Chapter One

Míril watched the goblins celebrate the last moments of their lives. They chittered and danced around their campfires, gnawing at raw meat and picking their teeth with sharpened bones. Did they know death came for them? All she needed was Candaith's signal.

As the flames illuminated their rotting fangs and grey, wrinkled skin, she doubted even Mandos held them much in his thought. They would find no rest in death. But when they silenced the goblins, the Men and Hobbits of Eriador could sleep a little more soundly.

Míril could feel every muscle in Faeron's body tensing beside her. Candaith was lucky Faeron hadn't sprung out of hiding yet. Míril placed a hand on his shaking knee. And they all said she was the impulsive one.

Thirty or forty goblins sat scattered around campfires in the sparse trees. She hadn't gotten a total count. But there couldn't be many more. Ten for each seemed fair, anyway. And if Halros had gone soft from living in his little cottage on the edge of the Shire, surely they could pick up the slack.

Come on. Where was the signal?

She realized her own leg had started to shake when Faeron gave it a light smack. She looked over at him. In the dark she almost couldn't see where his brown hair ended and his brown cloak hood began. But she could see the glint of his grey eyes.

Three hoots of an owl pierced through the goblin revelry. She smiled.

Faeron loosed two arrows at the nearest goblin sentries. Strangled screams in whatever hideous dialect of black speech this tribe spoke clashed with the raucous feasting from moments before. Four more goblins dropped.

Míril left the sentries to Faeron and Halros. She drew her sword. Steel glinted in the firelight. Poison dripped from the curved blades raised to meet her. She didn't need poison.

Blades met. She heard whistling arrows race past her head. A few campfires flickered out. In the shadows, she couldn't make much out. Burning flesh hit her nose. Goblin? Animal? Probably both. Bodies dropped all around her.

Míril took the head off another one. In the dying light of the few remaining fires, she found herself face to face with Candaith. Blood splashed across his skin, tanned and scarred from long years in the wild.

"Took you long enough," she said. "Faeron and I nearly fell asleep waiting for your signal."

Candaith let out half a scoff. Míril saw his eyes widen before she slammed into a tree, Candaith's sword catching the blade of a goblin that would've taken her head off. She shook her head, forcing away the pain. If Faeron had seen that he'd never let her live it down.

It didn't take long before she stood back to back with Candaith, Faeron, and Halros around the last campfire. Nothing stirred in the trees. Even the leaves lay silent. Wildlife had the good sense to skitter away from goblins but apparently so did the wind.

"Well. That went quite well," Faeron said. "I for one think we did splendidly."

Míril snorted out a laugh. "Lucky you didn't blow our cover earlier."

"At least I did not find myself face-first in a tree trunk-"

So he had seen it. Well, so much for not getting teased through winter. But Candaith cut her off before she could respond.

"We are not out of the woods yet."

"Literally," said Faeron.

Míril barely managed to bite her cheek to hold her tongue. Halros wasn't so skilled. Must've been that cottage life.

"All right, all right." Candaith waved his hand. "Míril, take Halros and scout the area for stragglers. Faeron and I will get to work burning these." He gave a half kick to the closet goblin boot.

Míril heard Faeron protest as she melted into the thicker trees alongside Halros. She still remembered when he was born; the sunniest day of the year for one of the cheeriest rangers she knew. Perhaps her father, Halbarad, had taken pity on the young man by giving him the task of guarding the route between the Shire and Bree.

"You are sure this was the only camp?" Míril said.

He nodded, his light brown hair nearly black as the night around them. The soot covering him from putting out the fires didn't help. "I would have wiped them out weeks ago if there had not been so many. I hated thinking they were so close to the hobbits."

They were spread so thin these days. But then, even in the days of her parents' deaths, they had been few in number. Or so she'd been taught. It had taken two weeks to gather just the three of them. Candaith had left his post in the Lone Lands, Faeron had come from the Midgewater Marshes, and she had been caught coming back from Tharbad. But even four made short work of the enemy.

Only two goblins had escaped their net. Two well-placed arrows dispatched them with ease. The bodies stunk of disease as she dragged them by the ankles back to the flames. Halros had conveniently insisted he needed to search for spent arrows, leaving her to do the dirty work.

She found Faeron pushing a half-burnt, fallen goblin corpse further up the pile when she returned. In the bright fire light she saw a deep gash on his cheek. So they had not all escaped unscathed.

"What did that?"

"A goblin."

Míril rolled her eyes as she tossed the two bodies into the flames. Faeron flinched away when she inspected it more closely. It didn't look poisoned, but one could never tell.

"Candaith?"

"He's setting up camp for us just north. Halros?"

"Here."

Míril and Faeron both turned to see him stride out of the trees, a full quiver of arrows on his back. The grisly task complete, they set out to the north. She let Faeron lead.

She had no particular love for the Shirelands. But she preferred company to the absolute silence of her journey down the Green Way. There had been nothing but the odd group of refugees and long lands filled with ruins. Tharbad had fallen into disrepair so long ago that they did not even station a ranger there full-time.

They found Candaith boiling water in a small pot. The scent of healing herbs cascaded around the small, tree-lined dell in the hills. Míril allowed herself to breathe in the glorious scent as she settled down in the grass. She closed her eyes.

"Ah! I can treat my own wounds, Candaith!"

"Perhaps if you were not well known as a ranger of little common sense, I would believe you."

"And perhaps if you did not spend your time secluded beneath Weathertop you would remember manners."

"Faeron-"

Míril opened her eyes as Halros cut in. Sitting up, she placed on a hand on his arm. "I would not attempt to get between them," she said, lowering her voice. "I tried that once. It isn't worth the verbal lashing."

Faeron took the poultice from Candaith and applied it to his cheek. It seemed to satisfy everyone as peace fell over the dell once more. Dinner wasn't much more than dried fruit and some meat Halros had caught two days before, but better than nothing.

"So, how is Tharbad?" Faeron said.

Míril looked up. "About as we expected. Crumbled to ruins, but mostly silent. I detected no sign of the Enemy except goblin scouts."

"Which you promptly dispatched?" Halros said.

She didn't respond beyond a smile. Gazing into the fire, she thought back to every goblin body, every orc corpse she had fed to the flames. Míril did not know if the others made the destruction of the enemy personal, but she did. She burned them for her brother. Eldir had died by an Orkish blade, so orc-kind would die by hers.

Both Aragorn and Halbarad warned her against dwelling on thoughts of revenge. And she had read all the tales in Elrond's library of how revenge had led to the destruction of half the world.

But her father had been there! How could he move on from seeing Eldir speared through the heart? She had been a child playing Ranger. Eldir had done it for real that day.

Halbarad may not have been her father by blood, but she could barely remember anyone besides him. Surely he could understand why every time she tossed a goblin into the flames, it made her feel just a little better about the world?

The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. Míril snapped back to reality. They were being watched.

She moved her hand ever so carefully to the dagger on her belt. Hidden beneath the cloak, only her companions would see. Halros and Faeron kept talking.

But Candaith noticed immediately. Their eyes met. With the slightest nod, she communicated everything to him. Wait for my signal. We're being watched.

Three, two, one. Míril leaped off the ground. Her dagger embedded itself in a tree. As Faeron and Halros startled, Candaith nocked his bow.

A light laugh, a bit startled but not unkind, greeted their attack. "And that is how I know Míril is here. I should expect nothing less!"

"Gildor!"

She couldn't help laughing as well, calming her heart rate as best she could. The elf stood just beside the tree, her dagger at throat level. With his fair hair and fairer skin, she could not mistake him for anyone but one of the Exiles. Few still wandered around Middle Earth, and as a child, she had tried to meet every one of them. Glorfindel and Elladan had humored her.

"Pardon the interruption, Dunedain." Gildor bowed slightly as he moved into the firelight.

"You are always welcome, Gildor," Halros said. "You know that."

He smiled. "Three of you I know. But you, I do not."

"Faeron," he said. Standing, he bowed before the elf.

"You only knew it was Míril who threw the dagger because you did not know Faeron," Candaith said. A rare smile flashed across his face as he went to hug the elf. "It has been too long, my friend."

"I am not sure the wide lands of Middle Earth are prepared for two Dunedain of Míril's..."

"Choose your words carefully, Gildor," she said.

"Disposition."

Good enough. She wasn't sure she'd get much nicer from any of the Dunedain. Míril pulled her dagger out of the tree before greeting Gildor with a hug as well. "What brings you to our humble campfire?"

His expression dropped. "Now that is rather a serious matter, I'm afraid." He looked into the flames for a moment before turning to the rangers. "I bear grave tidings. Gandalf is missing, and the Hobbits have left the Shire alone."

"What?" Míril said, barely above a whisper. "Missing?"

Gildor nodded. "I have sent my people far and wide over the last few days. We have scoured many miles and found no trace of him."

"That's impossible. Gandalf does not go missing unless he means to," Faeron said.

"And yet he has."

Míril rubbed her temple. Gandalf missing? He would not have gone missing on purpose so close to the departure of the hobbits with the Ring. She glanced up. Candaith also met her gaze. She knew that he was aware of the hobbit's quest, but Faeron and Halros likely not. Did Gildor even understand the true gravity of the situation?

"Where's Aragorn? Has he been told?" Candaith said.

Gildor nodded. "I spoke to him personally. But I do not know if he reached the hobbits in time."

"In time for what?" Halros said.

"Then you have not heard." Gildor shook his head. "Bree was attacked last night."

"Attacked?" Míril said. All of her companions were just as shocked. They had only been gone from meeting at the Pony two days ago.

"Riders in black."

The air once so peaceful, suffused with the scent of herbs and a gentle breeze, stilled. The temperature dropped. Just the mention of the Nazgul sent shivers down her spine. She had never laid eyes on them, but Aragorn had, and he had been more than willing to impress upon her how deadly they were.

"How many?" Candaith said.

Gildor shook his head. "I do not know. Our people are not welcome in Bree these days, with so much distrust in the world. I know just what the birds have told me. I thought to find as many of the Dunedain as I could on short notice. It was only by the grace of Elbereth that the skies are clear tonight and I saw the smoke of the pyre."

"I'm going to find them," Míril said. She placed the dagger back in its sheath.

Candaith protested. "Halbarad needs your report."

She just scoffed. "Faeron is returning as well. He can take it. There wasn't much to report." Taking a last swig of wine from Halros's canteen, she shook her head. "Aragorn may be with the hobbits, or he may not be. But I won't leave that up to chance. Nor will I sit idly by as another goes into danger."

For the first time since she'd known him, Faeron stayed silent at the mention of his name. Guess he knew better than to stand between her and a task. Candaith sighed but nodded.

"Sleep in the company of allies until dawn," Gildor said. He laid a hand on her shoulder. "The servants of the Enemy are here, Míril. There is no sense in rushing off into darkness."

Though his words made sense, every fiber of her being willed her to leave the safety of the dell. Aragorn could be out there right now, injured. The hobbits could be dead. The Ring could be in the hands of the enemy- No. They would know if the Enemy had the ring. And that was some sort of comfort as she sat back down.