They traveled for many more days, both by night and day, before coming at last to Weathertop and laying camp for the night. Aragorn turned to the Hobbits, and pulled out four short swords, which were crafted and spelled by his people to injure the Witch King, along with the rest of the Nine.

"These are for you." he said, but Miriel did not listen to the rest of the small conversation, walking down to a ledge that overlooked the ground below. Having finished with the Hobbits, Strider joined her. "What is it?" She shook her head, eyes concerned and alert as they flitted across the darkly shadowed landscape.

"I do not know, but it is not good. A chill is in the air, and a foul wind. Tonight will not end in peace, that much is certain." He did not question how she knew this, instead keeping alert as he could when they ventured into the dark woods around them. Over the past few days, he had learned to trust her predictions. Her instincts and senses were certainly as sharp as his, but she always seemed to know more than any of them did. Her judgement of character and foresight of danger had not thus far led them astray, and he would not doubt her now.

Presently, the air grew colder, and the night seemed to grow darker around them. Miriel began to think that leaving her shield with her horse, Narothal, had been a bad idea.While Narothal was a loyal steed, and a brave elvish horse who never ran from battle, he would not come unless she were injured in the midst of battle, and then she would not wish it. Suddenly, both rangers stopped mid-stride and looked at each other. The smell of smoke was heavy in the air, and it came from the direction of Weathertop. At the same moment, as though reaching a silent agreement, both took off towards the formation. Strider was again amazed by the woman's speed, but did not linger on it long. A piercing scream of something unnatural rang through the still night air. This spurred the runners on faster, and they soon came to where the Hobbits had been, a poorly doused fire still burning on the ground.

Strider quickly restarted it, glad that Miriel did not question his actions, and lit two torches with it, passing one on to the woman at his side. Again, without the need to speak, both ran swiftly up the paths of Weathertop, silent until they would have need to be otherwise. It was as though he was once again hunting orcs with the rangers of the north. He had no need to tell her anything, she simply understood and followed his plan, having no need to change it. As soon as they came to the top, both let out a battle-cry, and leapt to the defensive of the Hobbits. Strider, who was used to doing such battle, analyzed the style with which his companion fought. While she was well trained, and while she was certainly graceful in her movements, her fighting was not the elegant style of the elves, nor the hacking of the dwarves, nor even the slashing style of men. It seemed that she brought the elements of all three to her use when she had need of them, and she was not at all afraid to fight dirty if necessary. In other words, she fought like a ranger.

The pair fought valiantly against the wraiths, but even the shieldmaiden did not escape without injury, though she hid her pain from even Strider, and swung her sword and burning branch with equal strength and ferocity. As soon as the creatures were beaten back into the night, Strider scooped up the wounded Frodo, and followed Miriel as she led them away from the outcropping and into the woods. They reached a clearing, and Strider and Sam headed off to find Athelas, easily identifiable as King's Foil. Miriel knew plenty about healing, but this wound was something it would be best for Strider to handle himself. It was a six day walk to Rivendell, and they all knew Frodo would not live that long. So, the woman stood in a small part of the forest near the clearing, and let out a loud whistle. The tone was sweet and clear, rippling across the earth and through the trees, as well as easing the pain in Frodo's shoulder, and he seemed to relax for a moment, if only for a moment. As she continued to do this, Pippin turned to Merry, who had always retained this sort of information better.

"What's that noise?" he asked quietly, as Miriel couldn't be seen from their position. Merry thought for a moment, before a look of wonder crossed his face.

"I think Miriel's calling her horse." Strider returned a moment later, bringing Miriel with him. To Frodo, she seemed to glow with an ethereal light, and he was needlessly afraid until she spoke, the elvish words understood by him and Strider alone, the other hobbits confused. She was no elf, her ears were not pointed as theirs would be.

"Frodo, telin let thaed. Lasto bethnin. Tolo dan na ngalad." She turned to the ranger beside her, the elvish words still lingering in the air due to their angelic quality. "We must get him to Lord Elrond. There are five wraiths behind us. If we are to save him, we must move now." Strider lifted the halfling into his arms, and carried him to Narothal, ignoring the others' questions about where they were taking him. He placed Frodo on the stallion, and turned to Miriel, meeting her intense blue eyes with the stormy grey of his own, glad she could speak elvish, allowing them to speak without explaining to the hobbits something that would only worry them more.

"Dartho guin Berian... rych le ad tolthathon." Miriel grabbed the reins before he could, knowing this was unwise.

"Hon mabathon. Rochon ellint im." Strider placed his hand over hers, holding it tightly as he looked her in the eyes. He had grown to care for Miriel, perhaps more than he would care to admit, though he did not know she returned the sentiment.

"Andelu i ven." She threw him a look. She was grateful for his concern, as she certainly returned his affection. But now was not the time, especially when he knew she was right. Narothal would carry either of them easily enough, as he was a strong beast, but his speed would not be so lessened if she rode, even with the shield she bore, for he was used to her in the saddle.

"Frodo fir. Ae athradon i hir, tur gwaith nin beriatha hon." He had long suspected she had elvish blood, and supposed Gandalf had taught her something of their spells, so this is not what he thought of in his worry. Despite the fact that he knew her to be quite capable of defending herself, he had become fond of her, and the thought of her in danger where he could not reach her and would not know her plight worried him greatly. Miriel returned the pressure he had on her hand, making him look her in the eye, the blue irises calming him slightly.

"I do not fear them." The male seemed to wrestle with himself for a moment before nodding and answering.

"Be iest lin." The two exchanged tight smiles as Miriel once again strapped her shield to her back. She mounted Narothal, holding Frodo in form of her. Strider placed a hand on her leg, and she looked down at him.

"Ride hard, and don't look back." She nodded, and urged the horse into a rather sudden gallop.

"Noro lim, Narothal, noro lim!" The stallion sprang forward, racing away through the forest. Strider gazed after them, his face grim. Sam's reminder that the wraiths were still out there did nothing to assuage his worries.

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Frodo, telin let thaed. Lasto bethnin. Tolo dan na ngalad = Frodo, I am come to help you. Hear my voice. Return to the light.

Dartho guin Berian... rych le ad tolthathon = Stay with the hobbits... I will send horses for you.

Hon mabathon. Rochon ellint im = I am the faster rider. I'll take him.

Andelu i ven = The road is too dangerous.

Frodo fir. Ae athradon i hir, tur gwaith nin beriatha hon = If I can get across the river, the power of its people will protect him.

Be iest lin = As you wish

Noro lim, Narothal, noro lim = Run swift, Narothal, run swift.