One of my friends on Tumblr started a new story-telling meme today, the idea of which is to choose a character you like and write 26 stories about them, one for each letter of the alphabet, titled in an "A is for apple, b is for bee" sort of way. I loved the idea, and decided it would be a great thing to do with Arren, whom I have an extensive headcanon for, of which we've seen very little so far in-story. These will be jumping all over the place in time, not following any particular sequence other than the alphabetical titling criteria. I hope to do one a day, but no guarantees, since "Eye of the Storm" still has the lion's share of my attention.

A is for Archery

Arren drew in a deep, steadying breath, then held it for a moment as he sighted along the arrow at the rabbit grazing in the small clearing. He was about to release when he heard the sharp snap of someone else's string right behind him, the faint whiffling sound of an arrow flashing past him. The sound and movement made him jump; his own arrow went astray, disappearing into the tall grass and bushes at the far said of the clearing.

He bit back a curse at the familiar sound of Tamlen's laughter. "You're still too slow, lethallin," the other elf said, clapping him on the shoulder before pushing past him to go pick up the body and add it to their game bag.

Arren frowned unhappily as he crossed the clearing in search of his arrow. It was mandatory for everyone in their clan to learn archery, and many elves stuck with the bow as their main or only weapon, but he'd never been entirely comfortable with it. At least he was finally considered skilled enough in archery to be allowed to try out other weapons as well, to see if there was something he'd rather use for melee combat; he was supposed to see the master weaponscrafter later this very day in order to try out different weapons and see if any suited him. But first he needed to find his arrow.

He was still carefully parting the grasses in search of it when Tamlen came over. The other elf snorted in amusement and leaned past him, plucking his arrow out of an overhanging bush. "Here, da'len," he said as he handed it over, earning a sour look from Arren.

"I am no child," Arren pointed out, annoyed. "And there are not so many years between us that you should be calling me one."

"Easy, lethallin, I meant no harm by it," Tamlen responded, holding up his empty hands in a placating gesture. "You are touchy as a shemlem lately. Come, we have enough game to contribute to the pot, let us go back to camp."

Arren bit back his further annoyance at being compared to shemlem, and followed his friend back to camp. Tamlen was right though; he had been touchy of late. Perhaps he needed to go off and spend some time on his own, sorting out his thoughts and feelings, until he was back in balance with himself. He had made such a retreat once before, many years ago, and he still recalled the deep sense of peace he had felt by the end, and how calm he had felt for long months afterwards.

They parted at the edge of the camp, Tamlen carrying their game bag off to the cooking area, Arren circling around the outside of the aravels until he reached the one belonging to the weaponsmaster.

"Master Ilen?" he called. The master appeared in the doorway of his aravel, and smiled warmly at Arren.

"Aneth ara, Arren – I will be with you in a moment. Go around to the side, I have put out some weapons for you to try. Handle each in turn while you wait for me."

"Ma nuvenin," Arren agreed, dipping his head politely before walking around to the other side of the aravel. A number of weapons had been spread out on a trestle table; daggers and swords of various lengths and widths, a club, a small mace – most carved of ironwood, though a few were items of metal. He worked his way down the table, picking up and holding each weapon in turn, giving each an experimental swing, to get a feel for their weight and balance, trying to imagine actually using such a weapon in battle. A few of the swords felt good in his hand – better than his bow did – and he put them aside at one end of the table for closer inspection once the master was here.

Master Ilen had still not emerged from his aravel when Arren finished. He stood uncertainly by the end of the table, not sure what to do. Retry the heft of the weapons that had seemed welcoming, perhaps? Or just wait quietly...

He looked over toward the cooking are to see if Tamlen was in sight, and as he turned back, having seen no sign of his lethallin, a weapon leaning against the side of the aravel caught his eyes. A beautifully carved ironwood sword, taller than he was and very broad in the blade, with the hilt well-wrapped in leather for a better grip. He stared at it, then walked closer. Who would possibly use such a gigantic blade? Perhaps it was some sort of practice piece, meant to be art, not weapon...

On closer inspection he saw that its edge was as well-honed as that on the more normal-sized daggers and swords. He bit his lip, studying the lovely weapon, then almost without conscious thought found himself reaching for it, carefully lifting it from the ground. It was much lighter than he'd expected from the size of it; he could bare it one-handed, with some difficulty, but it was felt... unbalanced. He placed his left hand above his right on the surprisingly lengthy hilt, and frowned. Almost...

He shifted his hands slightly, the left closer to the crosspiece, the right closer to the pommel, and found its proper balance point. From being too heavy, and clumsy, it suddenly felt light as a feather and surprisingly easy to hold and handle; just a small motion of his right hand, pivoting it within his left, was enough to swing the tip of the blade a surprising distance. He tried a few passes with it, trying to imagine how one would correctly use such a massive weapon, excited over the possibilities it seemed to offer.

He heard a low laugh, and jumped, turning his head to see Master Ilen giving him an amused smile. "That blade was not among those I put out for you to try," the master scolded mildly. "But I see you like it."

"Very much," Arren agreed enthusiastically. "I've never seen such a large blade! I could hardly believe it was a real weapon at first."

Master Ilen grinned, walking forward to take it from Arren, checking the blade carefully before restoring it to its former position. "It is a real weapon – a greatsword, a fairly common weapon among the shemlen. I carved it for a friend of mine; he sent a messenger to find me two years ago, after finding a fallen ironwood tree on his lands. He asked for a greatsword for him in exchange for the remainder of the tree; naturally I accepted. When I went away from the tribe last summer, that was to pick up the wood for the sword. He'd already had the log cut into billets to dry, so by this spring just past it was seasoned enough that I was able to begin work on the sword for him. We will pass by his lands soon; I will deliver the sword and receive the rest of the wood in payment."

"It's beautiful," Arren said softly, looking at it enviously, before turning back to the table where the single-handed weapons were still laid out.

He and Master Ilen spent some time trying the different weapons out, paying particular attention to the ones he'd put aside earlier, holding and handling them under the master's direction.

Master Ilen frowned thoughtfully once he had finished. "You definitely have an affinity for the swords over the daggers or blunt weapons," he said thoughtfully. "And the largest of my longswords at that. Tell me... of all the swords you handled today, which felt the most natural in your hands?"

Arren frowned down at the selection of swords in front of him. The three he'd liked the most were on the table directly in front of him. He reached out, then hesitated, hand hovering over a hilt rather than closing on it, and bit his lip.

"Well?" Ilen snapped. "Which one, Arren?"

Arren's head snapped up, and he pointed. "That one," he said decisively, pointing to the greatsword.

Master Ilen snorted, an amused smile briefly crossing his face. "I thought it seemed very comfortable in your hands. Well. Elves who take up the great weapons are rare, but in my lifetime I have made one or two such swords for customers other than shemlen. Since I only have the one, and it is not one I can loan to you, we will start you with the largest and heaviest of the longswords for now. And if you decide you would prefer the greatsword, then once I have collected the rest of the word, we can discuss the terms for me to make such a sword for you. Though I warn you now, the quantity of ironwood it will use will make it quite an expensive weapon; be very certain of your choice."

Arren nodded. He picked up the longsword Master Ilen indicated, and it felt well enough in his hands, but he already knew; he wanted a greatsword. Archery was all well and good for hunting game, or picking off targets at a distance, and he supposed a longsword would do well enough for now, but he wanted a real blade, a sword as impressive and lovely as the one Ilen had made for the shemlen.