Sad Wings of Destiny

�Let me by,� muttered Halbarad, brushing pass Miriel as he entered the cottage.

Not knowing the floor plan of the place, the Slayer remained where she was, waiting until her Watcher could provide some light. The straps of her bags were already beginning to dig uncomfortably into her shoulder, so she slid them down her arm and onto the floor.

A minute later, the soft glow from an oil lamp illuminated a small portion of the sitting room. With most of the room still in shadow, Miriel could not really see much.

�Shut the door, will you?� asked Halbarad, carefully carrying a flaming stick to yet another lamp.

An obedient Miriel closed the door, suddenly feeling as if she had been locked in Barad-d�r itself. Oh, Miriel what have you done? asked that little voice in the back of her mind. You should never have agreed to come here!

The dank chill of the room was beginning to consume her, causing her teeth to chatter. With the room now bathed in more light, Miriel�s eyes did a quick scan of the small space. The main area was one room with wood columns dividing the sitting room from the much smaller kitchen.

Her eyes were drawn to the fireplace along the wall opposite from where she stood. The entire face of the wall was rock (similar to the ones used in the construction of the homes in Bree) and the actual opening looked overly large for such a small amount of living space. A stack of neatly piled wood lay on the hearth. She immediately began sending subliminal messages to Halbarad to put that wood to use and start a fire.

�Come in, come in,� said Halbarad, who, perhaps hearing her telepathic demand for a fire, stepped over to the fireplace and began to arrange logs on the grate.

Miriel took a couple of steps forward, deeper into the room. Placed parallel before the fireplace was the seating area. Across from the dark green sofa were two wooden back chairs. There were two small round tables, one between the two chairs, and the other at the end of the couch, nearest to her. A lit oil lamp sat on the closest table.

To her left was the kitchen, though there wasn�t much to it. Unlike Elrond�s house, there was hardly any counter or cabinet space. There was a stove, sink, and a table with two chairs. That was it. The white plaster walls throughout the main living area were devoid of ornamentation, except in the nearby corner (by the front door), where a spider had woven a web some time before.

Just beyond the kitchen, along the left wall was a single door that was closed. Miriel assumed that it probably led to Halbarad�s bedchamber. From what she could see there were no other doors.

A thought then occurred to her. Where am I to sleep? she asked herself. Surely, knowing Halbarad as she did, he wasn�t about to give up his bed for her. Maybe there�s a corridor to different rooms beyond that door, she thought hopefully.

The sound of crinkling paper diverted her attention back to her Watcher. Waiting for Halbarad to engage her in conversation, Miriel�s gaze shifted to the exposed beams overhead. If not for the high ceilings, the space would�ve seemed cramped.

As soon as the fire crackled to life, the Slayer wandered over to the fireplace, eager to feel its warmth. She sat on the floor beside Halbarad, stretching her cold hands closer toward the heat source.

�Cold?� he asked.

�Yes. It�s freezing in here,� she answered, her teeth still chattering away.

�Well, it has been many months since I�ve been home,� Halbarad replied. �It won�t take long for the place to warm up.�

Feeling slightly apprehensive, Miriel had to ask, �Is there any chance of my having a hot bath tonight?�

The Watcher responded with a heavy sigh.

�I only ask because I�m covered in troll blood and guts, as you so kindly reminded me of while we were in Bree.� She quickly followed that up with, �I don�t want to be a burden, but� � Her words trailed off. Was she being too demanding?

�I have no running water in the house,� admitted Halbarad. �We have a community well in the heart of the village.�

�Oh,� said the Slayer disappointedly. She remained quiet for a few minutes. �Do you have a bucket? I don�t mind getting the water.� Miriel really wanted to bathe. If that meant she�d have to haul the water herself, then so be it.

Without replying, Halbarad jumped to his feet and went to the kitchen. She could hear him fumbling with something, but didn�t look to see with what. She then heard the front door open and close. He had left. Was he possibly getting the requested bath water?

She remained before the fire, waiting for her Watcher�s return. Slowly, the time ticked away, so much so that Miriel thought that perhaps Halbarad had taken off, abandoning her in his little cottage, in a foreign land far from Rivendell. That made her wonder � could she even find her way back to the elven kingdom, on her own?

Nearly an hour passed before she heard the front door open again. This time, she looked over her shoulder. Halbarad came in carrying a lantern in one hand and a covered pot in the other. Tucked between his arm and body was a bundle wrapped in burgundy cloth. He placed all the items on the kitchen table.

�I�ve brought some supper, Miriel,� he finally announced.

The Slayer didn�t need to be told twice. She clambered to her feet and made her way over to the kitchen table. Halbarad grabbed a couple of bowls, spoons and a ladle from the cupboard.

�Sit,� he ordered upon his return to the table.

Miriel did as she was told. �Where did you get this?� she asked, her mouth beginning to water at the thought of eating something other than lembas.

�A friend,� was his only reply. The Watcher removed the lid from the pot and began to ladle steamy soup into each bowl. �No one, and I mean no one can know that you�re the Slayer.� He paused, taking a deep breath. �People in the village like to talk, gossip, so after giving it a lot of thought, I have created a back story for you.�

�Oh,� she answered, raising a skeptical brow when she heard that.

�If anyone asks, you�re my cousin, visiting from the south,� he revealed. �You�re kin to me on my mother�s side.�

�Is your mother still alive?�

�No.�

�Is she from the south?�

�No.�

With their bowls now filled, Halbarad pulled out the chair across from Miriel and sat down. She stared at him with a bewildered expression on her face as he dove into his soup. For one who supposedly had concocted a back story for her, he sure wasn�t forthcoming with much information. What if she ran into one of the neighbors and they questioned her? How could she possibly answer them when she knows so little of this man seated before her?

�I think you�re going to have to tell me more than that,� she said. �Suppose I�m questioned in detail about aspects of our family, what am I to say? I don�t even know your mother�s name, or where she hails from.�

Halbarad looked up from his bowl, locking eyes on Miriel. �You complained that you were hungry - now eat.�

The Slayer glared incredulously at her Watcher for several seconds before shaking her head and turning her attention to her supper. Maybe Halbarad will be more talkative once he�s eaten, she told herself.

She watched the Ranger as they ate, looking for any similar features that they both possessed. She had never really looked at him before. His unpleasant personality, (which had always managed to shine through), had played a part in that, she supposed. But now, as she studied him more closely, she could see that they could pass for kin. He had the same dark hair as she, and the eyes � both were grey, like many of their kinsmen. Another feature they shared was their fair skin. If she had to guess, she�d say he was probably about Boromir�s age � twenty-seven, twenty-eight. He was tall and well built. Once again, very much like Boromir.

However, his constant slurping reminded her of qualities they didn�t have in common. Manners, for one. Halbarad also had a temper and was cold, to her anyway. On the other hand, he did seem to show genuine concern when she had gotten injured, so maybe there was hope for him just yet.

The Watcher then unwrapped the bundle on the table, revealing half a loaf of bread. He pulled off a hunk and then slid the remainder toward her. �Have some,� he said, dunking his piece into his broth.

Though her fingers were dirty, Miriel pulled off some bread for herself. It would�ve been nice if she could�ve cleaned up before eating, but, right now, she was grateful to have decent food.

�Are you ever going to tell me anything about you?� she finally asked.

Surprisingly, an impish grin came to the Ranger�s face. �What do you want to know?�

Miriel�s jaw dropped. Was Halbarad playing games? Had she not already asked about his mother, their �link� in kinship? She snapped her mouth closed and set her spoon inside her bowl with a dull clank. �Will you actually answer my questions?�

�That depends on the questions,� he responded, noisily sipping the broth from his spoon.

�Alright then,� she said, leaning back in her chair and protectively cradling her injured arm. �Tell me about your mother, since she is supposed to be our common relation. What was her name? Where was she from? How many children did she have? When did she pass on?�

Halbarad looked at her for maybe half a second before he answered, �Next.�

Exasperated by his unwillingness to cooperate, she narrowed her eyes. �Next?� she repeated. �What is so wrong with the questions I�ve asked? How can I be expected to know anything about our so called familial bond if you refuse to tell me?�

�Next,� he said once again, the tone of his voice much firmer.

�Forget it,� she snapped in reply, deciding that she was in no mood for Halbarad�s mind games. She turned her attention back to her supper, doing her best to ignore he-who-was-seated-across-from-her. While she ate, her thoughts drifted to her Watcher�s mother. The only thing she knew for sure was that she had died, just like her own mother. However, if they were to present some ruse to the people of Archet, Miriel needed to know more, a lot more.

They finished their supper in silence, something to which the Slayer had become accustomed. Once again, her thoughts turned to bathing.

�Do you have a bucket somewhere around here?� she asked, looking around at the visible nooks and crannies of the room for something suitable to carry water from the well.

�Your bath will have to wait until tomorrow,� answered her Watcher in a stern voice. �It�s dark, and the cottage is far too cold for one to bathe in this evening. I don�t need you sick on top of everything else.� Halbarad considered the matter closed. The legs of his chair scraped against the floor as he rose from his seat. He collected their dirty dishes and placed them in the sink. He would leave the washing until tomorrow.

After clearing the table, and without saying a word, he disappeared through the door to the left of the kitchen, leaving Miriel alone, again. She sat in her chair for a few more minutes, expecting Halbarad to return, but he never did. Annoyed, she left the table, grumbling her discontent, and plopped down in front of the fire. She tried to convince herself that things weren�t that bad. She had eaten a hot meal and would be warm for the night. She supposed that was something to be thankful for.

With her blades awkwardly jutting from her sides, she struggled to undo her belts with one hand. She then placed the scabbards on the floor beside her, keeping them close should she need them. As the evening turned to night, she tended the fire when needed, delighted by the warmth that was engulfing the room.

When a couple of hours had passed, and Halbarad still hadn�t emerged from behind the door, she assumed she wouldn�t see him for the rest of the night. She had gone over to the kitchen and retrieved her bags, wanting to keep them close to her. Having no other choice, she pulled out her blanket and laid it on the floor. She�d use that as her makeshift bed. Lying down, she wrapped her cloak around her, waiting for sleep to take her. Eventually, the popping and crackling of the fire lulled her to sleep�



�This place ain�t so bad,� observed Buffy, her eyes doing a quick survey of the cottage�s interior. �It�s furnished on the sparse side and could definitely use a woman�s touch,� she remarked, running her index finger through a thick layer of dust that covered the nearest little table. �And a good cleaning. But, hey, it sure beats sleeping outside in the cold, right?�

Seated on the floor before the fire, Miriel replied, �I suppose,� with a heavy sigh.

Wiping her finger on her leather pant leg, the elder Slayer turned her attention to her prot�g�. �What�s wrong? Is it your arm?� she asked, as she curled up on the sofa.

Miriel shrugged. �I feel that I have made a terrible error by coming here. I cannot quite explain it, or put it into words.� She glanced around the room. �I feel like I�ve been imprisoned, that things are going to go ill for me.�

�That�s crazy talk,� declared Buffy, pulling her legs to her chest and loosely wrapping her arms around her leather-clad limbs. �You�re not a prisoner. You can leave any time you want. The door�s right there, sweetie.� She motioned toward the front door with her head.

Miriel looked glumly at the door bathed in shadow. �I�m useless,� she replied. �How can I survive in the wilds with my dominant arm in a sling? I�m not capable of battling much of anything in this state.�

Buffy fixed her gaze on Miriel, knowing how badly it sucked when one was incapacitated, especially when that one is a Slayer. �Listen, Miriel, I know Hal is� a dick, but I really don�t think he�d harm you in any way. You�re a Slayer, and Slayers heal fast. Maybe in a week or so, you�ll be back to normal.�

�You think so?� asked the young Slayer hopefully.

�Absolutely. Don�t worry about it. Just be glad you�ve got a roof over your head. You�ve been through worse, ya know.�

�I suppose,� answered Miriel, still feeling down.

�The question is,� said Buffy, suddenly rising to her feet and rubbing her hands together excitedly, �What�s Halbarad hiding?�

Even in the dim light, the younger Slayer could see a mischievous glint in her mentor�s eyes. Cocking her head, she raised a brow, asking, �What do you mean?� Her tone was riddled with suspicion.

�Oh, come on, Miriel � look around you,� replied Buffy with a wave of her hand. �There�s hardly anything in this room. No books, scrolls, whatever. If Halbarad�s the head honcho of the Watcher�s Council, he�s gotta have books, and weapons and stuff.� She turned, locking her eyes on the door by the kitchen. �I bet it�s behind door number one.� She started toward the door.

Miriel leapt to her feet, chasing after her mentor. �We can�t go in there!�

�Sure, we can.�

�But, what if he�s in there?� queried Miriel nervously.

Buffy stopped and faced the much taller Slayer. �No one comes into our little dream-thingies � �

� � That�s not true,� interjected Miriel with a shake of her head. �That cloaked figure, at the Bronze that time. The one who sent you flying across the room with an invisible blow! The Dark Lord! Remember?�

�That only happened once,� said Buffy dismissively. �Besides, your Watcher�s human. A mortal man. He doesn�t have any powers.�

�But it would be an invasion of his privacy. I have no business entering his� bedchamber, nor do I desire to.�

�You wanna learn about him, don�t you? The answers to all your questions lie behind that door.� Buffy paused, wanting her comments to sink in with her prot�g�. She knew that her words were having their desired effect, as Miriel was now biting her lower lip and staring at the door in question. �We can read his diaries,� suggested the elder Slayer. �Every Watcher keeps a diary. They write down everything. I�ll put money on it that Halbarad�s got diaries from long ago too. Think about that, Miriel. Can you imagine reading about your predecessors, how valuable that information could be?�

�But, but, it would be wrong,� protested the younger Slayer. Though a part of her was rather eager to invade Halbarad�s private space, deep down, she just felt that it was wrong, no matter what kind of information she could glean. If the shoe were on the other foot (so to speak), Miriel sure wouldn�t want anyone invading her space, or reading her most private thoughts.

Seeing the signs that her prot�g� was beginning to waver, Buffy quickly continued, �He�s written about you, you know. All Watchers write about their Slayers. You can see what he really thinks of you.�

�Pfft,� sounded the young Slayer, rolling her eyes. �He hates me. That much I know.�

�Maybe it�s all an act,� said Buffy, tossing out that possibility. �Maybe he�s pretending to hate you.�

Miriel snickered. �No, he definitely hates me. And I�d rather not incur his wrath by sneaking into his bedchamber, especially when I�m at his mercy!� With her mind made up, she spun around and returned to the fire.

Buffy�s eyes followed Miriel until the girl sat back down in front of the fireplace. She then shifted her gaze back to the door, wondering if she should go in by herself. With a sigh of defeat, she decided that she�d wait. There would be no fun discovering Halbarad�s secrets on her own. It would be a much more enjoyable experience if Miriel were at her side.

There was time, still. Her prot�g� wasn�t going anywhere anytime soon. Eventually, boredom would compel Miriel to sneak into Halbarad�s room. Buffy was sure of it. All she had to do was give it a few more days. Smiling inside, she returned to the sofa, suppressing her own curiosity to learn more about Miriel�s Watcher, for now�



Miriel awoke early the next morning. The fire had burned down to a few glowing embers and the room was pitch-dark and considerably cooler than when she had fallen asleep. Shuddering, she pulled herself upright, debating what she should do first - restart the fire or pee. She gave herself a minute or two to completely wake, then decided that she�d get the fire going first.

Several minutes later, flames began to lick away at the dry wood, gradually illuminating the immediate area surrounding the hearth. The Slayer climbed to her feet, the stiffness in her joints popping as she rose. Turning, she looked into the darkness of the cottage, wondering if the lamps had burned out of oil or if Halbarad had turned them off sometime during the night.

She grabbed the nearest lamp off the table, examining the glass basin for any oil. She was in luck - it was half full. Carrying the lamp back to the fireplace, she lit the wick so that she�d have some light to search the cottage. Her need to pee was becoming dire. She quietly strolled over to Halbarad�s bedchamber door, pressed her ear against the wood and listened for any sounds on the other side. All was quiet. Should she wake him, informing her Watcher of her predicament? No. She decided it was best to let him sleep.

Instead, she began her search for a chamber pot or some other container suitable for relieving her bladder. The only thing she could find was the soup pot from the night before. Since there was no way she�d ever pee in a receptacle for food, she concluded that she had no other choice but to pee outside. Having only one hand to work with, she set the lamp on the kitchen table, adjusting the wick so that it gave off more light. She went over to the front door, and noticed that it had been locked. Carefully, she unbolted the door. The loud click seemed to echo within the cottage, causing Miriel to pause. She hoped to Eru that the noise hadn�t awakened her Watcher. After a few moments, she opened the door and slipped outside.

The frigid cold of early morning greeted her. She quickly closed the door, trying to be as quiet as possible. Needing a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, she pulled her cloak tighter around her, her teeth beginning to chatter from the sudden coldness.

No one in the village appeared to be awake at that hour, whatever time it was. Darkness blanketed the entire region, and a smattering of stars faintly glimmered above. Miriel�s eyes shifted to the nearby woods. Since she wasn�t about to pee on Halbarad�s doorstep, she decided that the woods would be the best place to go. With her teeth chattering nonstop, she hastily made her way to the trees, begging her bladder not to empty with each step.

No words could describe the relief Miriel felt when she finally peed. With that obstacle out of the way, she gave thought to exploring the village in the darkness. But, as she stepped out of the woods and felt that icy chill in the air, she decided to return to the warmth of the cottage and wait for daylight.

Creeping back inside, she returned to the fire, which was now burning brightly. As she sat there, basking in the fire�s warmth, she wondered what time it was and what she could do until morning. With no other option available to her, she remained seated before the fire, thinking. Her thoughts drifted to her earlier conversation with Buffy about Halbarad and his diaries. At that moment, she would�ve given just about anything to be able to read them.

Miriel soon became drowsy. She lay back down and eventually drifted off to sleep. She didn�t wake again until Halbarad came stomping out of his room at first light. Wanting to keep things amicable between her and her Watcher, she was about to offer him a proper morning greeting, but he disappeared out the front door before she got the chance. Feeling fully rested and wide-awake, Miriel got up, rolled up her blanket and shoved it back into her bag.

About fifteen minutes later, she heard a dull banging on the front door. She ran over and swung it open. A burst of cold morning air came rushing inside. There stood Halbarad, carrying a bucket of water in each hand. She stepped back, allowing him entry.

�Get the other door, will you?� he asked, heading toward the closed door off the kitchen.

After closing the front door, the Slayer sprang to the other one, opening it for her Watcher. She had been right. Halbarad�s bedchamber was on the other side. The water sloshed around in the buckets as he went over to the large fireplace (similar to the one in the other room), where a low fire was burning. The bail of a large cast iron cauldron hung from a hook within the fireplace.

�Do you need help?� she asked, having followed Halbarad into the room.

�Put one of those gloves on,� he said, nudging his head toward a stool beside the hearth where two thick mitts sat. �Tilt the cauldron forward, so I can empty these into them,� he instructed.

Miriel slid her good hand into one of the gloves and tilted the pot forward so Halbarad could begin filling it. �Do you want me to help you carry water from the well?�

�Nay, too many people are there,� he replied. �I don�t want you interacting with anyone until we have our story straight.�

�When will that be?� she asked, somewhat eager to talk with other people.

�I don�t know,� he answered, emptying the second bucket. �Just wait here.� Halbarad then picked up the other vessel and left the room.

Miriel remained by the fire in her Watcher�s bedroom. When she heard the front door slam shut, she turned, inspecting the room with curious eyes. Buffy�s assertion that Halbarad�s room would be filled with a treasure-trove of items proved to be false. His bedroom was nearly barren, just like the rest of the cottage.

An unmade bed was set against the northern wall, flanked on either side by nightstands, one with a lamp. His sword, nestled in its scabbard, rested in the corner by the windows. The only other piece of furniture was a wardrobe, which sat against the wall by the door. A thick, faded green rug with frayed edges lay on the empty space of the wooden floor between the bed and another door. Miriel�s heart began to race, thinking that that door must lead to a chamber laden with Watcher paraphernalia from throughout the ages.

Before daring to peek into the adjoining room, she listened intently for any sign of Halbarad�s return. Hearing nothing, she crept across the rug toward the door. Placing her hand on the handle, she paused, listening again for her Watcher. When she heard no noise from the other room, she turned the knob and pushed the door open. She peeped inside, disappointed to see that the room was merely a bathing chamber.

Shaking her head, she closed the door, thinking how wrong Buffy was about hidden Watcher artifacts. Finding herself highly uncomfortable in Halbarad�s bedchamber, she quickly left, returning to the main area of the cottage.



It took many trips to the well to fill the cauldron inside the cottage. When the water had become hot enough, Halbarad and Miriel began the tedious task of filling the tub in the bathing chamber.

Once the tub had been filled with an adequate amount of water, Miriel came to realize that she was in an awful predicament. How was she to remove her sweater with her broken arm in a sling? Her dilemma did not go unnoticed by her Watcher.

�We�ll need to take this off,� he said, sitting the Slayer on the edge of the tub. He undid the knot of the sling behind her neck and set the cloth aside. �After your bath, we�ll redress this properly,� he continued, carefully pulling the sleeve of her sweater up her arm. As Halbarad unrolled the bandages, the sticks that had acted as a brace fell to the floor with a clatter. The wood had left indentations on Miriel�s skin, but thankfully, no splinters. She winced as Halbarad inspected her arm. It was still slightly swollen and badly bruised.

�I would�ve thought it would have healed more by now,� he remarked dismally.

�So much for super Slayer healing powers, eh?� she replied, attempting to keep the mood light.

�Yes, I suppose,� Halbarad answered. �Can you manage on your own from here on out?�

�I think so.� She rose from the edge of the tub and started toward the door.

�Where are you going?� asked the baffled Watcher.

�To get my bag. I need clean clothes, and want to use the perfumed soap that Arwen gave me.�

Halbarad rolled his eyes and followed Miriel out of the room. While she went to retrieve her bag, he went to his wardrobe and grabbed a couple of towels and washcloths. Before she returned, he placed one of the towels on the floor to soak up the water when she exited the tub. He laid the rest on the table by the washbasin.

When Miriel returned with her bag, she shooed Halbarad out of the room and closed the door behind him. She then began to disrobe, starting with her boots, which, out of habit, she had continued to wear, even to sleep. She didn�t run into any problems until she tried to remove her sweater. She let out a cry as she struggled to free her injured arm from the sleeve.

�You alright in there?� inquired Halbarad from the other side of the door.

�I�m having a hard time getting my arm out of the sleeve,� she said breathlessly. Her arm was beginning to throb painfully.

�Here, let me help you,� suggested the Watcher, starting to turn the knob of the door.

�Don�t you dare!� she roared, leaping toward the door. Her good hand shot out and grabbed the handle, preventing him from entering. �I�m naked from the waist down!�

�You have nothing I haven�t seen before,� Halbarad said with a snort.

�I don�t care! Go away!� Her hand remained firmly on the knob until she felt her Watcher release his grip on the other side. When she heard his footsteps moving away, she let go and carefully finished disrobing.

Once undressed, and with her arm hurting badly, she dug through her bag, pulling out clean garments and the bag of toiletries given to her by Arwen. She used her teeth to uncork a bottle of bath oil. Instantly, the scent of gardenias escaped the lip of the bottle. She poured some of the liquid into the steamy bathwater. The sweet fragrance swiftly filled the chamber. Miriel grabbed her bar of soap and the washcloths that Halbarad had set out for her before stepping into the tub.

The water was very hot, too hot for her to submerge her entire body at one time. She put one leg in until she got used to the temperature, then the other. Gradually, she lowered her body into the water, relaxing for a bit before she turned her attention to actually washing the grime from her skin.

When her body had become acclimated to the hot water, she dunked her head beneath the surface, eager to wash away the troll guts and blood that were caked to her hair. Unfortunately, having gone days without running a brush through her locks, her hair had become matted as well. And with only one good arm, she found it nearly impossible to effectively wash her hair clean.

She somehow kept bumping her arm against the wall of the tub, or moving it just so, so that jolts of pain shot up the appendage. She feared that she was making her injury worse.

Her muted whimpering brought Halbarad back to the door. He knocked. �You alright in there?� he asked, his tone riddled with concern.

�No,� she whined, as another jolt of pain shot through her arm.

�Are you ready for me to help?�

Miriel paused. She was naked and the thought of her Watcher seeing her that way was not appealing. But her struggle to get her hair clean by herself was proving to be more difficult than she had thought. She grabbed both wash clothes and stretched them over her chest, trying to hide as much of her nakedness as she could, as well as the hideous scar that would remain forever etched in her flesh. When she had covered much of her torso with the cloths, she pulled her knees to her chest to further hide her bosoms.

When Halbarad heard no response, he said, �I�m coming in,� before pushing the door open and stepping into the room.

Miriel�s eyes shot down to her body once more, making sure that none of her cloths had moved out of place. When she saw that she was still covered, she turned her gaze to Halbarad. She was about to inform him of her dilemma when she noticed a strange look on her Watcher�s face. It wasn�t his usual grim expression, but one that she would describe as wistful, as if by entering the room, he was reminded of some fair memory.

�Hal?� she asked, surprised by his demeanor.

�Gardenias,� he uttered softly, still in some weird trance-like state.

�Yeah, what of it?�

Halbarad then came back to his senses with a shake of his head. �What�s the problem, Miriel?�

Seeing that he was back to his normal self, she replied, �I�m unable to wash my hair. It�s all matted, and my arm keeps moving or striking the side of the tub when I try.�

The Watcher stepped over to the tub. His tried to run his fingers through her hair to see how severe the knots were.

�Ow!� she cried out as his actions caused her head to jerk forward.

�Mmm, I see what you mean.� He turned and exited the room. He returned only a few moments later, carrying the little stool that had been by the fireplace and a thick-toothed comb. He placed the stood next to the tub and began to comb out the knots in Miriel�s hair.

For some reason, the Slayer couldn�t help but think of Aragorn�s words before they departed, about how she and Halbarad needed to learn to trust one another. And here they were. Day one in her Watcher�s home, and Miriel was sitting in the tub, naked, while Halbarad combed out the knots in her hair. She would never have thought any thing like that would ever happen.

In some respects, she trusted him. No, she took that back. She did trust him. If there was one thing she felt certain of, it was that Halbarad was of upstanding character. He wouldn�t harm her, intentionally, she believed. It just seemed that, for whatever reason, their personalities clashed. That happens sometimes.

Miriel�s thoughts then drifted back to Halbarad�s expression when he had entered the bathing chamber, and his comment about gardenias. What was it about that scent that had softened his mood, if only for a moment or two?

With her curiosity aroused, she said, �Can I ask you something?�

�Yes,� he answered, as he worked on a particularly nasty knot.

�What is it about the smell of gardenias that moved you so?� She studied him intently. However, his response did not come in words, but rather in actions. Scowling, he tugged on the comb too hard, which pulled her hair at the scalp. She knew that was his way of telling her to drop the subject. She did.

They didn�t speak much after that. Despite the friction between them, Halbarad did work out all the knots and washed all the filth from her hair. She was grateful for that. She was even more grateful to slip into clean garments: a thick grey wool turtleneck sweater and black breeches, courtesy of Glorfindel.

After she had dressed, she went back to the main room of the cottage, where Halbarad waited to reset her arm. As soon as he had finished, he retreated to his bedroom, leaving a now famished Miriel alone. She had no idea that her Watcher had decided to bathe too and had climbed into the tub, washing in Miriel�s old bathwater.

In the meantime, the Slayer threw a couple more logs on the fire to keep the blaze going. She was bored, hungry and restless. Having spent the past few days on horseback, her limbs felt stiff. She was eager to walk it off by exploring the village, cold weather be damned!

However, she knew that if she left the cottage without Halbarad�s permission, she�d be in deep trouble. And after he had spent half an hour on her hair, she wasn�t about to do that. Instead, she paced the room, finding herself unable to sit still.

By the time Halbarad emerged from his bedroom, the orangey glow of the morning sun shone through the frost-covered windowpanes. The Ranger�s shoulder length, dark hair was still wet and he was now dressed in clean clothes as well, indicating that he had also bathed. He was in the process of putting on his worn, fur-lined green cloak.

�Hungry?� he asked, seemingly in better spirits.

�Starved,� Miriel answered.

�I�ll be back in a few minutes. Wait here.� He then left out the front door.

Miriel was so hoping that she�d be able to go along with Halbarad and was disappointed when she was left behind, again. For the love of Eru, they had better get their story straight, or she�d go out on her own, and make one up on the spot if questioned by one of the villagers!

Not long afterwards, Halbarad returned carrying a wicker basket laden with goodies. There was bread, butter, blackberry jam, a slab of bacon and half a dozen eggs. Miriel�s mouth watered just looking at the food. It was food fit for a king!

Together, she and Halbarad prepared their breakfast, and the food was even more delicious than she had expected. When they had finished eating, the Ranger brought some water from the cauldron and filled up the sink. Miriel, wanting to do her part, offered to wash the dishes, but found that that was no easy task. In the end, her Watcher washed the cooking utensils and she dried them.

With the kitchen cleaned and everything put up, Halbarad decided it was time to reveal some of their back story. They moved over to the sitting area by the fire. The Watcher settled on one of the chairs, crossed his legs, and began to puff away on his pipe. An attentive Miriel sat across from him on the couch, eager to hear whatever story he had concocted.

The first thing he said was, �I feel that it�s unsafe for you to go by your true name.�

�What? Why?� she asked, shocked by his remark.

�It has not been that long ago when men from Gondor came to Bree-land, searching for the Steward�s daughter, and offering a handsome reward for her return,� he began. �Chances are that none would dare make the journey to Minas Tirith to collect the promised reward, but one can never be too sure. Not everyone in these parts can be trusted. There are a few that I deem opportunists, and would do just about anything for money.�

A dismayed Miriel shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. She couldn�t easily dismiss Halbarad�s comments since she had experienced a similar instance with Gunnulf months earlier. If the Beorning had not had a change of heart, Miriel would probably be in Minas Tirith right now, subjected to the abuse of Denethor. She couldn�t help but shudder at the thought.

�I had spoken in depth with Aragorn and the sons of Elrond about this, before we left for Archet, and all agreed we should give you an alias,� he continued.

The Slayer�s eyebrows darted upward, wondering what name the men had chosen for her. Obviously, it wouldn�t be Dagnir, which they sometimes called her.

�Glossien,� he revealed.

�Glossien?� she repeated with a laugh.

The Watcher gave her a rare smile. �Elladan wanted to call you Loss Faen.�

�Why Snow White?� she asked in her amusement.

�Because the Elf Lord so enjoyed your tale,� replied Halbarad. �But Aragorn thought it best to choose a variant of the name - Glossien.� He leaned forward in his chair, the smile widening on his face. �We can only hope that that name brings you luck and that you too will have a happy ending like the maiden in the story.�

Miriel no longer smiled. Her thoughts drifted from the tale she had told in Rivendell and to the similarities in her own past. �I have been poisoned before,� she uttered, speaking her thought aloud.

�What? What was that?� queried the Watcher, placing both feet firmly on the floor and looking at Miriel with a grave expression on his face. Had he heard her correctly?

The Slayer refused to meet the Ranger�s gaze. She shifted her own eyes to the fire. �It�s nothing,� she said glumly.

Still alarmed to hear such news, Halbarad bombarded her with questions. �When were you poisoned? And by whom? Why was I not told about this?�

Miriel could have kicked herself for having spoken her thoughts aloud. She could feel the intensity of her Watcher�s eyes upon her, as the blood drained from her face. She feared that he would not drop this topic unless she offered him some type of explanation. That was something she wasn�t ready to do. Not yet. Not with Halbarad, or anyone else for that matter.

Taking a deep breath, she turned and faced her Watcher once again. �I don�t want to talk about it,� she said, her voice cracking as she spoke. Don�t cry! Don�t cry! Don�t cry! she repeated to herself, as she felt her eyes welling with tears. She swiftly turned her gaze away, choking back her tears.

Halbarad continued to stare at Miriel with his lips slightly parted. In that instant, his heart was moved to pity for his Charge. In that moment, when their eyes met, he caught a glimpse of great sorrow and pain lying beneath the surface. Why hadn�t he seen that before? Was he such an awful Watcher that he could not perceive Miriel�s underlying anguish? He pressed his lips tightly together, pondering their strained relationship. She needed him, he thought, as much as he needed her.

He placed his hand on her knee. �I�m here for you, Miriel,� he said. �If you ever need to talk - about anything, I�m here for you.� And he meant it too.

The Slayer faced her Watcher once again. �Thanks, Hal,� she said faintly. She offered him a grateful smile, then cleared her throat. �Can we get back to the story then?� she asked, pushing all gloomy memories from her mind. �I think I�ll go mad if I�m locked in this cottage much longer.�

Halbarad withdrew his hand, nodding his head as he took a deep draw on his pipe. �Where was I?�

�Well, you had told me of my new name, the name I�m to go by - �

Not wanting the name Glossien to be a reminder of some past torment, the Ranger interjected with, � - If that name troubles you, we can come up with something else.�

�It�s alright,� she answered. �I�ve gone by several names since I left Minas Tirith. There�s nothing wrong with the name Glossien.�

�You sure?� he queried skeptically.

Miriel nodded. Folding her legs beneath her bottom, she urged Halbarad to continue.

He then got to the gist of the story he had devised. Miriel was the daughter of his sister, Melbeneth, who dwelled in the Southlands.

�The whereabouts,� he had said, �is unimportant, for those that dwell in Bree-land are not very familiar with and care very little about the lands outside their own region.�

She learned that those in Bree-land identified themselves differently than those in the more �civilized� areas of Middle-earth. Whereas the Elves, Men descended from the Three Noble Houses, and even Dwarves identified themselves by naming their father (Miriel�s �father�s� name was Berior, by the way), the people in the northern parts of Beleriand had a tradition of giving themselves what was called a �surname�. He used Bilbo Baggins as an example of that, telling her that the Hobbits were weaning themselves from identifying with their father�s names. That same custom applied to those in Bree-land.

�Would I not be better off to go by the name Loss Faen?� she asked, finding the whole naming business rather odd. �Wouldn�t I fit in better if I were to follow their traditions?�

�Nay, I�ve already told people that you�re from the south where people follow different customs than those up in these parts. Only take the name Loss Faen if it�s your heart�s desire.� He chuckled under his breath. �Elvish names are uncommon here - no matter what name you go by, it�ll sound queer to the ears of Bree-landers.�

Miriel shrugged, but was eager to hear more. Though she found the customs of those that dwelled in the northern part of Eriador vastly different from her own, she wanted to know more about her connection with Halbarad.

�What is the reason for my visit?� she inquired. �What shall I say, if any question me about that?�

�The wars in the south brought you here,� he answered without hesitation. �My sister and her husband - fearing for your safety, sent you here.�

�You mean these people know of ours wars with Mordor?� she asked, somewhat surprised.

�Rumor of it has reached here,� Halbarad replied. �Two major highways intersect near these parts, and many a weary traveler stop at the inn in Bree, for food and rest. The Bree-landers are always eager to hear news from afar.� He scowled, adding, �If not for us Rangers, they would know no peace. It is by our valor and strength alone that war has not spilled over their borders. Yet they are thankless and look unkindly upon us, calling us ruffians and other names of that sort.�

�Then why protect them?� she asked out of curiosity. �If they are so ungrateful, let them taste war firsthand. Eru knows, Gondor has seen her share of battles and the people are most certainly grateful and appreciative of our strength in arms!�

Halbarad eased back in his chair, studying Miriel with his thoughtful grey eyes. �I�m rather surprised to hear you say such a thing, Miriel, particularly knowing that you�re the Slayer. Could you sit idly by, watching the weak and feeble come under attack by creatures far greater than they?�

Miriel was overcome with shame, so much so that her cheeks were quickly turning pink. �No, I suppose not,� she said glumly, her shoulders slumping forward.

�These lands were once part of our domain, of Arnor,� he continued. �Though our numbers may have dwindled, we continue to fight and protect the lands that were under the rule of the High King. One day, we will reclaim our kingdom, and Aragorn shall rule over both Arnor and Gondor, as Elendil had done long ago.�

The Slayer made no reply, but turned her gaze to the fire, thinking that she had once again offended Halbarad with her comments. They fell silent for a while. Miriel continued to stare at the flickering flames, while the Ranger kept his eyes locked on her, smoking his pipe.

�One last thing,� he finally said, breaking the silence that had fallen between them.

Miriel looked back at the Watcher.

He leaned forward in his seat. �No one, and I mean no one can ever know that you�re the Slayer.�

She was about to say that he had already told her that last night, but before she could, he continued.

�Do not speak of battles of any kind. Do not display any skill in weaponry. Do not let anyone witness your strength. As far as anybody�s concern, you�re a mere maiden, defenseless against the world.�

The Slayer snickered. She found his comments quite offensive, but decided it was best not to voice her opinion at that particular moment.

�Promise me, Miriel. It is so very important that none learn that you�re the Slayer. Things shall go ill for you otherwise. If the Enemy hears whispers of your existence, then he shall hunt you down.�

�I will say nothing to anyone,� she vowed. �But, alas, I�m afraid the Enemy already knows who I am.� Miriel locked eyes with her Watcher. �And the hunt has already begun.�