Sad Wings of Destiny

�Arvellas, what have you done?� screeched Aragorn in dismay. He staggered to his feet with his hands still protectively cradling his throbbing loins. �You were supposed to restrain her, not kill her!� He started to limp toward his fellow Ranger, whose arm remained tightly around Miriel�s neck.

�She�s not - � Arvellas paused, as he hastily laid the girl on the rock floor, feeling the side of her neck for a pulse. � - Dead,� he added with a sigh of relief. �She�s just out cold.�

�You need to mind your strength,� added Aragorn, as he and the sons of Elrond kneeled down on either side of the Slayer. �She�s just a girl.�

�Just a girl,� repeated the scathing Ranger with a sneer. �She tore my arm to pieces!� he cried out, holding up his blood-streaked limb. He then shifted his narrowing, pale grey eyes to Miriel�s right hand. �Humph! Look!� he added, picking up her hand and showing them the clumps of skin beneath her fingernails. �I�ll have you know that�s my skin. My skin!�

�Come over here, Arvellas,� said a slightly amused Elrohir. �Let me put some salve on those scratches before they become infected.�

Arvellas dropped Miriel�s hand on her stomach as he got to his feet. �You best restrain her while she�s out, Aragorn. That girl�s like a wild cat!�

�Look at her knuckles,� pointed out Elladan, grimacing. �That looks painful.�

�Battle wounds, my friend. Battle wounds,� answered Aragorn, as he more closely examined the injuries to her left hand. �Her palm has been pierced as well. Poor child.�

�We should tend to them whilst she�s out, as I�d rather not have a swift kick to my groin should she wake,� suggested Elladan. �Which reminds me, how are you feeling?�

�I�ll survive,� answered the son of Arathorn. �Do you have any salve on you, Elladan?�

�Of course,� replied the Elf before digging through his satchel for some salve and clean strips of cloth.

Aragorn then ordered his men to begin the cleanup. There was no way he was about to let the Orc corpses continue to defile Amon S�l any more than they already had. Under the dull grey light of morning, the Ranger Chieftain began to smear the elvish ointment on Miriel's wounds.

Elladan let out a startled gasp. �Look at her wrist, Aragorn. Look at the scar tissue.� He pointed to the discolored area on her skin. Their eyes then shot over to her other wrist. Scars adorned the flesh of that arm too.

�I think we�re beginning to better understand why the Orcs were tracking her,� said Aragorn thoughtfully.

�You think she escaped, escaped from their captivity?� queried the Elf, somewhat surprised to think such a feat possible for one as young as she.

�It appears so.�

Aragorn had just finished wrapping her hand when Elladan pointed out the abrasion on her chin. As the Chieftain of the Rangers smeared some of the salve on Miriel's chin, he noticed a small metallic object tangled in her hair.

�What�s this?� he said more to himself than to his companions. He plucked the ring and the chain to which it was attached from her hair.

�The White Tree,� announced Elladan, peering at the ring.

�Worn by the Guards of the Citadel of Minas Tirith,� added Aragorn softly, tracing the mithril branches with his fingertip. His thoughts immediately turned to Arwen, and many years earlier when they had plighted their troth on Cerin Amroth. As a token of his love, he had given her one of the treasured heirlooms of his house - the Ring of Barahir. He became misty-eyed as he thought back to that day, and he could only assume that this ring around the girl's neck was most likely an indicator that she was the beloved of one from the Tower Guard. It seemed to him that things were beginning to make sense, that the pieces of the puzzle were coming together.

�Aragorn?� said Elladan with concern. �What is it? What�s wrong?�

The Ranger took a deep breath before laying the ring tenderly on Miriel�s chest. He turned to the Elf. �This girl so happens to be the daughter of Denethor, the one that they say had been abducted and is now presumed dead.�

�The Steward's daughter?!� exclaimed Arvellas, who was seated nearby. �How in the name of the Valar did she end up here?� he asked, his eyes wide with wonder.

�I think I know the answer to this riddle,� announced Halbarad, who had come walking up with Miriel�s belongings.

The men gathered around Miriel, looked up at the Ranger, waiting for him to elaborate further.

As the tension mounted, he revealed, �She�s the Slayer.�

�The Slayer,� said a stunned Elrohir. �How can you be sure?�

�Did you not see her fight? Her strength? Any why else would the Orcs be tracking her? They had been sent to kill her, I deem. She�s a threat to their Master�s plan.�

�A Slayer,� repeated Elladan in disbelief. �There hasn�t been a Slayer in these parts for thousands of years.�

Aragorn�s expression became grimmer. He, like his kinsmen, was familiar with the Slayer lore. �She�s being hunted,� he concluded, his eyes filled with pity for the noble girl. �And I fear that much sorrow has already befallen her.�

�It�s tragic, really,� added Halbarad. �Slayer�s are known for having short life spans.�

�But what of the scarring on her wrists?� queried a puzzled Elrohir. �Clearly that�s a sign that she has been physically restrained, held against her will.�

The others concurred, nodding in agreement.

�I do not think we will know the true tale behind that until she tells it,� Aragorn remarked.

�That is, if she tells it at all,� added Elladan.

Miriel began to stir, groaning softly.

Arvellas quickly got to his feet and out of striking distance of the Slayer. �If I were you, my good fellows, I would move away from that girl. She�s a feral beast if ever I saw one!�

The Slayer had been out for several minutes, much longer than she should have been. Perhaps exhaustion had caused her to linger in the state of unconsciousness longer than usual. Her breathing deepened, as her senses began to awaken. Her entire body felt sore.

As the voices of the men grew louder to her ears, Miriel's eyes suddenly opened. Upon seeing the faces of those hovering over her, she bolted upright, hastily scooting her backside along the stone floor, away from the strangers. Wit her heart racing, her eyes frantically scanned her surroundings. Not fully cognizant yet, Miriel was unable to comprehend what was taking place.

�We�re not the enemy,� started Aragorn, revealing his weaponless hands. �We�re here to help you.�

The Slayer was trying to get a grasp of the situation. She was confused, and afraid. �I do not believe you,� she said, her eyes doing another quick sweep of the immediate area. She fixed her gaze on Halbarad, who not only held Miriel�s bags, but also her weapons. �My belongings! You�re stealing my belongings!� As she scrambled to her feet, she became aware of the searing pain in her left leg.

�I�m not stealing anything,� insisted Halbarad. He kept an eye on the Slayer as he placed her things back on the stone summit of Weathertop. �I did not want the men to mistakenly discard these, thinking that they might belong to the Orcs.�

�Belong to the Orcs,� shot back Miriel incredulously. �Orcs do not carry baggage of that quality! You are a thief, an enemy, and shall be treated as one!�

�We are not thieves, nor the enemy,� said Aragorn in his kindest voice. Slowly, he got to his feet, doing his best to ignore the persistent pain in his nether regions.

Miriel fixed her eyes on him, as the others rose to their feet as well. �You�re the one that attacked me!� she blurted out. �You tried to kill me!�

�Kill you?� he replied in amazement. �I was not trying to kill you.�

�You�re the one that gave him a kick to the loins! Probably won�t be able to bear children after that!� chimed in Arvellas.

�Shush!� ordered Aragorn, motioning to his fellow Ranger to be quiet. He locked eyes with Miriel. �The howls of the wargs lured me and my men to Amon S�l,� he began to explain. �We came across the Orc tracks and followed them here. If we had not arrived, things would have gone ill for you, my dear lady.�

Miriel remained skeptical, though a small part of her desperately wanted to believe him. She could not allow herself to be so easily convinced by words alone. Who�s to say that these men were not in league with the Orcs, and they were now trying to bait her into another trap. It happened before. And her heart warned her that it was happening now.

�Men are not trustworthy,� she scoffed. �They are liars.� She shifted her contemptuous eyes to Halbarad. �And thieves.�

Elrohir then took a step forward, and boldly declared, �My brother and I are not Men, but of elven kind.�

The Slayer�s eyes darted to the Elf. She looked him over. With a derisive snicker, she answered, �Undoubtedly the bastard sons of E�l, I deem.�

Elrohir looked aghast. His brows shot up and his jaw dropped at such a suggestion. His brother, on the other hand, turned his head, attempting to stifle his laughter.

A small smile came to Aragorn�s face. �You are leaned in the ancient lore, I see.� He paused before adding, �This is Elrohir.� He motioned toward the Elf, whose jaw had finally snapped shut. �And this is his twin brother, Elladan. They are the sons of Elrond, Lord of Rivendell.�

Miriel�s facial expression must have flickered with some type of recognition of that name, for she most certainly knew of Elrond, the brother of Elros, the first King of N�menor, and the son of E�rendil the Blessed. She was left momentarily speechless to be in such great company, though she did her very best to conceal that fact.

�I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, the Chieftain of the D�nedain of what's left of the Northern Kingdom. Rangers some people call us.�

Miriel was astonished. After all this time, after everything she had been through, she had finally come across the very people she had been searching for. However, after all that she had suffered through, she could not let herself easily be taken in by the mere words of these folk alone - distant kin or not! How could she? Even of those she had trusted, most had ended up betraying her. Denethor and Bregolas were prime examples. No, Miriel had to harden her heart and not trust these people, even the Elves, or Half-elves as it were. It could be a ploy devised by the Dark Lord. He was extremely cunning, after all.

The Slayer�s internal conflict was not lost on Aragorn and the twin sons of Elrond. All three were wise and could read people well. Though the Slayer tried to hide her thoughts, both her eyes and facial expressions revealed snippets of what she was thinking.

�You doubt me,� replied Aragorn. He still wore that small smile on his rugged face. �That is good. It is unwise to trust one too easily.�

Miriel frowned. �I want my things back.�

The son of Arathorn gave a slight nod of his head. He walked over to Halbarad and picked up Miriel�s belongings which rested by his kinsman�s feet. He then cautiously stepped toward the girl, and held out her bags. Keeping an unblinking eye on the Ranger Chieftain, she snatched her bags from his hands. He then turned the blade of Bregolas� sword over in his one hand, holding the hilt out toward her. She grabbed it, wiped the Orc blood on the leg of her breeches, and slid the weapon back into its sheath.

�This blade is broken,� he then said, as he handed her the damaged sword.

Miriel took the weapon, holding it firmly in her hand. �Gee! You must be the clever one of the bunch. No wonder you�re the Chieftain,� she answered back sardonically.

Aragorn chuckled. �I have never before met a warrior-maiden with such wit.� Feeling as though he had broken the ice with the Slayer, he said, �Now, tell me, where is that you hail from? Where is it that you are going?� While he thought he already knew the answers, he longed to hear them from Miriel�s mouth.

�What business is it of yours?� she snapped back indignantly. �You may be the Chieftain of these men, but you are not the Chieftain of me!� Miriel then heaved the straps of her bags over her shoulders. A jolt of sharp pain went through her left shoulder. She attempted to hide the pain, but it clearly showed on her scrunched up face.

As she started across the top of Amon S�l, Aragorn and the sons of Elrond began to converse in Sindarin, instead of Westron.

�Are you just going to let her go?� asked a baffled Elrohir.

�I will do more harm if I attempt to restrain her,� replied Aragorn, a hint of sadness to his voice.

�She�s hurt, Aragorn,� added Elladan in alarm. �Look at her back. It's covered with blood. Her wounds need tending to.�

�I�m afraid her wounds go much deeper than what is visible to the naked eye,� concluded the son of Arathorn with a sigh.

�Then that�s all the more reason for us to help her,� insisted Elladan, watching as Miriel limped away.

�And how exactly should we go about doing that?� queried Aragorn, turning, and facing the twins.

Elladan did not have the answer to that. �We should take her to Father,� he suggested. �If any can heal that girl�s torments, it is he.� He shifted his eyes to the Slayer, who had stopped and glanced over her shoulder upon overhearing the men�s conversation. �She has been tormented.� The Half-elf turned his eyes back to Aragorn. �I know you can see that. Anguish seeps from that girl.�

Miriel quickly turned away and hurried toward the pathway with her broken sword in hand. None of the men hindered her passing. She then began the descent down the steep slope, grateful for the arrival of morning. The path was slick with Orc blood, and there was a time or two when she lost her footing and slipped painfully down the incline on her rear.

Every now and again, she would look up at the hilltop. At the peak stood four men, watching her intently. She tried her best to ignore them. Miriel was now forced to figure out what she was to do next, for she could no longer remain anywhere near Weathertop, not with the Rangers lurking about.

After hearing what the sons of Elrond had said, the Slayer couldn�t help but think what it would be like to go to Rivendell. She had heard of that elvish realm since she was a small child and, under different circumstances, she would�ve jumped at the chance to go there. Yet, now, she found it hard to believe anything said by strangers, even Elves.

She wished she could speak with Buffy, whose counsel she valued. Unfortunately, that wasn�t going to happen anytime soon. There was no way Miriel would let herself doze off with so many Rangers nearby, no matter how tired she was. She couldn�t risk it.

When she neared the bottom of the hill, she peeled off the pathway, and headed toward the hollow. Before she departed, she wanted to wash up a bit, and replenish her water supply. Miriel�s mind was spinning with so many thoughts, some conflicting with others. Where would she go? Her original goal had been to reach the town of Archet, but that seemed pointless now. If she truly wanted guidance form the Watchers of old, wouldn�t she be better off with these Rangers? Weren�t they the ones she had been seeking all along? Confusion and uncertainty set in.

I�m better off on my own, she thought, as she made her way to the spring. I�ve learned to survive on my own, to adapt. I do not need the aid of anyone. I can hunt on my own and slay those villains that cross my path. I can be like... like some rogue demon hunter. Yes, yes, I like that.

When Miriel removed the straps of her bags from her left shoulder, she could see that blood had saturated the cloth. While she knew her shoulder had been sliced, it was in such an awkward spot that she was unable to tend to it herself. She convinced herself that the injury would heat itself over time. Slayers did have super fast healing abilities, after all.

It wasn�t until the girl went to scoop some water from the spring that she finally noticed the bandage wrapped around her left hand. She thought it strange that she hadn�t noticed sooner. She could only assume that her mind had been so preoccupied with the events taking place that she had overlooked it. That happens.

Not wanting to get her bandage wet, she used her good hand to rinse the black blood from her arms, face and neck. All the while, her thoughts continued to linger on the Rangers and her desire to believe that they were good people. Since Bregolas� death, Miriel had had to contend with her growing loneliness. A part of her believed that that was why she had so eagerly trusted Valandil and his people. Of course, being extremely weak and vulnerable at the time had factored into the equation as well.

While Buffy had brought her much comfort when she slept, it wasn�t the same. Those long waking hours always seemed to pass by so slowly. Miriel feared that, in time, the isolation would eventually drive her mad. For Eru�s sake, she already grappled with those contesting voices in her head! Was that not a sign that her mind was already breaking?

By the time she had begun to top off her water skins, Aragorn, Halbarad, and the twin sons of Elrond had silently entered the dell.

�Miriel?� called out Aragorn.

Startled, the Slayer dropped her container in the spring, leapt to her feet, and spun around, facing the intruders with her broken blade in hand. �How dare you sneak up on me like that!� she snarled, not yet realizing that she had been addressed by her true name.

�We did not mean to frighten you,� continued the Ranger Chieftain in a gentle voice.

Trying to compose herself, her eyes darted from one man to the next. �What is it you want? Why are you following me?�

�We've come to offer you counsel in your hour of need.�

�I do not need your counsel!� she shot back.

�Listen, Miriel - �

� - My name�s not Miriel,� she interjected between gritted teeth.

�Oh,� answered Aragorn, raising a dubious brow at her response. �My mistake then.�

The Slayer was now on edge, having realized that she had been called by her real name. �You have no business with me,� she replied sharply. �Leave me be.�

Her words did not deter the men in the slightest. �I�m afraid we cannot do that,� answered Aragorn. �We cannot leave you here, alone. It won�t be long before this place is swarming with Orcs. They will not stop until they recapture you, or worse. We will not allow that to happen.�

Miriel was doing everything in her power to maintain a steely facade in the Rangers� company, especially after having been addressed by her true name. �I can contend with Orcs,� she said, the determination in her voice wavering ever so slightly as she spoke. Damn it! Why did she have to show weakness in front of these people?

�You are only one. Hundreds more will come. You cannot fight them all,� countered Aragorn.

�Then I will die trying,� she retorted, the resolve returning to her tone.

There was a brief moment of silence, and Miriel, whether unwise or not, turned away from the men and resumed collecting her water. She didn�t hear anyone utter a word, but she could feel their piercing gazes nonetheless. If any got the wild notion to jump her from behind, she�d gut him like a coney.

�We know that you are the Slayer,� proclaimed one of the sons of Elrond.

Miriel couldn�t tell which Elf had spoken, as the brothers looked and sounded very much alike. Regardless, hearing that little revelation instantly sent a shock wave through her body.

The voice in the back of her mind demanded that she keep her guard up. The enemy already knows who you are. Do not fall for the bait. Do not let them lead you into a trap.

�A Slayer needs guidance, and training,� continued the Elf, (or was it the other one, Miriel couldn�t tell). �Come with us back to Rivendell. There, you will be safe from the enemy and we can prepare you, prepare you for upcoming battles.�

The girl closed her eyes for a few seconds, as she carefully considered the Elf�s offer. O� how she had longed for such an invite! How long had it been since one from Gondor had actually set foot in Rivendell? Centuries, it had to be centuries. And here it was that Miriel was being offered a chance to go there and be taught by the Elves. What an honor! How rare an opportunity that was!

This is what you�ve been waiting for. Do not let this opportunity pass you by, insisted the �good� voice. Though these men look grim, there is no doubt that they are your kinsmen, that they are good, honorable men. For goodness sake, Miriel - the sons of Elrond are amongst them. They�re the descendents of E�rendil! They are no more the descendents of E�l than you are of Sauron! Trust in them and you will live longer.

The enemy takes on many guises, warned the other voice in her head. Who�s to say that these men are not minions of the Dark Lord. Who�s to say that they are not attempting to lure you with false hope? The Land of the Elves. Pfft! They are reading your heart, which they will rip out, 'ere the end. Trust no one, Miriel, including the Elder Children.

�We will not force you to do anything against your will,� added Aragorn. �You will be free to go whenever you so choose. The world is a perilous place, as you well know. Let us help you survive in it. Let us teach you about your gifts, otherwise they will wither.�

Miriel remained conflicted. Both of the voices in her mind had made some valid points, thus making it that much more difficult to decide what to do. She was leery about traveling among so many, who could easily overpower her, and take advantage of her like before. That was a frightening thought!

She opened her eyes, still undecided about what to do.

�We�re setting out for Rivendell,� Aragorn finally said. �You�re free to travel with us, or to follow, if your heart is still full of doubt. We will see to it that no harm befalls you on the journey. But there is need to make haste before the enemy sends out more forces.� The Ranger and his three companions then climbed out of the hollow, leaving a still undecided Miriel behind.



A while later, as the men were making their way around the base of Weathertop toward the road, Halbarad glanced over his shoulder, looking for the Slayer. �She�s not coming, Aragorn.�

�Yes, she is,� answered the son of Arathorn. �She�s moving furtively, using the landscape to help shield her from our eyes.�

�Once we reach the road, there�ll be nowhere to hide,� remarked Elrohir, taking a peek behind him. �I reckon the Slayer will maintain what she considers a safe distance from us.�

�Why do you think she runs from her name, Aragorn?� asked Elladan. �Slayer or not, she still has a name. Why deny it?�

�She�s being hunted, my friend,� replied the Ranger Chieftain. �The enemy, undoubtedly, knows who she is. I deem that is why she refuses to answer to her true name.�

�She did turn her head when you called her Miriel,� commented Halbarad. �She acknowledged it, when her guard was down.�

�But that could have been from the shock of us catching her at unawares. Remember, she had said that we snuck up on her,� reminded Elladan. �She wasn�t too please by that.�

�As she should not be,� said Aragorn. �A Slayer should be alert at all times. She should have heard our approach.�

�But how can you be so sure that this girl is truly Denethor�s daughter� queried Elladan, his tone riddled with doubt. �The ring around her neck is not evidence enough to confirm that. She could most certainly be the daughter of some nobleman, but the Steward of Gondor�s daughter?�

�I can see it in her face, Elladan,� answered Aragorn without hesitation.

�Can you not see that that girl has traces of elvish blood in her, Brother?� asked an ever-observant Elrohir.

�Her mother was descended from the line of the princes of Dol Amroth� added Aragorn. �The blood of Mithrellas, the Sinda, runs through the veins of their descendents.�

�I suppose what baffles me most is how she has survived alone so long in the wilds,� continued Elladan. �Was it not rumored that one from Gondor absconded with the girl?�

�Yes,� said Halbarad. �And I deem I can say with certainty that he was killed by the Orcs.�

�I agree,� chimed in Aragorn.

Yet the elder son of Elrond remained flummoxed. �Hmm,� he sounded. �Surely, the lords of Gondor didn�t teach that girl to fight. How is it that she has acquired such skill for one so young? Are Slayer�s born with innate abilities for warfare? I�m afraid that I have not studied their lore to know these things.�

�According to ancient lore, the Slayer�s abilities are activated at the time when she is chosen,� replied Halbarad. He glanced over his shoulder once again, only to see Miriel a safe distance behind. �It is said that Slayers experience prophetic dreams, as well.� He paused. �I wonder if she has had any,� he added, almost as an afterthought.

�Why such doubt, Elladan?� asked Elrohir.

�Perhaps it is not doubt that I�m feeling,� he replied grim-faced. �Thinking of Miriel�s torments makes me think of Mother, and what happened to her. She never found peace in Middle-earth after her... abuse. Some wounds cannot be healed, even by the magic of Elves. I cannot help but think that the same may apply to this girl.�

Talk of Celebr�an�s past torments altered the mood of all four men. They did not speak for a long while after that.



Miriel couldn�t believe that she was following these Rangers. �Trust your gut,� Buffy always told her. In this instance, she was doing just that. She could only hope that she wasn�t being deceived, again. Yet, she told herself that she would remain vigilant, keep a safe distance between her and the men, and avoid sleep at all costs. As long as she was cautious, she�d be alright.

Under the blazing hot sun, they marched nonstop until midday, when the men finally stopped for their first rest since leaving Weathertop. Two hundred yards separated Miriel from the Rangers, a safe enough distance, she thought. She sat on the slope of the embankment along the road�s shoulder, keeping one eye on the men while she chugged some water.

Her belly rumbled with hunger. It had been two days since she had last eaten. She wondered if they�d be crossing the river, which was still a long ways off. If so, she�d have to try her hand at fishing again, or better yet, scour the woods for a coney or some other small edible creature. Water would keep her going for a few more days, but the lack of food was of great concern.

As Miriel rested, her eyes surveyed the road in either direction. The rest of the Rangers did not appear to be following. She couldn�t help but wonder where they might be. She was prepared for a possible ambush from behind - just in case.

After maybe fifteen minutes, the men started off again. Maintaining a safe distance, Miriel followed. When she neared the spot where the Rangers had stopped, she noticed a leaf-wrapped package lying in the middle of the road. It looked as if it had been placed there deliberately for her to find. Barely slowing down, she scooped up the package and carefully unwrapped it as she walked. Inside the leaf was a flat, lightly golden cake with a bite taken out of one corner.

The Slayer chuckled when she saw that. Indeed the men truly understood her suspicion of them and one had taken a bite to prove that the cake-like treat was safe to eat. Though her mouth was watering and her belly grumbling, she had to remain leery. She wasn�t about to cram the whole thing in her mouth, as she was tempted to do. To be on the safe side, she took the tiniest nibble off a different corner, wanting to wait and see if the cake was poisoned or not.

Though she had no more than a crumb-sized bite, the morsel left a pleasant tasting sweetness in her mouth. Miriel thought she�d give it a few hours before she dare take another bite.

After three hours or so of marching, and having experienced no ill side effects, the Slayer took a slightly larger bite of the cake. This time, the sweetness really awakened her taste buds. The cake was light and moist with a hint of honey to it. She wouldn�t let herself overindulge, not yet at any rate.

When darkness began to blanket the landscape, the men stopped for the night. Though the moon provided some light, the Rangers looked like shadows skulking about on the road up ahead. The Slayer left the road and climbed up the embankment. She didn�t like the thought of sitting in the open. At least the brush would give her a little bit of cover.

The night was still; quiet, except for the faint, indistinct murmurings of the men, their whisperings carrying on the air. Surprisingly, merely hearing voices from others made Miriel feel less lonely despite the fact that she wasn�t participating in their conversation. For now, she preferred staying apart from the Rangers. Perhaps in a few days time, she would feel more at ease, even to the point of walking alongside them.

A short while later, the girl could see a shadowy form coming down the road toward her. It was clearly one of the four, but which one she did not know. As a precaution, her fingers tightly gripped the hilt of her dagger.

The man had walked a few paces pass her before he stopped. He cocked his head for a second or two, listening intently. He then turned and walked to the exact spot where she was hiding.

�There you are. I nearly missed you,� said one of the sons of Elrond lightheartedly. �You have concealed yourself rather well.�

�How did you know where I was?� Miriel had remained motionless and quiet, and was somewhat impressed that the Elf had found her exact location.

�We Elves are in tune to our surroundings,� he revealed. �And I could hear your heart beating.�

That stunned the Slayer. She had no idea that Elves could hear so well as to hear one�s heartbeat from several feet away.

�We�ve decided to stop and rest for the night,� the Elf continued. �And none of us like the thought of you being out here all alone. You�re welcomed to come join us, if you�d like.�

�I�m not one for crowds,� answered Miriel. �I�d prefer to stay here.�

The Elf nodded. �Would you mind if I kept you company then? I assure you - my intent is true and noble,� he professed.

A part of her wanted to shout out �yes�. Speaking with Elves had always been a dream of hers. However, Miriel didn�t want to seem overly eager, so she answered with, �I suppose.�

The Elf sat on the slope of the embankment, a few feet away from the girl.

�Which son of Elrond are you? You and your brother look so much alike, I cannot tell the difference.�

�I am Elladan,� he answered.

They chitchatted for a while, not talking about anything of great importance.

Elladan then asked, �Did you find the lembas that we left you?�

�Lembas?� the Slayer queried, nearly forgetting the little packet of food left for her.

�The elvish way-bread,� he went to on to say. �We had left a packet on the road for you.�

�Oh, yes, lembas,� Miriel drawled, acting as if she knew what he was talking about all along. �Yes, I found it.�

�Aragorn insisted on taking a bite from it,� he said with a chuckle. �He thought you might think that it was poisoned.�

�Imagine that,� she answered with a snicker. �I did say he was the clever one of the bunch.�

�You should count yourself lucky. Very few mortals have tasted lembas, particularly in recent times. A small amount gives one the strength for a long day�s march. My grandmother had made it - Galadriel, the Lady of L�rien,� he added proudly.

�Galadriel,� murmured Miriel, thinking over her elvish lore. �She�s the daughter of Finarfin, and the sister of Finrod Felagund.�

�Wow!� remarked a stunned Elladan. �You do know your elvish lore.�

�I�ve read some, about the Elder Days,� she answered matter of factly.

�Hmm,� he sounded, turning his gaze to the sky. The Elf fell quiet for a while. He then looked back at Miriel and said, �Very few in Middle-earth speak of the Elder Days, aside from the Firstborn, that is. In fact, the only ones that I�ve encountered with such knowledge of times past are the D�nedain, those descended from the noble houses of N�menor, much like Aragorn and his people.�

Silence fell between them, but the Elf continued to stare at Miriel. She didn't know if he was waiting for her to reply. She did not. She actually began to feel a little uncomfortable though she didn�t know why. Elladan�s penetrating eyes bore into her so much so that she had to look away.

�Your point being?� she finally said, still refusing to make eye contact with the Elf.

�I know that you�re Miriel, the daughter of Denethor,� he revealed.

Immediately, the Slayer�s heart began to pound, and beads of sweat instantly formed on her forehead.

�You�re the Slayer, that we witnessed plainly enough,� Elladan continued, speaking in a mere whisper. �But, it wasn�t your Calling that sent you from Minas Tirith. Something else drove you from your home, something that I cannot clearly see.�

A prickly sensation shot through Miriel�s body as the Elf spoke. She told herself to remain composed, especially after learning that Elladan could hear her heartbeat. Her discomfort was rapidly increasing.

�What was it, Miriel? What was it that you fled from?�

She took a deep breath in an attempt to steady her nerves. She slowly turned toward Elladan, her eyes narrowing. �My name is not Miriel,� she said. Her jaw remained clenched as she spoke. �I do not deny that I�m the Slayer, but I am no daughter of Denethor.�

Her words sounded so venomous to Elladan�s ears, that he realized too late that he had overstepped his bounds. Though he tried to apologize, Miriel no longer wanted his company and sent him away.

Sitting alone, in a near panicked state, the Slayer didn�t know what to do next. Would she be better off to flee into the night, wandering in exile as she had planned? Or, was it her doom that the Rangers and Elves would learn of her past, and discover her deepest and darkest secrets?

Miriel was more confused than ever before...



With Elladan banished from the Slayer�s side, he quickly returned to the others.

�You were right, Aragorn. There is no longer any doubt that that girl is the daughter of Denethor,� confirmed the Half-elf.

�She admitted it to you?� asked the Ranger in surprise.

�No, but I could read it in her.�

�Then it is as I figured,� replied Aragorn bleakly, puffing on his pipe again. He had requested that Elladan speak with Miriel, thinking that she would be more willing to speak with an Elf rather than Halbarad or himself. Besides, Elladan was the only one in their party who doubted who she was. He knew that if the Elf spoke with her, he could use his gift of discernment to see through her facade, to see her heart. And Aragorn wanted to make damn sure that this girl was Miriel, the missing daughter of the Steward of Gondor.

That confirmation brought about a new dilemma for Aragorn. His whole adult life had been devoted to reclaiming the kingship of both Gondor and Arnor, to reunite the two kingdoms of old. Knowing Denethor as he did, he was well aware that the Steward would not be so willing to relinquish his lordship over Gondor. However, if Aragorn were to return Denethor�s only daughter to him, then perhaps the Steward would view things differently. While nothing had come easy for the son of Arathorn, he had to carefully consider this possibility. If it could help him ascend to the throne, then he should not so easily dismiss this notion. Miriel could most definitely be the key he had been waiting for...