Chapter Text
Míril sat with her legs dangling from a small tree at the camp's entrance. As usual, she was waiting for Halbarad, Aragorn, and Eldir to return. Though only her adopted father, Míril loved Halbarad greatly, but it was her brother Eldir who was her best friend.
To her nine year old mind, her twenty-one year old brother was everything. Eldir was her protection, her strength, her courage. He told her stories of their mother and father, Gilrin and Orelon, and he praised her left and right. The only thing that Eldir and Míril disagreed on was whether or not she could become a ranger. Her brother forbid it, saying he would not be responsible for her death. Míril, on the other hand, was adamant about joining the fight, and was quick to point out how Eldir put himself in danger constantly as a ranger.
The sound of shouting pulled Míril from her thoughts and she strained to see what was happening. Quite a few grown-ups had gathered near the camp entrance and they were blocking her view. Finally she caught a glimpse of what they were looking at.
Blood. Whatever it was was covered in blood. Maybe it was a particularly large animal that had been caught? No, that couldn't be it, someone was crying. That's when she recognized Aragorn. He looked beat up with scrapes and bruises and a nasty looking head wound. But at least it didn't look fatal. At last Míril found Halbarad. He looked little better than Aragorn, and Míril thought that both men were acting rather strangely. Pulling her gaze away from them, she looked further for Eldir. Surely he was there somewhere.
The crowd parted and the dunedain went their seperate ways. Some followed the two injured men to help care for them. Some stayed with the bloody shape. And still others were pushing children into houses or around corners.
Míril didn't believe what she was seeing. She couldn't. But she found herself sliding out of the tree and walking slowlt towards the body. For body it was. Eldir, chest torn and face clawed, was lying on the ground in a pool of blood. She stood about ten paces away, blocking out the world around her. Míril didn't notice the women coming with cloth to wipe up the blood and clean the body. She merely stared at her brother's unmoving form.
Then all of a sudden she closed her eyes and screamed. They were red with unshed tears as Míril turned away and walked, then ran, from the dreadful scene. The other men and women watched sadly as she took off.
Aragorn and Halbarad sat silently in a tent, their injuries being treated. They jumped when a sound so full of agony and hopelessness came from outside. Both men looked helplessly at each other, knowing exactly who belonged to that horrible scream but not knowing what to do about Míril.
"Should we tell her?" Halbarad asked Aragorn as the two were left alone in the tent to rest.
"Do you really think it'd be a good idea," Aragorn replied, a sarcastic tone to his voice.
Halbarad grunted in agreement, "Then what will we tell her?"
Míril collapsed in a corner of camp from exhaustion, her face flushed red from crying. She huddled into a ball and trying not to think about what she'd seen.
Míril was hidden from most of the rangers and they gave the girl her space. After all, most of them knew the pain she was going through; They knew she would recover in time. The Dunedain would be there for her.