A/N: a little late...

Chapter Thirteen

The Black Arrow

Five days after Aderthon's offensive more than one hundred wounded soldiers came limping through the gates of Minas Tirith under a cold drizzle suitably dreary for the occasion. There had been fewer soldiers killed at the Black Gate than expected for such a large offensive battle, but there were many wounded - especially among the Rangers, most of whom suffered injuries of varying severity from fang and claw. Princess Amdirien and Eddil were both among those awaiting the company's return. Amdirien had requested the Captain Anders be recalled, while Eddil was desperately hoping his wife would not be among the wounded.

Anders led the company as far as the first courtyard of the city where he spotted Amdirien waiting for him. As he knelt before her he only got as far as "Your Majesty…"

"You're wounded," she gasped, seeing the three deep cuts on his forehead from a wolf's claws. "Are you alright?"

The Ranger nodded sadly. "I'm alive, which is more than can be said for some of my men. I do not wish to seem rude, Your Majesty, but I must report to your father as soon as possible."

"Very well, we will go to the Citadel at once," she replied. "Take my horse."

"I can walk," said Anders.

"Are you suggesting I can't?" asked the Princess. "You're hurt, get on my horse."

"Yes ma'am," nodded the Ranger.

They went straight to the seventh level and Captain Anders made his report to Lord Aragorn. Afterwards he sat on a bench near the White Tree and hung his head, thinking of his lost men. Twenty-two Rangers had died to the wolves, and another fifty-three were wounded. That victory, which the minstrels would credit to the shining lances of Dol Amroth, had been well paid for in Ranger blood.

Not long after Amdirien found Anders, Eddil had found Caranel. His heart sank at the sight of her bandaged arm.

"Don't embarrass me," she snapped as her husband ran to help her.

An older ranger, his face covered in scars, glared at her. "Captain Anders just left on Princess Amdirien's horse, but you are scared to be seen getting comfort from your husband? Pray that you never come home wounded to find no one waiting for you."

Caranel threw her head back in shame and frustration. "I'm sorry Eddil."

Eddil took her good hand. "How bad is it, dear?"

"It hurts… a lot..." she sighed.

"My mother can look at it tonight if the Houses of Healing are too busy," he replied.

As Eddil had predicted the Houses of Healing had no time to help those in no danger of dying. It was after midnight when his mother returned from the Houses. She saw Caranel's poorly bandaged arm and went to get the herbs she kept at home.

"Take off the bandage," she said.

"I'm fine, you can look at it tomorrow," replied the Ranger.

"Shut up and take off the bandage!" hissed the healer. Eddil's mother was a formidable woman - she had to be, spending all day saving the lives of stubborn soldiers despite their best efforts. In her youth she had travelled with the army and on a battlefield in Harad saved her future husband. The proceeding thirty years had done nothing to dull her edge.

"Yes ma'am," replied Caranel obediently. Eddil hardly had time to chuckle before his mother sent him running to pick Athelas from the garden.

Eddil's mother examined the wound - not particularly gently - and cleaned it with hot water and athelas.

"You got lucky!" she explained. "Eighteen deep punctures and not a single cut to anything important. It'll be stiff and sore, but it should heal."

That same evening, at a private shooting range on the sixth level, Astra was busy training. Aldamir was there too - Astra said if she had to learn to fight with a sword, he had to learn to shoot a bow. Aldamir managed to be nearly as insufferable a student. Sitting in a corner with a book on extinct elven dialects of Eregion sat Timothy, patiently waiting for his friends to finish.

Just as Astra was getting tired, Thorongil arrived unexpectedly.

"What brings you down among the common folk?" asked Timothy laughing. In reality it cost more than a daily laborer made in a day just to walk into that archery range.

"The Citadel Guard are training up on seven," he answered. "I thought I would…"

The maia froze mid sentence as his eye caught the glint of black metal from Astra's quiver.

"Is that Smaug's Bane?" he asked excitedly.

Astra nodded. "It is indeed."

"May I…" began Manwë's Herald.

"No," smiled Astra. She didn't share, and took joy in the envy of others.

Thorongil took a single gold coin from his pocket and tossed it to Aldamir. "What is this worth?"

Aldamir examined the old coin. It was of dwarven origin, and very old. "One hundred Gondorian silver, assuming its real," he answered. It was probably worth twenty more.

"Ten of those, then we can talk," said Astra. Aldamir stood aghast. For a woman who rarely had any coin, she seemed determined to earn as little as possible.

"At that price, I'd rather just buy the arrow!" laughed Thorongil. "Or play for it… fancy a wager?"

Timothy shut his book and hurried over to join his friends.

"Don't do it Astra!" gasped Aldamir. For all her talent, Aldamir had no confidence that she could beat Eönwë.

Astra looked very hurt. "You don't think I'll win?"

"Ten thousand Gondorian silver against The Arrow," smiled Thorongil. "One shot, closest to the center."

"He's not human!" began Aldamir, before hearing the terms. "Wait, what? Ten thousand?"

Timothy did his best to dissuade his friends. "It could be a hundred thousand and it would still be insane to accept!"

Astra immediately thought of the ancient Noldorin bow for sale only a few doors away for less than ten thousand silver. She was a bit worried that her friends seemed so certain she would lose, but in her heart she knew no fear. She couldn't lose. She never missed.

Seeing that he would get nowhere with Astra, Timothy begged Thorongil - in Quenya, to keep Astra from understanding - not to go through with it.

"What would your wife think of you stealing from her?" he asked in the elder tongue. Thorongil only laughed.

Timothy was not noted for his courage, but he was fiercely loyal - and completely sure his favor with Elerína would protect him. "If you take her arrow, I'll tell her who you are."

"That would be most unwise!" threatened Thorongil.

Drawing the Black Arrow from her quiver, The Huntress gave her answer. She took her time, and though she could hardly breath her hand was as steady as a statue's. Her shot was excellent; had she been shooting for a missing scale in a dragon's hide she would have easily hit. The arrow came to rest half an inch from perfect.

Aldamir was almost as excited with the shot as she was. Ten thousand silver! Timothy, by contrast, was unmoved. It wasn't perfect, and he knew Thorongil's would be.

It was.

Thorongil Thorongil threw out his left arm and his black bow, made of the same mysterious metal as his armor, sprang from his hand. An arrow materialized in his right as he put it on the string. Without pausing he took aim and let it fly. It landed just inside Astra's, right on the center dot.

The two mortal men couldn't immediately tell Astra had lost, but the eyes of The Huntress could see it plainly. She fell to her knees and wept in despair as Thorongil went to retrieve his prize.

The maia spent a long time standing and holding The Black Arrow after he pulled it from the target. When he returned Astra was in tears, Aldamir struggling to console her. Timothy was livid, but he did not follow through with his threat.

"Don't gamble with that you can not bear to lose," said Thorongil. He offered her the arrow.

"Wait, what?" sobbed Astra. "I can have it back?"

"It's yours," replied Thorongil, "yours by birthright and conquest."

"Why did you want it?" she stammered. "Why not just tell me?"

"I didn't tell you so that next time you will be more cautious!" replied Thorongil. He left out his interest in whether Timothy or Aldamir would betray him, and his general love of mischief - at least until he hurt someone. "As for why I wanted it, perhaps I should just show you…"

As Astra put her hand on the arrow she screamed and recoiled in shock.

"Hold it," he commanded, handing her the arrow. "See what I saw."

As she carefully touched the arrow again she saw fires burning all around her. She seemed to be in Laketown, but the buildings were different from those she knew. She heard the roar of the inferno and then suddenly the deafening cry of a beast like nothing she had ever imagined. In fear she looked up and saw him: Smaug the Golden, swooping low above the burning town.

She turned round to see a man shouting orders to other men who fled, leaving him alone on the last few planks untouched by Smaug's rage. Shot after shot he took, until at last he was down to one arrow. Only then did young Astra fully understand what was happening; she recognized the arrow - it was her own. As the man prepared his final shot a bird came to his shoulder with Bilbo's message, and with Astra speaking along he recited his last fateful words to the weapon ere he took his legendary shot. As the vision faded Astra nearly collapsed.

"Thank you!" she whispered, so weary from the spell she could barely speak.

"Can we see?" asked Timothy eagerly.

Thorongil answered him in the tongue of the elves with the slightest hint of a smile. "You? Absolutely not! And that is the least suffering that has ever come from threatening me."