"Indeed," she murmured. Míril's bright blue-grey eyes peered into Frodo's gaze and searched his face. She then tore her gaze away and turned to her leader. "Any news from Mithrandir, Aragorn?"

He shook his head no, "None. It seems that some news must have reached him while I was away and unable to help. When I came back I rushed to find the hobbits."

"Excuse me, Strider, but who is this?" Sam interrupted, staring suspiciously at Míril.

"She is Míril Lôminzil, and she is a ranger, like I am," Aragorn explained.

Pippin cocked his head to the side, "Are you an elf?"

Míril laughed softlt and subconsciously her hand went to her ear, "No, not fully. I am part elf, however. My parents were killed when I was very young, and Aragorn's friend and respected ranger of the Dunedain, Halbarad, took us in as children. Me and my brother, that is." The look of sadness that passed over her face did not go unnoticed by any of her new companions, but no one pressed further.

"We should get some rest. I'll stay guard for the rest of the night," Aragorn announced.

"I won't fight you on this one," Míril nodded, brightening up slightly and shifting herself onto her back. She used the pack she'd brought along as a pillow and was asleep in no time, having walked since daybreak almost without stopping.

When morning dawned clear, the six companions made a quick breakfast before packing up. It was decided that Míril would journey with them until further notice. As they finished packing up, she stood staring off into the newly risen sun, the golden light warming her face. A peaceful expression relaxed into her features and she nodded as if to herself.

"It has been too long since I visited the Last Homely House of Lord Elrond in Rivendell," she commented wistfully.

"You've been to Rivendell?" Frodo asked, surprised.

Turning back to face him, Míril nodded. "I lived there for a few years, learning from the elves. Because I am half-elven, I wanted to learn about that side of my ancestory."

"One thing I don't quite understand is how you were able to catch us, if you really were a full day behind," Sam pondered aloud.

"My elf half allows me to work off less sleep. I can go longer periods of time without either sleep or food, so I walked straight through many of the nights."

They began the day's journey soon after this. The day remained as pleasant as the dawn. Aragorn took up the lead, asking Míril to act as rear guard. Frodo remained near to Aragorn for the majority of the day, except at one point where he dropped back to ask Míril a question.

"I've been wondering," he began hesitantly, "Since you have ancestors both mortal and immortal, which are you?"

"A fair question," she nodded, shaking some dead leaves off her foot as she walked, "In a sense, I am both. As far as I know, I will die a mortal's death. It is, however, true that I have aged slower than most men. Go on, guess my age." She flashed him a knowing smile.

Frodo was caught off guard by the question. He looked at her face and furrowed his brow in thought. "I'd say you were no older than 20," Frodo guessed eventually with a frown. In fact, that was one thing that had confused him. She looked much too young to be as practiced as she acted.

"A good guess. But I am, in fact, 39," she smiled.

Frodo looked at her in surprise, and then his gaze wandered to Strider. How old was he then?

Míril chuckled and leaned in to him. "Appearances are not always what they seem."

Frodo nodded absentmindedly as he made his way back up front. Míril was obviously much more experienced than he'd assumed. And what did that make Strider? As far as he knew, Strider had no elven blood, but Frodo wasn't entirely sure.

The journey went on with out much talk for many hours. The hobbits were still not conditioned like the Rangers for the kind of heavy trekking this called for, and were often out of breath. It was about half way through the day when the Weather Hills came into view. Ruined towers and crumbling walls could be seen on the hills and ridges, testaments to a time long past.

Pippin and Merry had many questions about the ruins. Aragorn and Míril did their best to answer them. Who had built them? Why had they built them? What were they for? They camped at the foot of the Weather Hills that evening.

"Tomorrow we should reach Weathertop. It is a high ruined tower that we can take shelter in. If Gandalf comes after us, or is before us, that is where he will head," Aragorn explained.

Míril nodded, "And the path to get there is well hidden and secret."

"And if Gandalf isn't there?" Frodo asked them.

Aragorn answered the hobbit quickly, "We will make for Rivendell."

The hobbits went to sleep soon enough, leaving Aragorn and Míril to watch. Their little fire had become little more than glowing embers, for they did not wish to attract unwanted attention, especially not here. The two rangers stoked the wood pile, and a few sparks went up from either side. The stars twinkled far above, lending them more comfort than a small fire ever could.

"Aragorn," Míril asked quietly in concern, "has there been news about the other five Nazgûl?"

"No." He frowned, retreating into himself for a moment. For he knew these enemies and they frightened him. But after a moment he continued. "I only know of four that crossed the River. But this doesn't mean the five have not."

"What are the odds that they have made for Weathertop?" Miril wasn't sure she wanted the answer.

Aragorn looked at her grimly, "Quite high. But we have little choice."

Míril nodded. She knew this, but it didn't put her any more at ease. She'd hoped Aragorn wouldn't confirm her fears. They sat in the dark, Aragorn smoking a pipe and Míril playing with her beryl pendant.

"Aragorn," she began some time later, breaking the silence. "I thought most of the wargs of the Misty Mountains and the Emyn Uial had been wiped out after the Battle of the Five Armies. I've been tracking these beasts for over a year, but this only just occured to me. Why are they here at all?"

Aragorn took the pipe out of his mouth and blew a smoke ring. Míril knew this as a sign that he was thinking carefully about this matter.

"Perhaps the Enemy simply wishes to extend his grasp again over the northern lands. Eradicate the Dunedain once and for all," he suggested. "The Enemy sees us as one of his greatest threats."

Míril nodded absentmindedly. Maybe that really was all it was. Just more of the same thing. In fact, what else could it be? She'd asked a stupid question. Yet she couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more.

"You need to rest, Aragorn. I'll take watch tonight."

He grudgingly agreed and soon Míril was left awake to guard the perilous company.

They headed along the path south the next morning. It was still rather early when they departed, but both of the big people deemed this necessary. The path they were on was cunningly hidden; where it would otherwise be left in the open, rocks lined the path that nonetheless blended in with the surroundings. Later in the morning, Sam treated them to a recitation of the Fall of Gil-galad. It wasn't until midday that they rested. The company found a shallow dell at the western foot of the hill.

"Frodo, Merry, come with me. We are going to scout the ruins," Aragorn announced.

"What shall we do!" Pippin shouted in dismay.

Míril laughed, "No worries, Pippin. We need to take a look around here for any sign of Gandalf!"

Aragorn shot her a look of gratitude before leading the two selected hobbits up the hill. Míril turned to Pippin and Sam.

"I'm going to take a look around here. Its possible Gandalf left a mark on the rock wall," she told them. She began to scan the face of the cliff that composed the back edge of the dell for signs of recent activity. The grey stone was full of marks, but none recent, at least none that she had found yet.

Pippin and Sam explored the rest of the dell. They found a stack of firewood and an old burnt out fire pit. Foot prints were all around it but the hobbits forgot to leave these and instead trampled the evidence.

"We've found something," Sam called to her.

Míril quickly jogged to where the two hobbits were and looked around at the camp site. "Obviously this was used recently. I can't imagine much more than a week ago. Were there any foot prints?" She bent over and looked at the wood and the ground around them.

"Some rather big ones yes, made with large, heavy boots," Sam described to her.

She considered this for a moment. Her train of thought was interrupted when the other three members of the party returned to the dell moments later.

"Any sign of Gandalf," Míril called over to them, her tone hopeful.

"Perhaps," Aragorn tossed a rock about the size of her palm to Míril, "Take a look at that."

"It almost looks like a G rune. G and then three marks," she mused, turning it over in her hand, "Maybe Gandalf was here on October the 3rd?"

In response Aragorn took it back with a nod. "That was our thought. Have you made progress here?"

"The hobbits found an old camp site." She gestured behind herself to where the evidence was located. "Firewood and a fire pit. The foot prints were trampled though."

"There's still no way to tell if it was indeed Gandalf! The marks could be messages intended for various Rangers. Its common for the Dunedain to leave such notices." The man looked around the dell in intense contemplation. Only Pippin interrupted him after a moment.

"But Aragorn, if it was Gandalf who left the rune, what would it mean," Pippin asked.

He sighed. "Most likely, it would mean that he was in danger and could not wait for us. And if that is so, we need to be extra careful."

"What should we do, Aragorn?" Frodo questioned him, the concern and fear evident in his wavering voice.

"Fire. Fire is our best friend against the Black Riders. They will come, I have little doubt," he made no mention to the others of his sightings from the Weathertop ruins of the black riders approaching.

They set to building a fire, using the extra wood that Pippin and Sam had found in the dell. To distract themselves from the dark, Aragorn recited for them the Song of Beren and Luthien. They sat around the fire with their backs to the blaze, peering out into the gloom. Míril listened, her mind wandering among the linden trees and listening to the singing nightingales that were conjured up by the sad tale.

Late into the night, a shadow blacker than natural night was seen moving at the top of the dell. No one cried out. It seemed almost as if they were struck dumb. It, or they, approached, and Merry and Pippin fell to the ground, cowering in fear. Sam cried out, noticing to his horror that Frodo had disappeared. At the same time, one of the shapes leaped forward and stabbed at thin air with a drawn knife. It wailed in pain, dropping the blade.

Aragorn and Míril grabbed torches and rushed the Nazgûl. They swung at them and fought them off. Míril stabbed at one with her torch, trying to catch it's cloak on fire. The Nazgûl drew a short knife and swung, catching Míril on the cheek. The force of the blow knocked her over where she struck the ground hard, and blood poured from her open cheek wound. She fell into a daze and missed the rest of the fight, struggling to remain conscious from blood loss and shock. Had she remained attentive, she would have realized that the Nazgûl had been aiming for her throat. Unlike how they approached the others, he had been trying to kill her.

Aragorn managed to force the other Nazgûl to flee with relative ease. This worried him, for he wondered why they gave up so easily. He had little time to dwell on it though, for Sam shouted again and Aragorn turned to find Frodo on the ground, clutching his left shoulder in pain. Aragorn ran to him and quickly undid his shirt to look at the wound. As he did so, he noticed the blade of a knife sitting next to Frodo. Aragorn picked it up, and as he did so the knife blade dissolved in mid air, leaving only the hilt.

Aragorn winced and tucked it inside one of his bags, wrapped in cloth. Then he began to inspect Frodo's wound more closely.

"Míril, we need athelas."

No answer.

"Míril?!"

Everyone glanced around, trying to locate the missing ranger. Merry and Pippin immediately began searching the ground for her. Aragorn wanted to help, but Frodo was his top priority, no matter how much he cared for his best friend's adopted daughter. But as he waited for news from the two hobbits, he couldn't help thinking about the day her brother had been killed.

"Come on! This way," Halbarad whispered, crouching forward.

Aragorn and Eldir followed closely. They had their bows drawn, arrows fitted on the string. A large stag was ahead, and it would feed the whole ranger camp if they killed it.

Halbarad signalled for them to stop when they reached the edge of a clearing. The stag was there, along with some does. Halbarad pulled back his bow.

Suddenly a crash reverberated through the forest. The deer fled in terror as two huge wargs jumped into the clearing. One had an orc rider. The three evil creatures turned on the three hunters and attacked with incredible ferocity.

The brute of the attack seemed to be on Eldir. Aragorn and Halbarad managed to kill the warg but before they realized what was happening, The orc rider had pinned Eldir down.

"This is what happens to a descendant of the Spirit of Fire. The Great Eye destroys its enemies!"

Even as Aragorn swung his sword into the creature, and Halbarad shot the orc, the warg's jaws clamped down on Eldir's chest and a great ripping noise was heard. Eldir's scream quickly died out, a gurgling sound replacing it as blood clogged his throat, before swiftly sinking into ominous silence. Halbarad shouted in horror and rage, firing an arrow straight into the orc's face. It knocked the creature down and killed it. Aragorn and Halbarad made short work of the warg, but not before the beast managed to claw Eldir's face.

Aragorn would never forget that moment. He remembered the orc's words as if they'd been spoken yesterday. Both he and Halbarad knew why Eldir had been killed- the orc's words confirmed it. But they'd never told Míril.

"Míril can't know, Aragorn. She's too young," Halbarad insisted. It was the day after the attack, and the two men were still recovering in the tent.

"It's up to you, my friend. But remember, the Dark Lord knows she's alive. We need to be careful."

"Perhaps Lord Elrond would keep her in Rivendell for a few years. Maybe throw Him off her scent?"

"Good idea. I'll send a letter-"

"Aragorn," a voice called from outside. The speaker soon appeared, drawing back the tent flap. It was a young woman. "The sons of Elrond are here. They wish to see you."

"Send them in."

Almost immediately, two men appeared from behind her and entered the tent. They had long, dark hair and grey eyes, and seemed almost identical. Concern graced their fair faces, and the first to enter rushed to Aragorn's side.

"Aragorn! What happened to you?"

"And you, Halbarad!"

"Peace, brothers. We're both fine," Aragorn reassured them, pushing Elrohir's hands away. "We were attacked by servants of the Enemy while hunting."

"Was anyone else injured?" Elladan asked them, the two brothers sitting down on the floor with the rangers.

Halbarad hung his head, forcing Aragorn to reply.

"Eldir was killed. I'm fact, I'm glad your here. We have a message for you to deliver to your father."