In the two days that passed, Miril focused on getting better. She took walks around the Pelennor Fields and Minas Tirith itself. The city had many nooks and crannies worth exploring. Faramir and Eowyn stayed in the Houses of Healing, enjoying one another's company. Merry sometimes joined Miril on her walks but more often than not, he and Pippin went on their own adventures.

When at last the morning came when they were to set out, Miril was retrieved by Prince Imrahil from the Houses of Healing.

"Are you ready, Lady?" he asked her. "The host leaves soon."

She nodded but frowned. "What horse am I to ride?"

"Aragorn told me that he found Bruidal and that you would understand what that meant?" Imrahil told her as they walked through Minas Tirith's streets.

Miril nodded curtly. "Bruidal was my father's mare. I will gladly ride her."

When they reached the mustering of the army, Miril and Imrahil found a beautiful brown horse standing beside Aragorn and the other commanders. Miril smiled sadly as she walked over to Bruidal and patted her on the nose. She could feel the confusion and sadness within the horse.

"At least you survived, Bru," Miril whispered. "We will go to our doom together and reunite with my father."

"Mount up, Miril. We ride in ten," Aragorn told her.

She did so and Elladan handed her the Standard of Aragorn. She unfurled it and the mithril tree and stars glittered in the sunlight. They reckoned it would take about five or six days before they reached the Black Gate. Miril had come to terms with the fact that she was most likely riding to her death. She did not fear it. She would embrace her doom.

"Amarthiel. My new epesse," she muttered. "Daughter of Doom."

"Come, Miril!" Aragorn gestured forward on his horse, "Join the Dunedain at the front. I will be along shortly."

She nodded and rode forward through the ranks of Rohirrim and Gondorian soldiers. Elladan and Elrohir followed her up to the front. They stood to either side of her, grey cloaks flapping in the wind. Miril's cloak had been ripped in the battle so she wore a plain black one now. She put the hood up to shield herself from the wind that blew across the plains. She was tired of the wind blowing her hair in every which way so she braided it back.

"Are you ready, mellon-nin?" Elladan asked her with a smile.

Miril nodded. "Indeed. I feel fine."

That was a lie, in fact. Miril felt slightly light headed and extra fatigued, but she would not let the brothers know this. Elrohir looked at her and smiled.

"Maybe someday you will have a standard bearer, Miril. One that bears the sigil of your house," Elrohir shrugged.

She chuckled. "Perhaps, melda."

Melda. Elrohir loved hearing her call him "beloved." It made him happy and want to just twirl her around and kiss her. But they had a job to do. And while he had been against her going with them in the first place, he understood her desire to go.

Legolas, with Gimli behind him, rode up and set his horse beside Elladan. He looked at Miril briefly in awe before turning back to watch ahead. It didn't take long before Gandalf and Aragorn came up and took their places. Aragorn in the center, Miril to his right and Gandalf his left. Elrohir rode beside Miril and Elladan beside him while Legolas and Imrahil rode beside Gandalf.

"Ready, my friends?" Aragorn asked them.

They all nodded. He ordered Miril lift the standard high. It furled out in the wind and the troops shouted and cheered behind them. Aragorn drew Anduril and pointed forward. Rochyrn moved forward and Bruidal followed right behind. The army moved forward.

The part of the army on horseback reaches the Crossroads of the Fallen King around nightfall and set up camp. Miril would be sharing a tent with the Twins again and she left them to set it up. Bruidal was left there as well as she stuck the standard in the ground. She wanted to take a walk and find somewhere to sit for awhile.

She snuck out from camp and climbed up a small hillock. In the starlight she sat on the grass beneath the trees. She sighed, allowing herself a moment to breathe. A residual chill was spreading in her throat and making her wheeze.

"Are you alright, Miril?"

She whipped around and found herself looking at Legolas who stood with his head cocked and his eyes ripe with concern.

"I am fine," she protested. "Just a little..."

He nodded and told her that there was no explanation needed.

"May I?" He asked, gesturing to the space beside her.

She nodded. Legolas sat down beside her. Miril looked up between the trees at the stars. Eärendil's Star was far above them. She felt comfort and as she looked at it, the chill in her throat faded.

"So..." Legolas trailed off. "You're a Fëanorian?"

Miril nearly laughed at his not-so-subtle attempt at talking about her heritage. She nodded.

"Indeed," Miril said. "A descendent of Caranthir and Haleth."

Legolas nodded, "Interesting."

She nodded. He nodded. What was there to say? Her ancestor was a merciless, anger filled warrior who had repeatedly committed acts of war against Legolas' Sindarin people. She dreaded to think what the already somewhat stuck up Thranduil would think when Legolas would tell him.

"I'm not like him," she quickly added. "I'm not Caranthir."

Legolas nodded. "I have seen enough to recognize that."

They sat in silence for awhile before Legolas left her be. She was about to return to camp when another person came up to her.

"You've been gone awhile," Aragorn said. "My standard bearer shouldn't go wandering off."

She turned to find him leaning against a tree with a troubled look on his face. Miril softly smiled and walked over. She nodded.

"My apologies, my Lord," she half-joked.

Aragorn smiled. "I will not have my best friend refer to me as such. I am Aragorn, Strider, Elessar. But to you I am merely friend."

Miril looked up wistfully at the stars. "I wonder what my father would say to that."

Aragorn frowned. "I miss him greatly. As I know you do as well. But his sacrifice will not be forgotten."

Miril began to cry then, falling to her knees and shielding her face with her hands. The horrors of the past several days was finally catching up with her. Her father was gone. Truly, truly gone.

Aragorn knelt beside her and embraced her. "I will not say do not weep, for not all tears are evil."

"Why did he have to die," she choked. "Why?"

Aragorn sighed. He looked at his friend's face, wet with fresh tears. The hand print on her neck was starkly light, and her breathing was labored. Not for the first time since his decision to let her come did he question it. She was not well. She should have been resting in the Houses of Healing with Merry, Faramir, and Eowyn.

"He died for us, Miril. He died to protect this nation, this cause, this world." Aragorn pulled her to his chest. "Do not forget the joys of his life in the sadness of his death."

Miril choked, trying to get a handle on her sobbing. She and Aragorn were found by the Twins in that manner, but Miril had fallen asleep, so tired was she from the events of the past few days.

Aragorn gestured for them to be quiet as he picked her up. He handed her over to Elrohir who carried her back to camp.

"She finally came to terms with Halbarad's death," Aragorn explained quietly to Elladan as they stood there.

Elladan nodded. "It was only a matter of time. Perhaps she can move forward now."

"I hope," agreed Aragorn. "Though in her current mood, I would hate to be a servant of Sauron."

Elladan let out a laugh. "This I would agree."

Aragorn and Elladan walked back to camp and found Elrohir sitting up next to Miril in their tent. She was still fast asleep. They didn't want to wake her; she needed all the sleep she could get. All three looked at her neck. The white discoloration from the hand of Khamul the Easterling stuck out against her already pale skin.

"Do you regret letting her come, little brother?" Elladan asked him quietly as all three looked at her sleeping form.

Aragorn was silent. Did he? He was responsible for her now, that much he did know. Halbarad wouldn't expect him to outright, but it had been an unspoken rule that whichever one of them lived would look after her. That now fell to Aragorn. But Halbarad had also known she would follow Aragorn to the ends of Middle Earth. And surely he wouldn't expect him to refuse her offer of service. But she was injured, sick. Did he regret his decision?

"Nay," he sighed. "I do not. She has the right to fight against the servants of the Enemy in my service and in her own. Vengeance is as important to her as her forefather Fëanor. I've always seen that in her. I would not be the one to deny her that vengeance."