

�What? What is this for?� asked a perplexed Miriel.

�That�s so you won�t fall out of your seat when we take off.�

�Take off? We�re� we�re going to fly?�

�Uh-huh,� answered Buffy, as the captain�s voice came over the intercom, scaring the hell out of her companion.

Miriel�s eyes searched the cabin for the man whose voice she heard. She thought that perhaps it was a phantom, as she could see no one other than Buffy. �Where�s that voice coming from?� she asked in a nearly frantic state. �I see no man.�

The elder Slayer cracked up, laughing over the girl�s reaction. �He�s speaking over the intercom, Einstein,� Buffy sniggered, pointing to one of the speakers. �The pilot�s in the cockpit. He�s the one doing the driving� or flying.�

Miriel clutched the arms of her seat as the plane slowly rolled down the runaway. She stared out the little window with her jaw slightly agape. The roar of the engines grew louder and the plane picked up speed. The girl tried to look at the runway, but found that that made her dizzy and queasy. The acceleration of the jet pushed her back into the cushion of her seat. The plane then left the ground, soaring toward the heavens. She continued to stare out the window, watching as the objects below became smaller and smaller. The young Slayer then felt a strange sensation in her ears. She pulled on them, not understanding what was happening.

�Swallow,� instructed Buffy.

Miriel gave her mentor a questioning look.

�It�ll help equalize the pressure in your ears,� she explained with a small smile.

The moment Miriel swallowed hard, she woke up, alone, lying on the hillside. Darkness still covered the land and Buffy was nowhere to be found. The pain in her head and body began to throb once again, reminding the girl of the tumble she had taken. The hilts of both swords were sticking painfully into her hips. She readjusted the blades as she pulled herself to a sitting position. Moaning, she touched the goose egg on the left side of her head. She felt the dampness of blood. She still felt a little queasy, unsure whether it was from her plane ride or her injury. Nevertheless, she sat there for several minutes, waiting for that feeling to subside, and picking the thorns from the legs of her breeches.

She glanced along the top of the hill, searching for her stalker. She saw nothing, no movement in the gloom of night. After a while, she got to her feet and crept up the hill, gathering her belongings. Just like in her dream, two of the water skins were broken, one which contained most of her water. She had one-half of a container left. Though quite thirsty, she refused to take even a sip, not knowing when she�d be able to find another water source to replenish her supply.

When she had gathered all her bags, she took a swig of tonic, which helped ease the pain throughout her body. Feeling wide-awake, she decided to continue on her journey under the cover of darkness. Though moving much slower than before, she followed the easiest path she could find, hoping to put many miles behind her before daybreak. She no longer heard the sound of heavy footfalls trailing behind.



With the arrival of dawn, Miriel�s visibility increased. She followed a game trail, figuring that might lead her to water. The rumbling of thunder in the distance renewed her hope. If all else failed, she could always collect rainwater to drink. Through the treetops, she could see thick, grey clouds blanketing the sky, which blocked the sun�s rays. Though she couldn�t use the orangey orb as a guide, the young Slayer stayed on the same course, eager to exit the forest.

To Miriel�s dismay, when she finally left the woods, she found herself looking upon the western wall of the Misty Mountains, again. After walking nearly all night long and most of the morning, she had somehow done a loop and had come out north of the old road. She plopped down on the ground in defeat, and wept. All that time and energy wasted. The grey skies had hindered her, preventing her from following the correct path.

She raised her head, glowering at the overcast sky above. Shaking her fist in anger, she cursed the clouds for their deception. Not long afterwards, almost as if in response to her idle threat, the clouds began to dissipate, taking away any chance of rain. The sun shone brightly, bringing with it one of the hottest days in recent memory. Even at rest, sitting beneath the branches at the edge of the forest, sweat seeped from every pore in her body.

Hopelessness crept into Miriel�s heart. She felt that no matter how hard she tried, how far she ran, Doom would catch up with her eventually. It brought to mind the tales of T�rin Turambar from the Eldar Days, how misfortune had followed that great warrior, foiling all that he had done and destroying all that he loved. She wondered if the same fate awaited her, that her own deeds would end in disaster. Things seemed to be going that way. Wasn�t Bregolas� death proof of that? In some ways, she and T�rin were similar. Though his life was blighted by the devilry of Morgoth, she was beginning to think that hers was too. If not Morgoth, then perhaps it was his most trusted servant that was behind all her woes.

Feeling inadequate, Miriel thought back over her seventeen years of life, seeing now that she had been damned from the very start. As she took her first breath, her mother took her last. Instead of celebrating a new life, her loved ones mourned the loss of one. Miriel�s first deed in life was killing her mother in childbirth. That was when it had all began, when the curse had first reared its ugly head. She was positive of that. And though she did have a somewhat normal childhood, Denethor had cruelly taken that away from her on that cold February night. The mere memory of that harrowing ordeal caused her to shudder despite the heat of the day. She wished she could forget that night and the ones that followed thereafter.

�It�s over,� she heard herself say aloud, wiping the sweat from her brow and the tears from her flushed face. Hungry, she grabbed her bag containing the last of the food given to her by Eir�. She ended up eating it all, down to the last crumb from her very last honey cake. She washed it down with the remainder of her water, no longer caring whether she lived or died.

With her belly full, she leaned against the bole of the tree, staring into space as the afternoon slowly ticked by. Then, something happened that she did not expect. Her hope returned, and she found herself eager to continue with her quest. Her eyes then shifted to her empty water skins. O� how she regretted consuming the last of her food and water.

She climbed to her feet, not willing to let Bregolas� death be in vain. If she had to eat tree roots and bugs to survive, then she would. She couldn�t give up. Not now. Not after everything she had been through. There was no turning back. Determined to stay on a westerly course, (obstacles be damned!) Miriel marched back into the forest. She had decided that she wouldn�t sleep until she had exited the woods� western side.



Day turned into night, and fatigue began to set in. Miriel had no other choice but to rest for a little while. Her mouth was so dry that she would have done nearly anything for a drink of water. She wondered how animals survived in the wilds, and if they were blessed with some extra sense that helped guide them to water. At that moment, she would have preferred that skill over her Slayer abilities.

After a brief break, she continued on, determined to stay on the right course. She had gone maybe another mile or so before the trees began to thin, and she could see the star-speckled sky above. For the first time since her trek back into the woods, she could feel a cool breeze against her skin. It felt wonderful. Looking beyond the smattering of trees, she could see a great hill. If Miriel was to stay on her westerly path, she would have to climb it. She didn�t like that thought at all. She knew that doing so would require a great deal of strength and with no food or water to reinvigorate her body, she was hesitant to take up the challenge.

As she neared the hill, she stopped, surveying its size. In the dimness of night, she could see that it stretched to the north and south as far as her eyes could see. If she wanted to go around the mound, she would definitely need to go north, since her goal was to reach the ancient kingdom of Arnor. However, she feared straying from the path she had chosen, wanting to go due west until she left the forest. Which brought another question to mind: had she finally left the forest? Was this hill the first place outside the woods? Were there open planes on the other side? Since the map had been ruined, Miriel did not know the answers to these questions.

With a reluctant sigh, she ventured forward, deciding to scale the hill under the cover of darkness. The young woman could see no trees growing upon the mound or its side, only scattered thickets and brambles. There were also no noticeable pathways or game trails which she could follow. The hillside was steep with many jagged rocks jetting from its face. At least she could hide behind the stone protrusions, if need be. Though she hadn�t heard any footsteps or strange sniffing sounds behind her, she still had that nagging feeling of being watched.

Slowly and carefully, she began to scale the mound, using the rocks to help her keep her foothold. As she climbed, she thought that the hill seemed more like a small mountain. Every now and again, one of her swords would wedge between some rocks, making the climb even more difficult.

Before sunrise, Miriel finally reached the top. She hadn�t realized how truly massive the hill was nor how wide. The apex of the mound was flat and stony, and appeared to stretch for miles. She removed her bags and collapsed on the rocky ground. Her legs were trembling with fatigue and her back ached from the weight of her supplies. Her mouth was dry; her lips parched. Her need for water was becoming dire. As she lay there, she fantasized about water in all its glorious forms. If only she could have a sip! She couldn�t believe how zapped she felt despite her midday feast the day before. The food that had filled her belly was long gone and if she didn�t find water soon, Miriel felt that she would literally die of thirst.

Going a day without water will not kill you, remarked that little voice in the back of her mind, apparently commenting on her thoughts.

As if in answer, she heard, When one exerts such energy without water - a vital necessity to life - one will swiftly decline, both physically and mentally. At this rate, you will soon see things that are not really there. As your body deteriorates, so will your mind.

Miriel buried her face in her hands, thinking that the argument taking place in her mind was a sure sign that she was going mad.

Yes, my dear, you are displaying the first sign of insanity, the second voice continued. As sure as the sun will rise, you will plummet deeper into madness.

�I�m not going mad! I�m not going mad!� Miriel repeated, her voice muffled by the palms of her hands.

The Slayer then tried to clear her mind of all thoughts, but that proved to be impossible. Water was a constant thought, still. A part of her wanted to drift off to sleep, something she could easily do if she allowed it. But, at that moment, the last thing she wanted to see was Buffy and her cheery, optimistic self. She had no desire to see flying machines or the ease in which her mentor could retrieve water. If she were to visit Sunnydale in her dreams, she would drink to her heart�s content, only to wake and find herself longing for water even more. NO! No Buffy! No seeing the glass half full! Once again, Miriel�s thoughts turned to water.

Frustrated, Miriel got back on her feet and continued to trudge along the hilltop. Soon after, the sky grew lighter, and a new day began.

A few hours later, the Slayer reached the other side. From the heights of the hill, she could see that she had not left the forest, and from the looks of it, it would be quite a while before she did. If there was one glimmer of hope that she could see, it was that the woods didn�t appear to be as dense as it had been before she reached the hill. Scattered cleared areas gave her hope that she might come across some type of natural water source, a spring perhaps.

The descent was much more difficult than the climb up. With her strength depleted, and her pace slowed, it took Miriel the better part of the morning to reach the earth below. Once again, she collapsed from exhaustion. Her limbs felt numb and tingly as if her entire body had fallen asleep. There were no trees at the base of the hill and the intense heat of the sun made her feel as though she were withering from its rays, much like some fragile flower.

Desperate for some type of nourishment, she crawled on her belly to a patch of wild grass. If grass was good enough for livestock, surely it would be helpful to her under these extreme conditions. She tore a single blade from its root and brought it to her mouth with a shaky hand. Miriel nibbled on the green plant. Immediately, a bitter taste filled her mouth, causing her to spit the offensive blade from her lips.

She laid her face on the patch of grass. She then closed her eyes. Instantly, her head began to spin. The Slayer forced her weary eyes opened, hating that queasy feeling she experienced with them closed. Not only did she feel weak and terrible, but now she had a foul taste in her mouth. She wished she had never tasted the grass.

Her thoughts then turned to her quest, and how foolish she had been to go on such a journey. Miriel actually considered returning home, thinking that Denethor�s abuse was easier to endure than the wilds of Middle-earth. His nocturnal visits were not on a nightly basis, and while she had lived under his roof, every one of her material needs had been met. She had never gone without food or drink or anything else that she desired.

You do not mean that! exclaimed the rational voice in her mind. You will die if you return to Minas Tirith. Remember thinking of T�rin Turambar yesterday and the similarities between you two? If you allow yourself to be molested by Denethor, you will end your life as the son of H�rin had his. Need I remind you that is what drove you from your home in the first place, Miriel! Would you allow Bregolas� death to be for nothing? You�re the Slayer, one of the D�nedain. The blood of the Elder runs through your veins. You are made of stronger stuff than you know. Do not give up! As long as you live, there is hope!

Miriel was breathing heavily. Each time she exhaled, the grass swayed back, then forward, tickling her nose. However, she was too tired to move and continued to listen to the internal debate taking place in her head.

There is no hope! contested the other voice in her mind. For one as great as Bregolas to have been conquered from the world outside, there is no hope for a mere maiden, no matter her lineage. You speak of the son of H�rin. You are a daughter of H�rin, of no lesser bloodline. T�rin�s fate is your fate. There is no outrunning Doom. It will catch up with you ere the end! The world is full of perilous creatures, creatures far greater than wargs and Orcs and Trolls. Unsavory types haunt these hills, men that have never seen the bliss of N�menor and who consider all her descendants interlopers in the land they call home. Nay, Miriel! There is no hope for you here. You are weak, gullible. The voice paused before adding, There is no shame in sharing your bed with Denethor. Is that not the purpose of women, to sate the needs of men?

The fell voice went silent. As Miriel lay there, she waited expectantly for the �good� voice to refute the statements of the �bad� one. It did not. Instead, it somehow awakened her senses, taking her back to that night in February. She could smell the warm, sour breath of Denethor against her face, feel his inappropriate touch and hear the words that she wished she could forget.

Then the �good� voice asked, Is that what you long to return to? Is that memory not enough to keep you on your path? On your feet, Miriel! it demanded. Listen not to the evil utterances from within. It is but a ruse. Go on you way, Dagnir! Allow none to hinder your destiny.

The �good� voice was much more convincing. Miriel scrambled to her feet, heaving her bags over both shoulders. She set out on her journey again, her back hunched like some old woman. What little hope she had was beginning to dwindle quickly. Hearing voices in her head certainly meant that she had already gone insane.



By late afternoon, the Slayer�s symptoms worsened. Her vision had become blurry, and her eyes seemed to be playing tricks on her. There was one such incident when she had spotted a pond up ahead. She blinked, and then it was gone. She had experienced similar episodes to that all day long. There were even times when everything went black in spite of the sun shining brightly above. Whenever Miriel suffered from one of those blackouts, as she called them, she�d plop onto the ground until her sight returned, attempting to prevent herself from falling and injuring herself further.

As if that wasn�t bad enough, the constant throbbing in her head added to her misery. Her brain felt as if it was pounding against her skull. And it wasn�t just from the knock on the head she had gotten the night before. This was something else. Her feet had felt like they had been turned into lead weights, making it nearly impossible to lift them off the ground. Forced to shuffle her feet, she often found herself stumbling over roots, rocks and fallen tree limbs. She had no idea how she was able to continue on with so little strength. She figured it must have been her Slayer powers that kept her going.

There were even instances when Miriel found herself walking through a more heavily wooded section of the forest and saw quick, shadowy figures moving out of the corner of her eye. Yet, whenever she had turned to get a closer look, there was nothing there. She convinced herself that it was just birds moving much faster than she. But, when she began to hear whisperings, it was much harder to dismiss them as some form of wildlife. She could never make out what was said, as the voice or voices as it were, spoke softly, more like murmurings. In the end, she wrote these off as figments of her imagination, illusions caused by lack of water. Isn�t that what the �bad� voice in her head had said, that she would see things that weren�t really there? Only now, she was hearing them as well.

You�ve gone mad, taunted the �bad voice� in her mind. And in record time too!

Miriel finally gave up. She collapsed to the ground, unable to take another step. She was beyond exhausted. No words could describe how terrible she felt. As she stared up at the treetops, watching the fuzzy leaves flittering in the gentle breeze, she wondered how long it would take to die. She would die there, she was sure of it. She found it taxing to do the simplest of things, such as licking her lips or swallowing what little saliva she was able to produce.

I�m some Slayer alright, she thought dismally. How ill-conceived it was for any to think that I could be the Chosen One! They were wrong. The Powers were wrong. I failed. Bregolas was my strength, the one who kept me going. I�m nothing without him. I shall die here� and no one will ever know. I will leave no mark, have no glorious ending. I shall wither like my mother. I�m coming, Finduilas! I will be joining you in Mandos, o� so very soon.

Miriel closed her eyes, hoping that she�d fall into the endless sleep like her forebears before her. She was ready. She would gladly welcome death.

�Rule One: Never die,� said Buffy in a faraway voice. �Sometimes you gotta know when to fold �em, but this isn�t the time.�

�Leave me be,� mumbled the young Slayer, feeling her mentor shaking her body.

Buffy�s voice then became fainter and garbled. Miriel couldn�t decipher any words, as it sounded like multiple people were talking at once.

�Miriel!� she heard Buffy shout hazily, the sound of her voice drifting further and further away.

�Lass! Lass!� a manly voice called. �Come on, now.�

�I�m coming, Mandos,� the girl uttered in a barely audible voice, thinking that the Doomsman of the Valar was summoning her to his Halls. Miriel waited expectantly for her spirit to lurch free from her body, much like the feeling she had experienced with Buffy on the airplane.

�I think she�s in some sort of swoon, Father,� a different man�s voice said.

Father, she thought. She never recalled Mandos being called Father. Did he have children, or did he have servants that addressed him in that manner? While she had heard tales of the Valar, she never heard the Lord of Mandos referred to as �Father�.

�She�s flushed,� answered the first voice. �Probably overheated.�

Huh? thought Miriel, now very confused.

I told you you were mad, mocked her inner voice, the one that she considered �bad�.

Then Miriel felt something cold and wet trickling on her face. Instinctively, her mouth opened, desperately searching for the liquid. A gush of water entered her mouth, causing her to choke and cough.

�Sit her up! Sit her up!� ordered one of the voices.

Miriel then felt her head jerk forward off the ground, as she continued to cough.

�Easy now,� continued the voice that had spoken first. �Take a drink.�

With her eyes still closed, Miriel felt something pressed against her lips. A container! Soon, a flow of water raced down her throat, tasting more heavenly than anything she had ever had before.

�That�s it. Slowly, now� the kindly voice continued. The Slayer could actually feel the warmth of the man�s breath against her damp skin as he spoke.

The container suddenly pulled away, and water dribbled down her chin. Miriel blinked her eyes open. To her surprise, she saw a grey-haired old man with a gaunt, wrinkly face with the most piercing blue eyes that she had ever seen hovering over her. A second later, a second man appeared in her line of vision. He had straight straw-colored hair with a tuft of hair at his chin, and appeared considerably younger than the first man. He looked down upon her with the same concerned look as the other.

�You alright?� asked the grey-haired man. �Can you sit up, lass?�

Before Miriel could respond, the younger man that had lifted her head, eased her up into a sitting position.

The Slayer was very confused and disoriented. She was sure she was experiencing some sort of hallucination. Didn�t the �bad� voice say she had gone mad?

She groggily rubbed her eyes, expecting that the men would disappear in a second or two.

�Are you alright?� the old man asked again. �How �bout some more water, eh?�

Without waiting for an answer, he pressed the bottle back to her lips, allowing her to drink more.

�By the blessing of B�ma we happened along this way,� said the old man. �Normally, we hunt in the west wood, not south.�

�Count yourself lucky, miss,� added the younger of the two. �Wicked folk dwell in these parts, and not all of them are Men.�

The old man gave the younger one a look of warning, as if to tell him not to speak of such things in the open. He then pulled the bottle away again. �You alright?� he asked, for what seemed to be the hundredth time. �You lost?�

Miriel could only nod, still uncertain if all this was real or not.

�I think we should take her back with us, Father,� remarked the younger man. �It�s getting late, and Mother would be most wroth with us if we did not aid a young girl lost in the wilds.�

�Aye,� agreed the old man. His blue eyes darted back to Miriel again. �Can you walk?�

Once again, the Slayer answered with a nod. As she was helped to her feet, she felt dizzy and swayed, nearly falling, but the younger man caught her around the waist before she could hit the ground.

�Let me carry you,� offered the younger man.

�No!� barked Miriel sharply, surprised at the tone in which she had responded. �I-I think I can walk,� she added in a gentler voice.

�Well, let us at least carry your bags then,� said the old man. His blue eyes shifted from Miriel to his companion. �Gather �em up, D�ilin. Hurry now. It�s getting late.�

As the Slayer stood there, she hoped that the dizziness would swiftly pass. The thought of being carried out of the forest by some stranger was not a pleasant one. She was the Slayer, a woman with untold strength. She could do this, she could walk.

�Mother will soon have supper on the board,� the old man revealed, keenly looking Miriel over. �Looks like you could use a good meal.�

The younger man handed his bow to the older man, as he began to grab the girl�s belongings from the ground.

�What�s your name?� asked the old man. �Who�s your father?�

Miriel felt like a lump was caught in her throat. She nervously eyed the man�s water skin, hoping he�d offer her another drink.

The grey-haired man stood there, waiting patiently for her to respond, the open container still clutched in his hand.

Thinking it unwise to give her true name, she blurted out, �Nimrodel. My name is Nimrodel, daughter of H�rin.� She had no idea why that particular name had come to mind. Perhaps it was her ever-constant thought of water, or, maybe, she had thought of the kinsmen of her forebear, Mithrellas.

The old man gave a quick nod of his head, as though satisfied with her answer. He then offered her a smile, revealing yellowish tinted teeth. �I�m Valandil, and this is my son, D�ilin,� he said, pointing to the other man.

When Miriel heard the old man�s name, she felt an instant sense of relief. She believed that coming across someone named �Vala-lover� had to be a sign, a sign that the Powers in the West had somehow intervened, sending these men to help her.

As soon as the younger man had all of Miriel�s things in hand, they set off, going north. Though she had been given some water, the Slayer�s feet still felt like lead blocks, and she was unable to keep up with the others. Eager to leave the woods before it grew dark, each man grabbed hold of one of her arms, and pulled her along.

D�ilin, who was on her left, then casually remarked, �I have never seen a girl carrying so many weapons. Why is that? Why do you carry two swords and have a dagger strapped to your leg?�

�The world is a perilous place,� answered Miriel, trying her best to keep her footing.

Valandil laughed heartily at that. �How true! We live in bleak times, there is no doubting that. Rumor has it that the Dark Lord stirs, that he is preparing for war.� He glanced at Miriel. �What say you about that?�

�I do not follow the Dark Lord, nor do I know of his plans,� she replied without missing a beat.

�Yet you are well-armed,� said D�ilin, his eyes looking to her weapons again. �Have you met the enemy on your travels? Have you been on your own from the start? Where is it that you hail from?�

�Come now, D�ilin. You ask too many questions all at once!� scolded the old man. �Give Nimrodel time to answer one question before asking another.�

�Sorry, Father,� replied the younger man.

Silence fell amongst them. Miriel wasn�t sure how to answer D�ilin�s questions. She had unthinkingly created another alias, and wondered what story she should tell. Should she mix some truth with lies, or lie altogether? She surely wasn�t going to tell them that she came from Gondor. But then where, where should she say she came from and where should she say she�s going? If these men were truly sent by the Valar, should she tell the truth? Or was it best to be leery of strangers, as Bregolas had always said, telling them nothing. All those conflicting thoughts left Miriel feeling confused, and, if possible, more exhausted.

�I think I know what has befallen you, lass,� the old man finally said, breaking the silence.

The Slayer didn�t answer. She kept her eyes forward, and concentrated on keeping up at the same pace as the men.

�You come from a land far from here,� he surmised. �And you traveled not alone, but with two companions, whom you lost along the way. You carry their blades as a token of their memory, I deem. Whether you have skill with the blade or not, I think they bring you comfort, and should the need arise, you are prepared to wield them.�

Miriel�s jaw dropped. While Valandil wasn�t wholly correct in his assessment, he was pretty damn close. �How could you know that?� she queried in a stunned voice, shifting her wide eyes to the old man.

�With age, comes wisdom, Nimrodel. Do not forget that.� He smiled, chuckling under his breath. �Besides, is that not a man�s shirt you wear?

The Slayer glanced at the garment, having forgotten that it was Bregolas�. �Yes,� she answered.

�Was it goblins?� asked D�ilin. �Was your party attacked by goblins?�

Miriel nodded, pained by the mere thought. The image of Bregolas dying in her arms flashed in her mind.

�Damn them!� growled the younger man. �Goblins roam these hills at will.�

�But not near our home!� boasted Valandil, sliding one of the bows off his shoulder. �I may be old, but my aim is as good as ever!� He waved the bow in his hand. �Nary a goblin comes around our farm.�

�You have a farm?� questioned Miriel, excited at the prospect of eating real food, especially meat.

�Oh, yes,� answered Valandil, nodding. �My kin have dwelled in these parts for generations. We were bred to till the soil and harvest the crops.�

Please say you raise meat. Please say you raise meat, the Slayer said to herself.

�And of course we raise the usual, chickens, pigs, cattle, sheep, horses and such,� the old man continued.

Thank the Valar for that! she thought delightedly.

�I believe Mother is preparing lamb this evening,� chimed in D�ilin, licking his lips at the mere thought. �Nothing is as tasty as the young, tender flesh of a baby sheep.� He enunciated his words very slowly, and the tone of his voice sent a shiver down the Slayer�s spine. He then looked at Miriel and smiled.

She dismissed that momentary chill, thinking it was just another symptom of her illness. She was not feeling well after all, and was exerting much energy walking briskly with her newfound companions. After having gone about half a mile or so, Miriel needed to stop and rest. She sat on a fallen tree where she was given more water.

�I can carry you, Nimrodel,� proposed D�ilin yet again. �We will reach our home much quicker if I do.�

Already, darkness was creeping into the woods.

�No, I�m feeling better,� Miriel lied, as she got back to her feet. �The water helped. I�m ready. I�m ready to go on.�

The trio then continued on their trek, following a path into an area of dense woods. The men persisted in their questioning, wanting to know more about Miriel. She lied, telling them that she had fled her home in The Narrows of Mirkwood after a raid on her village by the Uruk-hai of Dol Guldur. She embellished the story by telling them that her entire family had been slaughtered in the attack and that she, along with two others, had escaped. They had planned to journey to Western Eriador, where they had kin, but Orcs had attacked them in the wee hours of the morning a few days ago, leaving Miriel the sole survivor.

The men listened to her tale in amazement. The words seemed to flow out of Miriel. She had no idea how she was able to concoct such a story on the spur-of-the-moment. It almost seemed as if someone else was speaking through her, for she had no recollection of any place called The Narrows, nor knew of its proximity to Dol Guldur. Yet her descriptions were spot-on and her account most convincing.

�How was it that you were able to escape the goblins in the mountains?� asked a bewildered Valandil, who seemed most interested in hearing the specifics of her tale.

�I had fallen,� she answered, �off a rock ledge. I was able to crawl into a hollow formed by some boulders. The Orcs searched for me, but with the threat of dawn on the horizon, they left, returning from whence they came.� Her voice was riddled with sadness. �Once I was sure they had gone, I returned to my friends, only to find them dead. I had no other choice but to continue on our journey, so I gathered what things I would need, and left.�

�I deem that your adventure is proof that the Valar have not forsaken us mortal folk as of yet,� said Valandil thoughtfully. �Some higher power is protecting you, Nimrodel - there is no doubting that. I�ll bet that same power is what guided me and D�ilin to you. Must be the work of B�ma.�

�B�ma,� Miriel repeated. �I�ve heard you say that name twice now. Who is that? Who is this B�ma character you speak of?�

�You do not know?� he asked, somewhat taken aback by her lack of knowledge. �He is the Great Hunter; the only Vala that still visits Middle-earth, hunting the foul beasts that seek to harm the innocent.�

Puzzled, Miriel thought for a long moment. Then, as if a light went on in her mind, she exclaimed, �Orom�! You speak of Orom�, the Great Rider!�

Valandil nodded. �He is known by many names.�

�He still comes here? He still comes to Middle-earth?� the Slayer asked excitedly.

�You can hear the sound of his horn for leagues and leagues,� he replied. �And it is said that it casts fear into the hearts of the wicked, for their doom is at hand.�

�Wow!� remarked the Slayer in awe. �I had no idea that any of the Valar ever came to these parts. I have heard of no such thing happening since the Elder Days.�

�It is true,� chimed in D�ilin. �Even I heard the horn of B�ma once, when I was a lad.�

That revelation left Miriel both stunned and excited. Denethor, who was the Lore-master of Gondor, had never mentioned that Orom� continued to visit Middle-earth. She wondered why the Vala Lord never traveled south where the threat of Sauron was greatest. She expected it was because the Gondorian warriors were far superior warriors to the men in the north, whose kingdom had long been destroyed and its people scattered. Perhaps they needed his protection more. She hoped that she�d meet the Vala Lord. The notion had never entered her mind until that moment.

News of Orom� seemed to renew the Slayer�s strength, and her hope, something she desperately needed. She, D�ilin and Valandil walked for another hour or so before they exited the woods. The path ended at a great field of lush, rolling pastureland, fenced with wooden beams that formed a crisscross pattern. A dirt lane ran between the fence lines that lead to a spectacular two story stone house sitting atop a knoll. The farm was beautiful, the type of place that Miriel had envisioned having one day.

Grey clouds lingered above, promising the rain that seemed to evade the Slayer. She couldn�t help but think that that was yet another sign that she was on the right path, that the Powers had guided her to this place, at this particular point in time on her journey.

Miriel paused when they stepped into the home. Immediately, she smelled the delicious aroma of rosemary and garlic wafting through the corridors, making her belly rumble with hunger. As D�ilin set her belongings near the front door, the Slayer�s eyes did a quick survey of her surroundings. Up ahead, to her right, was a sweeping spiral staircase that led to the second floor. She glanced to her right, through the open doors of a room that had to be the lady of the house�s work area. She could see a spinning wheel and loom. Several large woven baskets containing yarn sat against the wall and fabrics of all shades hung over wooden racks. To her left, through another set of double doors, was a spacious elegant sitting room, decorated in bold colors with intricately carved wood furnishings.

�Mother!� shouted Valandil. �We�re back. And we brought a guest with us!�

Three men popped out of one of the doorways down the long corridor, and hastily made their way toward the entry.

�Ah, more of my sons,� said Valandil, a smile returning to his wrinkly face.

�Who�s this, Father?� asked one of the men, who looked to be in his mid-forties.

�This is Nimrodel. We found her in the woods, lost,� replied the old man. �Her companions were slain by goblins.�

Miriel offered a quick smile, noticing that two of the men had the same straw-colored hair as D�ilin, while the third had darker, bushy type hair. Valandil quickly introduced his sons. He spoke so fast that the Slayer couldn�t understand their names. Only a few moments later, three more men came bounding down the hallway, followed by an old woman with the same grey hair as the patriarch of the family. Valandil then hastily introduced the rest of his sons and his wife, whom Miriel was told to call Mother, even though she wasn�t kin. Her true name was never given.

The Slayer�s eyes darted from man to man, noticing that all seven sons of Valandil appeared to be in their forties. She could be wrong, though, as the D�nedain aged much differently than ordinary men.

�Seven sons!� she remarked with a chuckle, shifting her gaze to Mother. �You�re more of a woman than most!� She glanced back to Valandil. �Your family reminds me of the tales of F�anor.�

�Who?� asked the old man, wrinkling his face in question.

�F�anor,� answered Miriel. �The Noldo Elf Lord from the First Age. He had seven sons. According to lore, no other Elf had that many children. For some reason, I was reminded of that. Has to be the number of sons you have, I suppose,� she added with a shrug.

�We do not speak of Elves in this house,� hissed the old woman in disdain.

�Er, um, sorry,� Miriel stammered, feeling her face instantly reddening. She could have kicked herself for her comments. She had to remember that not everyone revered the Elves as she did. Bregolas had despised them too.

�The Firstborn roused the First Evil�s wrath in times past,� the old woman continued, her dark piercing eyes boring into Miriel as she spoke. �They used us Men as a shield to ward off the foul creatures of Morgoth, then left us to our own devices whilst they set sail to the West. We continue to suffer from their greed, their misdeeds. Nay, no love do we have for the Elder Folk.�

�I-I�m sorry,� stammered Miriel. �I meant no offense.�

�Let it go, Mother,� said Valandil firmly. �Nimrodel here has had a tough time of it. I will not tolerate hostile words under my roof. Set the board. I�m ready to eat.�

The woman didn�t respond. She turned, and flanked by her three sons that had accompanied her, she stomped down the corridor and back to the kitchen.

The Slayer turned to Valandil. �I�m really sorry,� she apologized yet again. �I didn�t know that such talk - �

� - Think no more of it,� interjected one of the sons, waving his hand dismissively. �Mother is learned in the lore of old and lost a number of kin in the battles in Middle-earth. She harbors a great deal of resentment for the Elves because of that.� He leaned in, whispering, �She is a descendent of Barahir, who died whilst protecting one of the Noldo Lords.� He pressed his fingers to his lips. �Shh, speak no more of it.�

Valandil then wrapped his arm around Miriel�s shoulders. �Time to eat, Nimrodel. I�m sure you must be hungry. There�s no finer cook in these parts than Mother. You�re in for a real treat.�

�Thank you, Valandil. I truly appreciate your hospitality.�

�It is I that should thank you, my dear,� said the old man, his eyes twinkling with delight. �It has been a long time since one so fair has graced my table.�

The four men voiced their agreement.

Miriel�s face turned even redder, embarrassed by the sons of Valandil�s comments.

A loud clap of thunder then rang out, causing her to jump with a start.

One of the sons went over to the window, pulled the sheer curtain aside and peered outside. �Storm�s here,� he announced, as the first heavy drops of rain began to fall from the ever-darkening sky.

�We made it home in the nick of time,� added a grateful D�ilin.

�Tauron,� said Valandil, turning toward one of his yellow-haired sons. �Why don�t you show Nimrodel where she can wash up before supper.�

�Yes, Father,� replied the son, nodding obediently. �Right this way, Nimrodel,� he said, gesturing toward the long corridor. They then took off, as the others followed behind.

Tauron led her to the second door on the right. He swung the door opened, revealing a dark and windowless chamber.

�Let me get some light for you,� he said. �I�ll only be gone a minute.�

The others passed by, entering through a doorway on the left, a little further down the corridor. Miriel waited patiently, inspecting the interior of the chamber. In the dimness, she could only make out a wooden piece of furniture of some sort. Before her eyes had time to adjust, Tauron returned with a lit candle in his hand. He breezed by her, lighting the sconces affixed to the wall on either side of a large mirror.

�I�ll wait for you here,� he said, motioning her into the room before closing the door behind her. Miriel stepped up to the mirror, disgusted by her reflection. Dirt streaked across her face and her hair looked a mess.

A large shallow copper bowl, half full with clean water, sat atop the chest. To the side was a bar of soap and a couple of washcloths. Miriel eagerly began to wash her face, neck, hands and arms, wishing that she had a brush to comb the tangles from her hair. Since Bregolas� death, she had given no heed to her appearance. It seemed such a trivial thing after all she had been through. But now, in the company of strangers, she felt self-conscious by her disheveled appearance. By the time she had finished washing, the water was no longer clear. She ran her fingers through her hair, trying her best to make herself look more presentable.

She then exited the small chamber and followed Tauron into the dining chamber. Valandil and three of his sons were already seated at the long ebony table. The men stood when she entered, and she was seated between D�ilin and Tauron.

The rain outside came down in torrents, lashing at the window panes. It had grown very dark. An elaborate candelabra with many candles hung from the ceiling, brightly illuminating the chamber.

�Wine, Nimrodel?� asked Valandil, handing her a glass full of the burgundy-colored beverage.

Miriel thanked him as her eyes scanned the table for water. She was still incredibly thirsty and felt that nothing would quench that thirst other than water.

�Do you have any water?� she asked in a hopeful voice. �I have gone without for so long that - �

� - But I made the wine,� spoke up one of the sons, cutting her off mid-sentence. �It�s thirst quenching.�

Once again, Miriel felt her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. It seemed that no matter what she said, she somehow managed to offend someone. How could she be so rude, so demanding in another�s house?

�Oh,� she answered, slightly taken aback. Was requesting water that much of a burden? �Alright, then.� She hastily picked up her glass and took a sip.

�Must you be so discourteous,� Valandil said, narrowing his eyes at his wine-making son. �Our guest has requested water - so go get it.�

�But I�d have to go to the well, and it�s raining outside,� whined the man, sounding very much like a child.

�Then take an umbrella,� snapped Valandil.

The man grunted, scrapping the legs of his chair against the floor as he got out of his seat.

Wanting to diffuse the situation, Miriel quickly said, �Wine�s fine,� as she picked up her glass and chugged the remaining beverage.

�No, Nimrodel. Faron is quite capable of fetching some water,� answered the old man.

Grumbling, Faron left the room. The Slayer watched him leave. When she looked back at the others, she saw that her glass had been refilled.

�Drink up!� said Valandil, raising his own glass to his lips. �No finer grapes can be found in this region outside my vineyard.�

Miriel hastily obliged her host, taking another drink as he explained the process by which he and his sons made their wine. While he spoke, the old woman, accompanied by her three sons (who seemed to never leave her side) came in carrying platters and bowls of steamy food. The Slayer�s mouth began to water when she set eyes on the roasted lamb. She was eager to dig in.

As she reached for the spoon cradled in the bowl of roasted potatoes, the old woman quickly stopped her. �We do not eat until all are seated at the board,� she said.

Miriel�s hand quickly snapped back to her lap. She uttered another apology, thinking that these people must really find her uncouth.

Manners, Miriel. Manners, she reminded herself.

An awkward silence filled the room. The Slayer took another drink of her wine, wishing that Faron would return already.

Small talk then broke out around the table. Miriel noticed that some of the men were watching her from the corner of their eyes while a couple outright stared at her, increasing her discomfort. She listened, noticing for the first time how strange it seemed that men of that age had no wives or children. She wanted to ask why that was but felt that if she did, she�d probably offend somebody. She had decided that it was best for her to keep quiet. Longing for food, she kept sipping on her wine, hoping that would stop her stomach from rumbling.

After several long minutes, which seemed more like an eternity, Mother angrily said, �What�s keeping that boy!� She let out a heavy sigh of frustration. �Supper�s getting cold.� She then fixed her eyes on Tauron. �Go check on your brother. Hurry him along.�

Tauron then rose from the table and disappeared into the other room. Miriel could hear the back door open, the increased loudness of the rain, before the door shut again.

The very moment the door snapped closed, Miriel suddenly felt strange. Her eyelids seemed to become heavy despite the prospect of a hearty meal, and her body began to tingle. She told herself it was the wine and that she had better lay off it until after she had eaten. Yet, as she sat there, listening to those talking, her head became woozy, their voices sounding muddled. Unbeknownst to her, she began to gently sway in her seat. She could no longer understand what any were saying, and her vision became so blurry that she could no longer distinguish one person from the other. They appeared to look like shadows. Then, everything went black. Miriel�s head crashed forward onto her empty plate, breaking it in two. She was out cold�



Buffy realized rather quickly that something strange was going on. More than thirty minutes had passed since Miriel had lost consciousness, yet the girl�s essence, her spirit was nowhere to be found. Normally, when the young Slayer had slept or been knocked out, she appeared in the dreamscape, where she and Buffy could interact. But now, she was nowhere to be found. The elder Slayer tried searching for the girl, to no avail, and her voice had already gone hoarse from frantically shouting Miriel�s name.

As if that wasn�t bad enough, Buffy had somehow developed this sudden keen sense of awareness that she couldn�t explain. She was very much aware of what was transpiring in the waking world, as she and her prot�g� referred to it. This was common when Miriel was awake, but not when the girl was asleep. It wasn�t some form of astral projection, as Buffy was still inside the young Slayer�s mind, just like always. It almost seemed as if the elder Slayer was seeing things through Miriel�s closed eyes.

Her mind raced with thoughts, trying to figure out what was happening. Was it the drugs? There was no doubt in the elder Slayer�s mind that her prot�g� had been drugged. Did the drugs somehow trap Miriel between the two states of consciousness? Was it possible that the girl knew of the horrors happening to her and had gone into hiding? But why hide from Buffy when she was there to help?

The elder Slayer continued to scream for Miriel, thinking that it was only a matter of time before the girl responded. It was imperative for Miriel to wake. She had to face her current predicament, as Buffy was powerless to stop the heinous acts being perpetuated on the young Slayer.

After what seemed like forever, Buffy heard a moan, soft and faint. It was Miriel�s voice.

�Miriel!� shouted Buffy in her raspy voice. �You�ve gotta wake up. NOW!� She was nearly hysterical. �You�ve walked into a trap! These people, these people are evil! They�ve drugged you!�

Miriel felt so groggy, so out of it. Numb even. Yet, she could clearly hear the urgency in Buffy�s voice, the fear in her tone. She had never heard her mentor speak like that before.

Frightened, the girl called out to the elder Slayer. �Buffy, where are you?� As her mind became less hazy, her distress increased threefold. She could only hear Buffy, not see her. There were no images in her mind, only darkness. �Buffy, I cannot see you!� cried out the panic-stricken girl.

The elder Slayer could see that her own fear, her own terror was affecting Miriel. She had to get a grip. She had to get her emotions under control if she was going to help her soul sister though this horrific situation. It was only a matter of time before Miriel became aware of what was happening. Her finally acknowledging Buffy was proof of that.

�Listen to me, Miriel,� said Buffy, speaking calmly, yet firmly. �You�ve been taken captive by these people.� She paused, unsure what to say next. �You�ve been drugged� and� and� � She couldn�t find the words to finish her sentence.

�And what?� she heard the girl�s voice ask.

Already, Buffy could hear Miriel�s breathing quickening. �Oh, God, Miriel. The dude�s raping you,� said Buffy in dismay.

Miriel cried out, �No!� over and over again.

�Listen, Miriel,� continued Buffy, trying to keep her composure. �You�ve gotta fight back. You�ve gotta stop this. You�ve got to wake up!�

With her head cloudy, and her mentor�s words echoing in her mind, the girl�s pain receptors began to spring to life. From her nether regions, she felt a searing pain. As her cognizance slowly returned, her pain increased. The weight on her chest caused her to struggle for breath. She could feel her body being violated, the fast thrusting motions of her captor�s sex organ fiercely driving into her body, feeling as if her insides were being torn to pieces.

With her increased awareness, her body reacted in the worst possible way. She tensed up; her muscles tightened - even down there, making the whole horrid experience more painful than anything she had ever endured. She tried to squirm, to inch out from beneath the villain, but as she did so, her wrists and ankles burned.

�Buffy!� she cried out with a whimper. �I cannot move.� There was a pause and Miriel feared that Buffy had left her. �Buffy!� she screeched in terror.

�It�s okay, Miriel. I�m here. I�m not gonna leave you. I�ll help you get through this. I promise,� Buffy finally answered. She was frantically trying to conceal her own panic from her prot�g� and to keep a level head, something she found utterly difficult. �Alright, Miriel. You�ve gotta open your eyes,� she instructed. �You�ve gotta be able to see, to wait for that moment when we can do something.�

�I do not want to see,� the girl cried. �It hurts, Buffy. It hurts so badly.�

�Miriel!� the elder said firmly. �You�ve got to open your eyes. You need to see so you can act when the time comes.�

The young Slayer�s stomach became queasy. She could hear the villain half-grunting, half-groaning, as he drove his manhood even deeper into her loins. The pain was agonizing. She clenched her jaw, breathing like a raging bull. She peeked her eyes opened, waiting for them to focus in on her abuser.

Several flashes of lightning lit up the room for a few seconds, and Miriel�s eyes seemed to zoom in on the small tuft of hair jetting out from her violator�s chin. It was D�ilin. Her mind remained somewhat foggy, her body restrained.

The villain must have sensed her watching him, for not a second later; he shifted his eyes to her. His lips remained parted and he was breathing heavily. Slowly, a sadistic grin came to his face, and, for a moment, he stopped his assault, but remained inside her body.

�Unlike my brother, I knew I�d be the one to rouse you from your sleep,� he said sinisterly.

He then rammed his organ deep into her privates, causing Miriel to grimace and cry out in pain.

Perhaps turned on by that, D�ilin then tried to kiss her by sticking his filthy tongue in her mouth. She clenched her jaw shut, preventing him from doing so. His opened mouth covered hers, his slobbery tongue running along her lips, as she thrashed her head from side to side.

Then, Buffy�s voice screamed out, �Bite the fucker�s nose off!�

D�ilin�s movements were erratic. His lips kissed away at her mouth and face. She kept her eyes locked on his nose, waiting for the moment to strike like a venomous snake. Her heart was racing, her body throbbing, but then the perfect opportunity arose. She flung her head forward, her mouth opened, and she clamped her teeth onto his nose, biting down with all her strength. Warm blood instantly flowed over into her mouth. Her captor let out a blood-curdling shriek that cut through the darkness of night. Miriel yanked her head back, and literally ripped the villain�s nose from his face.

Immediately, D�ilin pulled himself upright, which forced his organ to dislodge from the girl�s body. His hands rushed to the empty hollow of his face, as a torrent of blood streamed from the gaping hole.

Miriel turned her head, eager to spit the offensive nose and blood out of her mouth. The organ and fluid rolled from her lips and down her cheek, settling between the mattress and her neck. She then struggled in her restraints, hoping that by some miracle the ropes would snap in two. Her bindings were secured so tightly that they merely dug into her flesh, burning, as she twisted and turned.

Unable to break free, Miriel grew more frightened. Surely, after hearing the painful wails of D�ilin, the rest of the group would come running to his aid. The young Slayer knew that death was imminent.

�Fight!� Buffy barked. �Do what you can to fight him off!�

�How?� asked Miriel in dismay.

�I don�t know. Keep trying to break free.�

Miriel frantically tried to buck D�ilin from between her legs. But due to his positioning, and with her ankles secured, all her efforts proved ineffective.

Instead, her feeble attempts roused her captor�s attention back to her. One moment, he stared at her, his eyes wide with shock and rage, his hands tented around the spot where his nose had once been, the next, his hands shot out to her neck, his fingers tightening around her throat, squeezing hard. Squishing her with his body, his face hovered over hers, blood seeping from the hollow of his face and onto Miriel. As if being choked wasn�t bad enough, it now seemed as if D�ilin was trying to drown her with his own blood, if such a thing was possible.

�Don�t give up! Keep trying! Keep fighting!� shouted Buffy half-heartedly. The elder Slayer could see both hope and life draining from Miriel�s terror-filled eyes. No words could describe the hopelessness she felt as she watched the young girl, her charge, dying before her very eyes. And there was absolutely nothing Buffy could do to help.

Miriel tried to move her head in a way that would loosen the man�s grip, but nothing seemed to help. Her surroundings began to dim. She was losing consciousness. She knew, at that moment, she was going to die.

Then, all of a sudden, D�ilin�s head violently jerked backward. A rolling crack of thunder crashed outside, rattling the windowpanes. The villain eased his grip on her throat.

Miriel coughed and gasped for air, blinking the stars from her eyes, the pain in her throat now more excruciating than that in her lower regions. She tried to keep an eye on D�ilin, not sure what was happening with him.

As several flashes of lightning lit up the room, Miriel watched as a blade ran across the man�s already bloody throat. Blood spewed from the incision, which went from ear to ear, spraying Miriel with crimson. She scrunched her eyes closed, turning her head to the side, in hopes of avoiding the scarlet shower. The warmth of his life force rained on her skin and she tasted its saltiness on her lips. She could feel the bile rising to her throat.

Glancing back at her captor, she could now see the old woman standing behind him, her eyes glowing yellow. In a surprising demonstration of strength, and using only one hand, the old woman literally flung him across the room where he crashed into the wall with a thud. Though shocked by the old woman�s sheer strength, Miriel believed that she was there to help.

Naked, and in pain, she looked pleadingly at the woman and mouthed the words, �Help me!�, as she could not find her voice.

Mother, as she was called, stepped closer to the bed. Her yellow, cat-like eyes scanned Miriel and the rivulets of blood trickling from the girl�s belly down the sides of her body. Without saying a word, the woman placed the bloody tip of the blade on the rope strapped around Miriel�s right ankle.

The young Slayer thought she was about to cut her bindings, and gratefully breathed the words, �Thank you.�

A small smile came to the woman�s wrinkly, haggard face. She did not cut the rope. Instead, she began to run the blade slowly up the girl�s leg, but not slicing the skin as she had D�ilin�s.

�Do not thank me, Dagnir,� the woman hissed in a low voice.

�Oh my God, she knows who you are!� Buffy voiced in dismay.

When the blade reached her knee, the old woman slid it to Miriel�s inner thigh, continuing to graze her skin with the dagger.

Other than the frequent claps of thunder, all Miriel could hear was her own heavy breathing. She realized she was far from safe, and that this new enemy was undoubtedly greater than D�ilin, and not of the race of Man.

When the tip of the knife neared her private area, the old woman pulled the blade from the girl�s flesh and placed it outside her vagina. Unable to close her legs, Miriel knew that the hag, as she had begun thinking of her, was going to drive the dagger into her nether regions, finishing the job that D�ilin had started. She closed her eyes tightly, swallowing the bitter bile that had made it into her mouth. While she couldn�t feel the tip of the blade just yet, she could feel the heat emitting from the hag�s hand. Gooseflesh covered her body, as she waited for the inevitable jab of pain.

The old woman cackled softly, pleased by Miriel�s reaction.

The young Slayer then felt the tip of the dagger press on her pubic bone, as the woman continued to run the blade across her skin, toward her stomach. Anguished by the ordeal, the girl�s eyes popped open, unsure of what the old woman had planned.

With the tip of her blade, the old hag swirled the blood pooled on Miriel�s belly.

Another loud clap of thunder cracked outside, startling Miriel. She feared her sudden jerky movement would cause the blade to penetrate her skin.

As another rumbling quickly followed, a loud crashing sound came from downstairs.

The old woman glanced toward the open doorway for a moment or two. The men were shouting, fighting by the sound of it. However, the old hag seemed unfazed by the commotion, and turned her attention back to Miriel.

�I reckon the boys are fighting over who�s next,� she said in a malicious voice. The hag then slowly eased onto the edge of the mattress, unperturbed by the blood-soaked bedclothes. She lowered the tip of the blade to the skin between Miriel�s bare breasts. �It�s not too often we come across such a lovely girl.�

Miriel was utterly terrified. The old woman was toying with her, prolonging her torments. She knew at any moment that the dagger would plunge into her heart, killing her. While she struggled to catch her breath, she felt the surge of bile rising up her throat. She tossed her head to the side, expelling the contents of her stomach. She smelled the bitterness of the wine and felt the warmth of her sickness flowing against her neck.

�Miriel, there�s still a chance,� said a now hopeful Buffy. �You�re puking up the poison. Get that stuff out of your system and your strength will return. See if you can vomit again.�

�Fear,� said the old woman softly. �I so do enjoy inflicting it upon others, particularly those enhanced by the Weak Ones in the West.�

Another surge of vomit spewed from Miriel�s mouth. It ran down the side of her face, pooling on the mattress with the other fluids.

The old hag then roughly snatched the girl by the jaw, forcing her to face her. She held the blade threateningly, slowly inching it toward Miriel�s eye. �You are a smart young thing,� the woman said. �So very resilient.�

Miriel tried to shake her head from the woman�s grip, but her fingers were clamped so tightly that she could barely move.

�We cannot have you making mischief, foiling the Dark Lord�s plans,� she continued, stopping the blade right before her left eye.

The girl scrunched her eyes closed, not wanting to see the dagger plunging into her eyeball. She whimpered.

�Shh,� the old hag sounded, leaning closer to Miriel�s face.

The girl could feel the warmth of the woman�s breath and smell the odor of wine mixed with garlic. The hag�s breath somehow had a paralyzing effect on Miriel. She could no longer move.

�The bitch is a witch!� exclaimed Buffy in a shocked voice.

Miriel couldn�t think clearly. Like her mentor, she was now powerless to fight off the old hag.

�This is the end of the road for you, Dagnir,� the old woman whispered in her ear. �The honor of killing you falls upon me.� She then pulled her face away from Miriel�s and looked down at the girl�s naked chest. She placed the tip of the blade onto the young Slayer�s skin, right above her left breast. �But firstly, I shall carve a symbol into your flesh to signify that yet another Slayer falls by the might of Sauron.�

Unable to move, Miriel could feel the dagger cutting into her skin. O� how it hurt, how her whole body hurt. From deep inside, she let out a scream. She didn�t think it possible for her to screech so loudly or that the hag�s magics would allow her to do so.

��Tis music to my ears, Dagnir,� the old woman chortled. �A melody of mayhem. Louder if you please.�

The old woman sunk the blade deeper into the girl�s flesh. She shrieked in response.

�I�m marked,� cried Miriel in her mind, as her screams continued to pierce the gloomy night. �The Dark Lord�s mark is being engraved into my flesh.�

When the old woman was done, she wiped the blood away with her free hand, admiring her handy work. �Finished! No finer rendering has ever been done,� she boasted. �I have so delighted in the time we had together, dear girl. I daresay the men shall have another go even whilst you�re dead,� she cackled. The hag then reached out, forcing Miriel�s eyelids open. Tears streamed from the corner of her eyes, running down her bloody face. �I want to see the life leave your eyes as I kill you. There are some memories that you want to keep with you forever, and your demise shall be amongst them.�

The old woman then gripped the hilt of the dagger with both hands. She raised it over head, preparing to lunge the blade into the girl�s heart. �Fare you well, Dagnir. Our time together has been rather� amusing.�

Then, as she drove the dagger down, something struck the woman�s arm, hitting it so hard, she flew off the bed, crashing into the nightstand. The lone light that had illuminated the room went out. Miriel had no idea what was happening. A loud growling noise filled the room.

Several flashes of lightning lit up the room, revealing a bear towering beside the bed, standing menacingly on two legs. The beast�s head nearly reached the ceiling, and blood dripped from its large clawed paws.

The old woman recoiled from the beast, backing against the wall. A look of utter terror was on her face. The bear then descended on the hag, whose squeals drowned out the roaring of the beast.

Miriel suddenly found herself able to move again. She twisted her head to the side, trying to see what was happening. She could only see the broad back of the furry beast. But, not a second later, she heard the window shatter, and the hag was gone. The woman had either leapt out of it, or the bear had tossed her - Miriel wasn�t sure which.

The next thing she knew, the beast was standing over her. Miriel could only assume that by some strange twist of fate it would be the wild animal that would end her life. As she writhed within her bindings, desperate to escape, the bear lashed out at her, its claws ripping through the rope like butter, and freeing her right arm. It then did the same with the other chord, unbinding her left arm.

When the next round of lightning illuminated the room, Miriel noticed the hilt of the dagger sticking out of the beast�s chest. After it freed her arms, the bear let out a mournful growl, then turned, and disappeared from the room.

�Hurry, Miriel. Hurry!� Buffy shouted.

The chords hung from Miriel�s wrists, but she was now able to sit up. She scooted her behind closer to the foot of the bed so that she could work on the knots that kept her ankles restrained. Her hands were shaking so badly that she had a hard time undoing the bindings. As she fiddled with the knots, her eyes constantly glanced at the doorway, fearing that the old woman or possibly one of her cohorts would enter at any moment.

It took nearly ten minutes for Miriel to free herself. Her head started to spin when she stood, forcing her to sit until the feeling passed. Traumatized (in every aspect of the word) and reeking of vomit, the girl was quite anxious to leave the house of horrors. As lightning brightened up the room, her eyes scanned the interior in search of her clothing. She spotted them scattered about on the floor.

When Miriel stood again, the dizziness returned. Refusing to wait any longer, she moved slowly, unsteady on her feet. She used Bregolas� old tunic to wipe the blood and vomit from her face. She then sluggishly dressed. Every muscle in her body was sore. Her wrists, ankles and vagina continued to burn, feeling as if her flesh had been branded with a hot, searing poker. She would not realize the full extent of her injuries until much later.

With a length of rope still dangling from each wrist, she plopped down on the floor, whimpering, as she slid her boots on.

She wearily got back on her feet, moaning from the pain. She pressed her hand onto the carving on her chest, hoping to help stop the bleeding.

�It�s over, Miriel. It�s over,� Buffy said.

�No. It�s not. There are more of them.� She turned toward the shattered window. The driving rain continued, the curtains billowing in the breeze. Miriel�s thoughts turned to her greatest threat - the old hag. Had she survived the fall? Did she lay dead or wounded on the ground below? She had to find out. She had to see for herself. Each step proved painful, but the young girl hobbled toward the window. The fragments of glass crunched beneath her boots as she neared the opening. The cool night air smelled fresh and clean. She leaned out of the window, her eyes scanning the area below. The old woman had gone.

Finding that the hag had escaped was most disconcerting. Miriel had a sinking feeling that this was not the last time she would encounter her. Glowering into the darkness, she vowed that she would be ready next time.

The young Slayer stepped back from the window. She grabbed hold of one the curtains, using that to wipe her face and neck again. The stench of vomit seemed trapped in her nose. How she hated that smell. She then proceeded slowly toward the door, listening intently for any sounds coming from outside the room. The last thing she needed was to be ambushed. She had to be vigilant, prepared for such a scenario. Adding to her problems was the fact that the effects of the drugs had not worn off, despite her vomiting. She still felt incredibly weak.

Before leaving the room, she glanced at the dead man sprawled out on the floor in the corner of the chamber. If she had had her strength, she�d have bludgeoned the bastard until he turned to goo and dust. For now, she�d have to settle for his being dead. She wondered if Mandos had a special place in his Halls for monsters such as that. She could only hope.

Miriel peeked out of the door, looking up and down the corridor for any of the �brothers�. She spotted the bear�s bloody tracks going to the left, and decided to follow them. Cautiously she went, taking one small step after the other. As she passed a table against the wall, she snatched a silver candlestick from its surface. She�d use that for a weapon until she came across something more suitable.

The young Slayer�s thoughts then turned to the bear. She would never have thought a bear capable of thinking and acting in the manner that that one had. It had saved her. That bear had actually saved her life! She thought how ridiculous such a story would sound, if ever told. And for a brief moment, her thoughts turned to her family. She was beginning to miss them, to miss them all, including Denethor. Since leaving Minas Tirith, her life seemed to have taken one tragic turn after another. Would it ever get better? Would she ever see the proverbial light at the end of the darkened tunnel?

�Yes, you will,� Buffy answered. �Take these experiences and learn from them. That�s what life is all about. You�ve survived, Miriel.�

�Pfft,� Miriel replied, rolling her eyes. Optimistic Buffy was back, and the girl was in no mood for her. She did her best to block out the elder Slayer�s voice. She had to be alert, aware of things going on in the house.

When Miriel reached the top of the stairs, she looked down at the foyer below. There, in a pool of blood, lay Valandil, dead, surrounded by bloody paw prints. As she slowly descended the steps, she could see that the once gleaming white walls of the entry were splattered with blood and guts. The girl now had confirmation that two men were dead. But what of the other six?

Once she had made her way down to the first floor, she limped over to Valandil�s remains. Despite her own torments, she was gladdened by the sight. The old man�s chest had been ripped open, his ribs broken in pieces. It was a very gory scene - blood, bones and organs peppered the area. For the first time, she felt a smile creep to her face, and she nodded approvingly at the manner of his demise.

The rain continued to lash relentlessly at the windowpanes and the wind howled through unseen cracks.

Miriel�s eyes then shifted to the fancy sitting room to her right. There, she saw her belongings strewn about on the floor. The sight of that inflamed the young Slayer. She warily made her way to the chamber, angered that her things had been rummaged through. To her, it felt as if she had been violated again. The moment she entered the chamber, she gagged from the stench. Her hand darted to her nose, pinching it closed. Two more of the brothers lay dead. Their deaths had been most horrific and gruesome, by the looks of it.

One had been disemboweled. His stomach and intestines had been slashed, spilling the foul contents onto an armchair and the floor. The reek was indescribable! The vomit in Miriel�s hair smelled like the sweetest flower in comparison. The other had had his throat ripped out. There was no doubting that the bear was responsible. Flaps of tattered skin lapped over the hollow space of his neck, flesh that had not been removed by the beast�s claws.

As her eyes continued to inspect the room, she spotted both her and Bregolas� unsheathed swords. They lay on the floor, their blades partially covered in blood. Her thoughts swiftly turned to the bear, wondering where it was and how badly it had been injured. However, at that moment, her primary concern was to find the whereabouts of the remaining men. Until then, she could not concern herself with anything else.

She decided that now was the time to trade her candlestick for a more formidable weapon. Though she loathed going deeper into the room to retrieve her sword, she would have to return at some point to collect her things. She hurried as fast as she could, grabbed her weapon, and wiped the blood off on one of the villains pant leg.

Now properly prepared to face her foes, Miriel left the room. Longing for some fresh air, she un-pinched her nose, only to realize a little too late that the putrid particles of death had already been trapped within her nostrils. Her queasiness returned, but she forced herself to go on in search of the remaining men.

She gingerly proceeded down the corridor, all the while, listening intently for any sounds. She stopped when she reached the bathing chamber she had used earlier. The door remained open; the candles in the sconces still flickered with light. There, she saw her reflection in the mirror. Her face looked like it had been smeared with red, and portions of hair were clumped together with vomit. Yet it was her eyes that told the story of her torments. They looked different, as if the spark to them had been extinguished. She appeared older, much older than her seventeen years. With a painful shudder, she quickly averted her gaze.

The girl continued to creep down the hall, stopping before the door to the dining room. She listened. The rain sounded louder, as if it were pouring inside the chamber. She peeked into the room. It was in shambles. This had to be where it all started, where the bear had begun its attack, she deduced.

One of the tall windows had been smashed out, and the beautiful table that had been laden with food lay overturned on its side. So were several of the chairs, some broken to pieces. Food stuck to the blood-splattered walls; the partially eaten lamb lay beneath a sideboard. Cutlery and broken glass were everywhere.

Wanting to examine the room further, she stepped inside, clutching the hilt of her sword tightly. A few of the candles in the chandelier remained lit, though the majority of them had gone out. Shadows danced eerily along the walls between the flashes of lightning.

Miriel then noticed a hand sticking out from behind the table, the fingers locked around a carving knife. She stared at it for several long seconds, looking for any signs of movement. The last thing she wanted was for someone to jump out at her from behind the table. She crept around the barrier, and cringed when she discovered body number five.

The hand she had spotted was still attached to the arm, which had been ripped out of the villain�s socket. The limb lay a few feet away from its former owner. In a pool of blood and oddly, buttered carrots, lay a brother that Miriel could not recognize. The bear had raked its claw down the man�s face, removing nearly all of the flesh. An eyeball dangled by the nerve at the side of the man�s head. Upon a closer look, the stuff clinging to the walls that the girl had thought was food turned out to be strips of skin.

Three brothers still had not been accounted for, but as Miriel stood near the open window, listening to the rain pouring from the eaves of the roof, she got a sudden compulsion to stand under the stream, in hopes of washing the filth from her body. Sidestepping the corpse, she climbed out the window, avoiding the jagged pieces of glass that remained in the frame.

The rain felt icy cold as it rushed onto her head. It took a moment or two for Miriel to catch her breath, the water was that cold. She then threw her head back, letting the gush of rainwater run onto her face. With her free hand she rubbed the filth from her face, neck and hair. At times, she opened her mouth, gulping down the water.

Unfortunately, during her �shower�, Buffy�s voice returned in Miriel�s mind.

�You�re gonna make yourself sick standing in this cold rain,� warned the elder Slayer.

Miriel didn�t care. In fact, if she had known for sure that there was no chance anyone would attack, she probably would have stripped off her clothes and washed her body thoroughly under the rushing stream. She was in no mood to talk, which was a bit odd, really. If the �incident� had not happened, Miriel would�ve welcomed the conversation with her mentor, especially while awake. But, now, after all she had been through, Miriel felt humiliated and ashamed. She hoped that the deluge of water would snap her senses awake. Though she was able to see and think somewhat clearly, she still couldn�t shake off the effects of the drugs. She continued to feel woozy and weak.

�You need to go back inside and change into warm, dry clothing,� advised the elder Slayer.

Doing her best to block out Buffy�s voice, Miriel let the rainwater pour down on the top of her head again. The sky then lit up again for several long seconds. Through her squinted eyes, Miriel noticed a man, naked, lying in the garden, curled up in the fetal position. And he was alive. Immediately, her thoughts turned to her tormentors. Her muscles tightened, her nostrils flared like some wild beasts, as a surge of anger swept over her.

�Don�t! Don�t do it!� screeched Buffy, as the girl took off.

The young Slayer�s boots sloshed through the puddles that covered the yard. Her hand clutched the hilt of her sword so tightly that her knuckles had gone white. There was no doubt in her mind that that naked man had raped her. He would pay, o� how he would pay for the heinous act he had committed. Miriel welcomed the chance to unleash her wrath on the villain, to dole out the punishment befitting the crime.

�He�s a man, Miriel!� Buffy said. �Slayers don�t kill men!�

�Shut the fuck up, Buffy!� snarled Miriel in reply. Unlike her mentor, the young girl now believed that mortal men could be monsters too. They merely disguised their true being, hiding their monstrous nature. They were no different from Orcs. It was Miriel�s duty to kill them, to kill them all; no matter what fa�ade they wore.

Miriel constantly looked around, wanting to make sure she wasn�t walking into yet another trap. Though her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, she was grateful whenever the lightning illuminated the sky.

When the young Slayer neared the fallen man, she grasped the hilt with both hands, preparing to deliver the fatal blow. If she hadn�t been so tired, she�d have tortured him, as she had been tortured. However, she�d settle for being the one to kill him and ridding the world of yet another predator.

Using the heel of her boot, Miriel rolled the villain onto his back, as she drove her blade down.

�Stop!� cried out Buffy�s voice in her head.

Miriel halted before striking the man. It wasn�t Buffy�s shout of despair that made her stop. It was the sight of the hilt of the dagger protruding out of the man�s hairy chest. In that moment, that split second when she saw the hilt, the image of the wounded bear flashed in her mind.

The girl stood in the pouring rain, shaking her head, unable to understand how this could be.

�He�s a shape-shifter!� revealed Buffy. �He�s the one that saved you.�

�It is not possible,� replied a confused Miriel. She had never heard of men turning into bears. There were no such tales recorded in the annals of Gondor, at least none that involved the Younger Children of Il�vatar.

�I promise, Miriel,� continued the elder Slayer. �He�s one of the good guys. He saved you. You�ve gotta help him. You can�t leave him out here to die.�

This man did not resemble any of the men that Miriel had seen earlier. He looked older than Valandil�s seven sons, and younger than Valandil himself. His dark wet hair and beard were streaked with grey. His shoulders were much broader than the villains she had encountered. But what convinced her that Buffy was right, was when the man�s eyes fluttered open. They were dark and somehow� familiar. The pounding rain forced the man to turn his head to the side. His every breath seemed to be a struggle.

Miriel rammed her blade into the soggy earth before dropping to her knees. She searched the man�s deep brown eyes with her own.

In her mind, she heard Buffy exclaim, �Oh, God. This man, I think this man�s one of the ancestors of the Chumash.�

The young Slayer didn�t understand what her mentor was talking about, so she ignored her altogether. She leaned closer to the man�s face. �You� you saved me, didn�t you?� she asked hesitantly.

�Yes,� he whispered faintly.

Miriel then scrutinized the man�s body. He had received many wounds other than the stab to the chest. She then shifted her eyes back to his. �I will do what I can to help you.�

Though none too eager to carry a naked man, especially after her ordeal, Miriel couldn�t leave him there to die. She slid her hands underneath the man�s body, finding it hard to get a decent grip. His skin was slick and no matter how gentle she tried to be, the man responded with groans of pain. Once she had determined that she had a firm hold on his cold, naked flesh, Miriel struggled to get to her feet. She had made it about halfway up when her legs gave out from the shape-shifter�s weight. The sudden fall caused the man�s head to jostle, striking the incisions on her chest. The girl winced. The wound began to throb terribly again.

Biting her lip, she forced herself to try again. With a moan, she scrambled to her feet. Her fingers dug deeper into the man�s flesh so that she could maintain her hold on him. Her legs trembled from the stress of the additional weight as she slowly trudged back toward the house. Flashes of lightning helped illuminate the way.

With the man in her arms, Miriel thought that entering the house through the smashed out window would be the easiest way inside. What proved most challenging was stepping over the bottom of the window frame. She had to maneuver sideways, doing her best to prevent Bear-man (as she had begun to think of him) from being cut on the jagged pieces of glass. She nearly lost her footing when she first stepped back into the dining room, as the floor was wet from rain and blood (not to mention the buttery carrots). Thankfully, she was able to recover, though her fingers were slipping from the man�s skin. She struggled to maintain her hold on him as she hastily made her way down the corridor.

�Not too much further,� she said under her breath, grappling to keep the man in her arms. Seeing Valandil�s body in the entry reminded Miriel that three men were still unaccounted for. She was beginning to regret that she had left her sword behind to help the Bear-man. What if someone jumped out, ready to attack? What could she do?

�That�s not gonna happen,� assured Buffy, whose voice just wouldn�t go away. �The house is empty.�

The young Slayer made a beeline for the front room formerly claimed by the �lady� of the house. She spotted a rug in front of the fireplace and decided to place the man there. She eased onto her knees, gently laying him on the carpeted floor. Her body continued to shake, as she scanned the room in search of something with which to cover the man�s nakedness.

As she crawled toward one of the racks of fabric, the man�s hand reached out, grabbing her arm. �You�re� you�re in� danger,� he said with much effort.

Miriel jumped with a start. She quickly looked at the open doorway, half-expecting the old hag to be standing there.

�No,� the man answered upon noticing her frightened reaction. �They� they are� they are all dead� � revealed the Bear-man between gasps for breath.

Miriel shifted her eyes back to him. She now noticed slivers of skin and blood under the fingernails of the hand that clutched her arm. His glistening body trembled nonstop and blood continued to trickle from his many wounds. She now noticed that the dagger in his chest was the one that belonged to her.

�Except for� the old woman,� he added after a pause.

�How do you know?� she asked, pushing back her hair so that that water dripping from it would no longer hit the man�s face.

�I� I killed them.� He then let out a low growl.

�Let me get something to cover you with,� she said. �You�re freezing.� Pulling her arm free, she crawled over to the nearest sofa. She grabbed the quilt that lay over the back, using it not only to cover the man�s nudity, but also to staunch the flow of blood from his many wounds.

When she went to remove the dagger from Bear-man�s chest, he stopped her. To her surprise, he had a firm grip on her hand. �No, leave it,� he said, before coughing up spittle mixed with blood. �You� you�re being tracked,� he revealed in a faint voice.

Miriel leaned in closer so that she could hear him better. �Tracked?� Her eyes frantically searched his. �Tracked by whom?�

�The enemy.�

The man�s breathing had become shallow, so labored that it took a long time for him to get the words out. He had clung to life, in hopes that she would find him. She learned that the enemy had steered her into their trap, and that another awaited further north. He counseled her to go back south to the road, and there she had two options: one was to go back over the mountains and join his people in the Vales, the other, to continue on her journey. If she chose the latter, she would need to cross the Old Bridge, as to attempt to cross the river elsewhere would be perilous for the cliffs along the bank were of steep, sheer rock, impassable by Man or beast.

When Miriel asked how he knew all this, he replied that he had followed her and Bregolas from the Vales, that his son was greatly concerned for her well-being and wanted to follow, but the old man insisted that he go instead. Bear-man deeply regretted that he had not attacked the villains sooner, that he had come too late to save her from their fiendish attack.

Touched that a mere stranger had willingly put his life at risk for her, she asked, �Who are you?�

�B-Beorn,� he uttered with his last breath. His grip went limp, and his eyes stared blankly above.

The young girl sat there for a few moments. It then dawned on her that Bear-man was kin to Grimbeorn, and that�s why the man�s eyes seemed so familiar to her. She had no idea that he was in fact Grimbeorn�s father, nor how mighty of a man he truly was. She wouldn�t learn of those things until much later. Nonetheless, her heart ached with sorrow at his passing. She had never expected a perfect stranger to die whilst helping her.

�You�ve gotta bury him, Miriel,� demanded Buffy. �He saved you. You owe him that.�

An exhausted Miriel shot back, �That�s easy for you to say. You do nothing but bark orders. I am tired and my strength is spent.�

�So you�d leave him here with these evil bastards, tainting his honor?� snapped Buffy in reply. She had deliberately thrown out the word �honor� knowing how much that trait meant to Miriel and her people.

Buffy�s words struck a chord with the young girl. Her mentor was right. She didn�t want to leave him in that house full of villains. He didn�t deserve that. But she was so drained - physically and emotionally. The thought of having to dig a deep hole in the pouring rain after all she had been through seemed daunting.

�You can do it, Miriel,� said Buffy. �You�ve got it in you.�

Miriel continued to sit slumped over Beorn. She closed her eyes, trying to muster her strength. After a few minutes, she opened her eyes and looked at the Bear-man�s face. She then reached out and closed his eyes as she had done with Bregolas.

�Where will I find a spade?� she asked with a heavy sigh.

�My guess: the barn. It�s behind the house,� answered the elder Slayer.

�Of course,� answered the girl, her eyes now locked on the dagger. She grabbed the hilt of the blade and pulled it from Beorn�s chest. Blood oozed from the deep incision, quickly forming a pool on his hairy belly before trickling down his sides. She stared at the scarlet-covered blade for a few moments, watching as the droplets of blood fell onto Bear-man�s stomach.

�Come on, Miriel. You need to get a move on,� advised Buffy.

Before the young Slayer clambered to her feet, she carefully sawed the bindings from her wrists. She then rose, sliding the dagger into the waist of the back of her pants. She wasn�t about to leave the house weaponless, especially knowing that the old hag could be lurking outside somewhere. She then wearily shuffled out of the room.

The foul stench had spread from the front sitting room to the entry. Miriel held her breath as she headed down the corridor to the rear of the house in search of the back door.

�I think you�ll need some sort of light,� mentioned Buffy when the girl reached the kitchen. As the girl�s eyes scanned the room, the elder Slayer asked, �Can you keep one of those lantern thingies alit in the rain?�

Miriel sighed heavily once again. She was getting annoyed with Buffy. It seemed like her mentor was appointing one task after another, disregarding the traumatic events that had happened to the young Slayer.

The girl spotted an umbrella by the kitchen door. She grabbed it, popped it open, then took the lamp and proceeded outside. She stood there in the torrential downpour, waiting a moment or two for her eyes to readjust to the darkness. Off to her right, maybe fifty yards or so away, she saw a large shadowy structure that she assumed had to be the barn. She headed off in that direction, scanning the area for possible burial sites.

The doors to the barn swayed back and forth from the wind. The inside felt warm, and the smell of manure and hay lingered in the air. To her immediate left were numerous farm implements, which were unknown to the girl. She tossed the umbrella aside and held the lamp aloft, looking around in search of a simple spade. She heard a horse whinny and stomp its hooves, causing her to jerk toward the sound.

For a moment, she forgot her errand, and turned her attention to the horse in a nearby stall. It was the sight of another life, of a living, breathing animal that brought much comfort to Miriel. She wasn�t alone, in the physical sense. As she affectionately petted the steed, she was gladdened to see that no evil had been inflicted upon it.

�Miriel,� Buffy said, wanting to remind the young Slayer of her task.

�Please, Buffy,� responded a dismal Miriel. �Give me a few minutes to relish the life of another. I need that right now.�

The elder Slayer fell quiet. She had to remind herself that Miriel was still fairly young, and new to the world of Slayerhood. Never before had the girl witnessed such carnage, and, maybe, for sanity�s sake, she needed a few minutes to bask in the life of another living creature. Buffy patiently watched as Miriel continued to stroke the beast, talking to it as if it were a long lost friend. It then suddenly occurred to the elder Slayer that the horse could be quite useful, a mode of transportation for the young, worn out Slayer.

Before she could voice her thoughts, Miriel slid the lock open on the door, swung it open and, waving her arms wildly, scared the horse from the stall.

�What are you doing?� asked a flabbergasted Buffy, as the girl marched to the next stall, freeing that horse too.

�Is it not obvious?� answered Miriel, shooing a second steed from the barn.

�But you can ride it. You won�t have to walk!� rationalized the elder Slayer.

Miriel continued on to the next stall. �I can barely care for myself, much less another. Now, they at least have a fighting chance.�

�That�s crazy talk!� exclaimed Buffy. �Let�s be sensible here.�

�I am. It is the most sensible thing I�ve done. I�m granting them freedom.�

When Miriel moved on to the next stall, she suddenly stopped. A fetid odor knocked the breath out of her. She swung open the stall door and there inside, lying on a floor of hay, were several dead bodies, face down. Swarms of flies and rats ate away at the decomposing flesh of seven people. Five were children; one looked to be a toddler. All had been stripped naked, their bodies molested and mutilated in the most vicious fashion.

Miriel felt her eyes burn with tears, thinking of what had transpired. She grew so angry, seething with such rage. It became painfully obvious that this was the family that had actually lived on the farm, and that the evildoers had cruelly tortured and killed them. How long they had been there, she couldn�t say, but the rats were not deterred by her presence.

Disgusted and furious, Miriel smashed the lamp onto the floor of the stall. The glass broke, spilling its contents, setting aflame the hay.

�What are you doing?� queried a shocked Buffy. �Put it out! You�ll burn the place down!�

Miriel ignored Buffy. She wanted to burn the place down. She marched through the barn and released every horse from its prison, as the fire began to spread. With the animals free, Miriel turned her attention back to her task. She could see many tools hanging along one of the walls. Unfazed by the fire, and thickening smoke, she began to snatch items from the wall that she thought might be useful. She grabbed a spade, a short handled scythe and a coil of rope. She then nonchalantly left the barn, the hay and dry wood quickly becoming engulfed by flames.

Back in the rain, Miriel found a spot a few yards from the barn. It was beneath the boughs of an old apple tree. Seeing as how the Men of the Vale didn�t eat meat, she thought that an appropriate spot for Beorn�s grave. She tossed aside the rope and scythe, and began to dig. Her ire fueled her strength and determination, at least in the beginning.

The longer Miriel labored, the more disheartened she became. Not only was water quickly filling the hole, but the dirt that she had shoveled out kept washing back in. To make matters worse, the walls kept caving in, adding to her frustration. The only high point (if one could call it that) was that the raging fire provided adequate lighting.

Tired, cold and wet, the girl decided that the hole was deep enough. It was maybe three feet deep, and half-full of muddy water. It almost seemed a disservice to put Beorn in there. But Buffy wanted him buried, and Miriel said that she would see that it was done. If her mentor wanted a better grave, then she would need to find a way to do it herself. Miriel was through digging. It was bad enough that she still had to go get the body and haul to the hole. Hopefully, she�d be able to perform that task before it became completely filled with rainwater.

Miriel sloshed her way back to the house, still feeling bitter. She returned to Beorn�s side, wrapping his naked body in the quilt. Too exhausted to carry him, she dragged him through the house, leaving a faint bloody trail behind.

Once outside, she had no other choice but to carry him. Cursing, she flung him over her shoulder, her knees nearly buckling from his weight. With her jaw clenched tightly, she slogged along back to the apple tree. When Miriel reached the side of the hole, she saw a whole new dilemma - how the hell was she to get Beorn into the hole in a respectful manner? She didn�t have time to ponder that, as the side of the grave caved in from her weight, sending both her and Beorn�s body into the sludgy pit.

A volley of curse words spewed from her mouth, as she pulled herself out from beneath the dead man�s corpse. She was ready to explode. It just seemed as though nothing was going right. Now, covered in mud, Miriel tried to position Beorn within the hole. Her ill luck continued. The hole was not long enough to fit him in properly.

She rolled him onto his side and bent his legs at the knee, much like how he had been when she had first found him alive. That would have to do. Miriel climbed out of the hole, filthy despite the downpour, and began filling the hole with mud.

When she had finished, she tossed the spade aside, picked up the things she planned to take with her and headed back to the house, cursing Buffy under her breath. She was so exhausted that a part of her wanted to collapse and sleep in the house of horrors. But with the barn ablaze, she needed to make a hasty getaway. Her goal was to seek refuge in the woods, where she would be able to rest and tend to her injuries.

Once she got back into the kitchen, she grabbed a towel and wiped the wetness from her skin. Her eyes did another quick scan of the room, stopping on the pots on the stove. With her strength depleted, Miriel knew she needed food. For a moment, her thoughts turned to Bregolas and the first battle they had had with the Uruks. She remembered being sickened at the sight of him eating amongst the dead, how revolted she was. But now, she could better understand his actions. She was hungry, famished. Though butchered bodies lay scattered throughout the house, even in the next room, Miriel wanted to eat.

She made her way to the stove, and found the pots empty. She then recalled the roast lying under the sideboard in the dining room. She hurried into the adjoining chamber, not caring that the meat lay on the floor or that blood and guts were splattered all about the place. When she went to crawl beneath the furniture, Buffy�s voice returned, admonishing her.

�Don�t eat that!� she bellowed, a hint of disgust to her tone. �Don�t eat or drink anything in this house.�

�But, I�m hungry,� whined Miriel.

�Then get something from outside, in the fields. These freaks already drugged you once. Who�s to say that the rest of the food hasn�t been tampered with?�

�They ate it,� the young Slayer reasoned.

�Yeah and look what kinda people they were! Don�t touch it, Miriel. Go outside and get stuff fresh from the ground. That should be safe to eat,� replied Buffy.

Miriel felt defeated. She longed for meat.

�C�mon, Miriel. Get up and get your stuff together,� urged Buffy, her voice sounding kindly again. �The sooner you leave this place, the better.�

The girl struggled back to her feet. She dreaded the notion of going back into the sitting room where the vile stench was strongest. However, she wasn�t about to leave her things behind. She couldn�t afford to. She shuddered, realizing for the first time how cold she felt. Utterly exhausted, she made her way back to the front of the house.

She gagged upon entering the sitting room, eyeing her things strewn about the chamber. Trying to breathe out of her mouth instead of her nose, she hastily went around picking up her things. She nearly burst into tears when she saw that some of her garments had been soiled by the brown intestinal fluids.

�Just put all the dirty things in one bag,� suggested Buffy. �You can take care of it later.�

In Miriel�s mind, everything was dirty, as it had been handled by dirty people. She placed the foul-smelling garments in one bag, sickened by the fact that that horrid stench would follow her when she left. It would be a constant reminder of the torments she�d rather forget.

As she collected her things, she grumbled and cursed under her breath. Her tent, which had been carefully packed away, had been unfolded and the stakes that she and Bregolas had whittled now lay broken. Out of spite (she deemed), her bottles of tonic had been emptied, crushing her hope of alleviating the pain throughout her body. The only medicine she had left was a jar of salve. While that would help ease the continuous burning on her chest, it was good for nothing else.

Miriel checked off the inventory list in her mind as she repacked everything. Her cookware, water skins, map, crossbow, arrows and such, surprisingly appeared to be untouched by the enemy. Both scabbards were now girt around her waist, one housing Bregolas� blade, the other still empty. She still had to go outside and collect her other sword. She strapped her sheathed dagger snuggly to her leg, ready to retrieve it in an instant. It wasn�t until she had everything stowed away in her bags that she came to the realization that something was missing - her jewelry. After all that she had suffered through, the missing jewelry caused her to snap.

Shaking with rage, she fixed her narrowed eyes on the corpse of the first villain that lay nearest to her. There was no doubt in her mind that they had stolen her stuff. Though repulsed by the gore, wrath overcame disgust. Miriel stormed over to the body, eager to check the dead man�s pockets.

Rather than shove her hands into the corpse�s pocket, she patted them instead, unperturbed by the bodily fluids and bits of intestines that clung to his tattered garments. As she did so, she noticed a silver chain wrapped around his neck - her silver chain. Immediately, she grabbed a handful of his hair, jerking his head forward. She was angered further by having to fumble with his head while she undid the clasp. There was no way she was about to break the necklace. With the chain now in hand, she let the villain�s head fall to the floor with a crack. She then rammed her hand into his left pocket, pulling out her sapphire ring, a gold bracelet, and a handful of coins.

Miriel remained seated on her knees in the pool of bodily fluids, glaring at the lifeless man. She couldn�t explain what prompted her to do what she did next. She assumed (after the fact) that she had wanted to exact her revenge, though it was already too late for that, considering that the villain was already dead. Regardless, the girl�s hand instinctively reached out for the silver candlestick lying nearby. Once she had a firm grasp on it, she began to pummel the man�s face with a surge of strength that seemingly had come out of nowhere.

She heard Buffy howling in protest.

Blood and fragments of bone flew in the air, splattering the girl�s face. Snarling like a feral beast, she continued to strike the man until there wasn�t much of a head left. She stopped, her chest heaving from exerting so much energy.

She wiped her face with the sleeve of her shirt as Buffy continued to voice her disapproval.

�Save your energy. They�re dead. There�s no use in wasting what little strength you have on revenge. It�s over, Miriel. Let it go.�

�That�s easy for you to say,� muttered Miriel in disdain, her eyes surveying the remnants of the man. Her thoughts then turned to the one item she coveted most - Bregolas� ring. She checked the man�s fingers, making sure that he was not wearing it.

Having gotten all of her loot from him, she moved on to the next body, the one with the ripped out throat, and checked him for any of her belongings. The only thing she found was a broken pocket watch. She held it aloft by its chain, wondering what its value might be. Deciding that it wasn�t worth keeping, she crammed the watch into the man�s opened mouth, wishing that he could�ve choked on it.

�Don�t! Don�t do it!� argued Buffy, knowing damn well what her prot�g� what thinking.

Miriel raised the candlestick and began striking the man�s face, bashing in his skull until he was no longer recognizable.

�Stop wasting your strength, god damn it!� screeched Buffy. �They all got what was coming to �em. Enough already! Just get your shit and go!�

Once again, Miriel ignored the elder Slayer�s comments. From there she went to Valandil in the entryway, and there on his middle finger she saw it - Bregolas� ring. Why she hadn�t noticed it before was beyond her. She threw aside the bloody candlestick, then roughly tugged and twisted the ring from the corpse�s finger before breaking the digit at the joint.

�Enough, Miriel! Enough!� chastised Buffy, wishing that she could pull her prot�g� from the House of Depravity (as she thought of the place).

The young Slayer ignored her mentor (something she was getting good at). She studied the ring, trying to flake off the blood that had already dried on the stone. Now that she had that treasured item, she no longer concerned herself with finding the rest of her jewelry. The longer she handled the ring, the quicker her anger dissipated. Sorrow soon took its place, especially when she heard Bregolas� voice in her head, telling her how foolish she had been to trust strangers. Upset by that, she rammed the ring into the pocket of her breeches, as her eyes darted to the weaving room. She stared at one of the racks draped with fabric.

She headed into the room and took one of the sheets of heavy cloth. She then returned to the sitting room, grabbed all her bags and took off toward the kitchen. There, she grabbed the coil of rope and scythe she had swiped from the barn before exiting the door.

�Sword. I have to get my sword,� she mumbled to herself. She headed left, knowing exactly where her blade had been driven into the earth. As she made her way to the side of the house, Miriel noticed that the storm was finally passing. While flashes of lightning still lit up the sky, the rumbling sounded further away and the downpour had turned into a sprinkle.

Once she had re-sheathed her blade, a relieved Buffy guided her toward the fields. Miriel�s sudden adrenaline rush had waned, leaving her more exhausted than before. She stumbled over something, falling face first toward the soaked ground. Instinctively, she thrust her arms out, stopping her upper body from landing in the puddles. The bags strapped to either shoulder suddenly bounced against her head, as the straps slid down her arms. Cursing, she struggled with her bags as she tried to get back on her feet. Whatever she had tripped over was soft, not hard like a fallen tree or something of that sort. As she untangled herself from her belongings, she could see that she had toppled over another body. The sight of that got her on her feet rather quickly.

She stood over another mangled corpse of one of the brothers, number five by her count. Undoubtedly, he too had been gutted by Beorn. Unfortunately, much of his innards now clung to her shirt. Miriel took several deep breaths, attempting to calm her frazzled nerves, before brushing the entrails from her top.

�It just does not stop, does it?� she grumbled bitterly.

�Just� C�mon, get a move on,� stated Buffy, not wanting to argue with the girl.

On the way to the fields, Miriel came upon the well where lay the last two brothers, dead and disemboweled. She saw this as the perfect opportunity to refill her water skins. After filling her containers, she gulped down the remaining water in the bucket, not realizing how truly thirsty she still was.

She then trudged on, irritated with herself. Buffy�s words proved true - Miriel had wasted far too much of her strength on beating the bodies of the dead. Every step was a struggle that required much effort. Her head throbbed, as did her body and she wished Buffy would just shut up and let her walk in grim silence.

When she reached the crops, her boots sunk into sodden earth, well past her ankles. She wrestled with her packs, pulling the sheet of fabric out that lay under the straps. She placed the material on the ground and began tossing various vegetables on it: corn, carrots, rutabagas. The only non-root vegetable she came across was cabbages. She broke a few heads free, tossing them in with the other foodstuffs. Miriel then heaved the bundle over her shoulder and resumed her trek toward the lane leading to the woods.

The entire barn was now ablaze, giving off a brilliant light. When she reached the slope of the hill in front of the house, she turned, and cast one last look at the homestead. Miriel knew she�d never be the same, that this night had changed her. As she glanced at the upper windows of the house, she knew that a part of her had died in that upstairs bedroom. Turning away, she resumed her hike, vowing never to make the same mistake again. Woe onto any that crossed her path, especially men�