Holding the branch, Aethelrien began peeling away the bark remnants and tossed them into the fire. She picked up a tool and started carving to bring out the arrow this piece of wood was destined to become. While she worked her mind drifted, and she remembered the day the Black Arrow came into her possession.
Aethelrien and Athelor were traveling along the dusty road toward Imladris after spending time hunting in the forest of the Trollshalls. Their jovial sibling conversation passed the time and filled the woods with their laughter. Suddenly, both stopped when they heard an unusual sound coming from behind a thick grove of trees. The sun was moving toward the West and the hills cast the grove into shadow. Athelor placed a long finger to his lips indicating Athelrien should be silent. She scowled at him, her face silently admonishing him, “As if I need to be reminded to be quiet.”
The elven twins moved simultaneously toward the grove of trees, their ears perked and listening to the sounds coming from a several feet away. Aethelrien peered around the tree and nearly gasped at the sight. A small band of six orcs was in process of setting up camp, a horde of stolen goods was scattered around haphazardly. Just as she began to turn to warn Athelor, a large, black arrow rushed past her face. Its sharp tip nearly missed the end of her nose and lodged itself into the trunk of the tree. Aethelrien was momentarily shocked, her eyes fixed on the arrow. She blinked when she heard the scraping of metal as Athelor withdrew his sword from its scabbard. He cried out, startling the group of orcs, and charged at them. Athelrien drew an arrow, turned, and shot the offending archer. Her arrow landed squarely between its eyes. She notched another, jumped out from behind the tree and joined her brother in the fray. After several long minutes all six orcs were laying on the ground, defeated. While Athelor was wiping his sword clean on the cloak of an orc Athelrien pulled the black arrow from the tree. She slipped the arrow into her quiver to look at it later.
Athelor rummaged through the Orc’s gear and Aethelrien opened the chests and bags the orcs had scattered around the camp, taking things of value, and stuffing them into their packs. She opened the last small chest that was set off to one side away from the others and stared, open mouthed, at the contents. Inside the chest was a stack of wood and branches, a kind she had never seen before. She pulled out one branch and looked at it for a moment before dropping it back into the chest. She closed the lid and lifted it up, resting it on her hip. Athelor noticed and raised one eyebrow, “You going to carry that thing the whole way home?” Aethelrien gave him a curt nod and proceeded to walk back toward the path. “Fine. I’m not helping you haul that junk around.” He smirked.
That night, they sat around their camp fire, resting from the fight and their journey. While Athelor was sharpening the edge of his blade Aethelrien pulled the black arrow from her quiver and looked at it more fully. She was amazed at how perfectly straight it was crafted and that the shaft was thicker than most arrows. She wondered if it was made of the same wood in the box or not. She couldn’t be sure. She gently ran a finger over the fletching feathers, they shimmered slightly in the dim light. She wasn’t sure what black bird the feathers were from, but they were glorious. She held the arrow up to the light and stared at it intently. The sound of Athelor’s sharpening stone stopped, “That thing will only bring you trouble.” He pointed the tip of his sword in her direction.
“Perhaps…,” she replied, her eyes never leaving the arrow, “but, brother, it is magnificent.” Aethelrien looked at him, “Besides, I almost lost my nose to this thing. I have to have something to remember that.” She chuckled and winked.
Athelor rolled his eyes at his twin sister and prepared to sleep. Aethelrien fell asleep soon after, the arrow clutched in one hand.
The sun was just starting its ascent into the Eastern sky when Aethelrien put her tools down, satisfied with the new arrow shaft in her hand. She would add the arrowhead and fletching later. For now, she was content with her work. Soundlessly, she put everything away, took one last look at the Black Arrow and crawled into bed.
