It was a beautiful autumn morning when Timothy returned to Minas Tirith. Having no idea if any of his friends were about the city he went first to Aldamir's house, where he found Aldamir's parents and learned that Aldamir and Astra were searching through the most expensive shops of the city looking for a bow that would satisfy her. Eager to find his friends, Timothy set off for the finest fletcher's shop in the city. He found Astra standing next to table with at least seven different bows of exquisite design. A finely dressed gentleman was trying to convince her these were the finest bows in all of Gondor. Aldamir saw his friend arrive and rushed to greet him.

"Tim! Welcome back! Do you have any idea what bows cost up here?"

"Not really..." replied Tim. "Why does she need a new bow?"

"We were attacked by orcs, and she had to use her old one like a staff to hold off sword blows," explained Aldamir.

"Where?" inquired Timothy.

Aldamir told him the tale of their encounter with the three orcs in brief detail.

"Did you keep a copy of the notes?" asked Timothy.

It suddenly occurred to Aldamir that Timothy would have wanted a look at them. "Oh. Sorry."

"I guess it is best not to risk them falling into hostile hands," muttered Tim.

The two friends returned to see if Astra had made any progress.

"They just don't feel right," she said, gesturing at the table of bows the salesman had brought her to test thus far. "The shopkeeper says he has one more for me to try. 'Second Age Noldor' or something."

Timothy and Aldamir both gasped, Timothy because of how old it would be and Aldamir how much it would cost.

The salesman brought out the bow. The wood was black and it was covered in a fine mesh of mithril and gold. Astra took it from the shopkeeper and set an arrow to the string.

"Rumor has it this bow came from the forges of Celebrimbor himself," claimed the salesman.

"Is there any proof of that?" asked Timothy.

"Well, no..." he stammered. "But there are records that this particular design, with the mithril and gold insets, was used by a number of wealthy elves of his day."

"Who's Celebrimbor?" asked Astra.

"A great Elven smith - I'll explain later," said Aldamir.

The scholar in Timothy wanted to correct such a trivial description of the maker of Three Elven Rings but he bit his tongue.

Astra took a few shots with the bow and excitedly turned to Aldamir. "It's perfect!"

"It's probably too expensive, dear," he sighed. He turned to the shopkeeper. "How much?"

"I don't know, only the store's owner is allowed to sell it," he replied. "I'll fetch him."

The shop's owner, a middle aged Dunedain man, came to haggle. "It's hard to put a price on something this unique. Most of these were either taken to Valinor or destroyed in the wars with Sauron."

"I wager you can put a price on it," laughed Aldamir.

"Have we met before?" asked the gentleman upon hearing his voice.

"I'm Aldamir, son of Toldor," he replied.

"Then we probably have met!" said the man, "I have done business with your father, and he has always treated me fairly. I will tell you honestly then: I price this at ten-thousand silver, and would be loath to part with it for less than seven."

Timothy gasped a bit too loudly.

"It's a fair price!" objected the man.

"I'm sorry, I'm sure it is!" Timothy replied. "I mean no offense, it's just that you could probably buy half my village for ten thousand silver!"

The shop owner chuckled. "Until the dwarves of Moria find more Mithril, anything made with it will be beyond price. Even with the raw materials, I don't know if anyone has the skill to make a weapon like this. The designs for this type of bow appear in a book by Celebrimbor."

While Timothy and the shop owner discussed the weapon's history, Aldamir turned to Astra. "We can't afford this, Astra. That bow is priced for a prince or a lord."

Astra nodded sadly.

"Do you have any longbows of dwarven make?" she asked the Dunedain.

The man looked confused. "Dwarven? But in human size?"

Astra nodded. "My last bow was given to me by the King Under the Mountain."

The shopkeeper looked unsure of her story.

"You doubt me?" she asked wrathfully.

"No!" replied the gentleman. "But, why would a dwarf king give a human woman a bow?"

"Because I hunted many beasts in his land," she answered. "And I dared to recover the Black Arrow..."

"The Black Arrow!" cried the fletcher. "As in Bard's Black Arrow?"

With a proud smile Astra nodded.

"I know that dwarven bows are generally made of stiffer wood than men tend to prefer, on account of the shorter draw distance," muttered the shopkeeper. "Give me a minute!"

After a short time he brought Astra another bow of elvish make, but this one was much younger. She took a few shots with it and was satisfied.

"Well, it isn't that one," she said, pointing to the Second Age bow , "but it is like my old one. Thank you."

Aldamir hoped for a reasonable price. The shopkeeper had an intriguing proposal.

"I mark that one at one-thousand," he said. "I will make you this offer: bring me the Black Arrow and let me take a shot with it, and I shall sell you this bow for four-hundred silver."

Aldamir was inclined to accept, but Astra was not enthusiastic.

"I do not usually let anyone else touch the arrow," she objected.

"I can understand your trepidation," said the man, "but I was born and raised a fletcher, and the making of bows and arrows has been my life's work. I assure you that I appreciate its value."

Astra reluctantly agreed, under one condition. "If you should somehow break it, you shall owe me that special bow," she said.

"Agreed, but only upon delivery of a note from the King Under the Mountain assuring me of its authenticity," stipulated the merchant.

At dawn the next day the transaction was completed. Aldamir helped Astra with the money, and Astra allowed the fletcher to take many shots with Smaug's Bane. Upon seeing the joy and reverence with which he handled the arrow she was secretly glad to let him shoot it. She was proud to see one of the Dunedain, who often scoffed at the customs of her people, revere an object of Lake-Town's legacy.

There was one last matter to attend to regarding the new bow. In its own way, it would be far harder for Aldamir than paying for the bow.

"Thank you Aldamir," said Astra as they left the store. "Now we just need to find a shrine or temple to Béma so I can make an offering."

"A what now?" asked Aldamir.

"Make a what?" stammered Timothy.

Astra looked at the two Gondorians with the same puzzled look they gave her.

"An offering... to Béma..." she repeated slowly, as one does to someone new to a language.

"We heard," replied Aldamir. "We don't have temples or give offerings."

"Well I do!" declared Astra. "Surely somewhere in this city there is a shrine to Béma."

Aldamir shook his head. "If there is they certainly don't tell anyone about it."

Despite his disdain for the idea Timothy was more helpful. "I think there are a few houses devoted to the worship of various Ainur located in the wooden buildings beyond the outer wall."

Not eager to get to their destination, Aldamir and Timothy insisted they go to a tavern for lunch first. It was mid afternoon when they left the main gate and entered the densely packed streets of wooden buildings that lay outside the city. Despite their relatively simple construction they were well built and all very new, having been constructed after the siege of the city half a century prior. Just as Timothy predicted there was a street with many temples.

The upper class of Minas Tirith despised the presence of 'temples' so close to their city, but the multitude of merchants who had regular dealings with foreign traders made sure they were kept open. Many Haradrim and Easterlings would not stay in a city without the proper houses of worship. Timothy led the way down the street, noting some of the buildings as they past.

"Haradic versions of Oromé and Tulkas; Umbar's cruel god of the sea; a temple to Varda that uses elven architectural styles despite the fact that the elves know better than to build temples..."

"There is even a temple to the Rhûnic deities, including Vultur," he said, pointing to a black and gold sign above a well decorated door. As he spoke he stopped suddenly, realizing the irony of a shrine to their dark, brutal interpretation of Eönwë - who was of course within the city at this very moment. Astra and Aldamir clattered into him as he halted.

"Something wrong?" asked Astra.

"No," replied Timothy quickly. Aldamir was curious what had brought him to a standstill but be wouldn't say. After passing a few more buildings they came to temples of northern origin. One was an impressive hall of dwarven design devoted to Mahal their maker, which was less a temple and more a guild hall for all dwarves visiting the White City. It was open to anyone who didn't mind small furniture and dwarven food. On Durin's Day each year they held a grand feast which was a favorite of all those who could hold down authentic dwarven ale.

Across from Mahal's Hall stood a small temple to the pantheon of northmen's mythology, in which Béma, Lord of the Hunt, featured prominently. They entered to see a number of small shrines curtained off from the main room, each devoted to a different deity. Aldamir and Timothy stood awkwardly in the main room while Astra took the remains of her old bow as well as her new one into Béma's chapel. After what felt like an hour to the two Gondorians but was probably only ten minutes Astra returned with only her new bow.

"Done?" asked Aldamir.

"Afraid something will jump out of the shrines and attack you?" laughed Astra.

"No," glared Timothy, unable to find a polite way of saying 'we are afraid of being seen in a place like this.'

They left the temple intent on returning to the city when Astra asked if they had real dwarven ale in Mahal's Hall.

Aldamir grinned. "They do! Think you can handle it?"

Astra laughed merrily as she led them into the high ceilinged hall. There were at least fifteen dwarves and ten men feasting.

"Do you have a barrel of Lonely Mountain Reserve?" she shouted at the bartender.

"Reserve?" he shouted back. "Aye, but that'll cost you two silver a mug!"

It suddenly occurred to Aldamir that Astra was no stranger to dwarven taverns. Timothy shook his head at the thought of how they would feel the next morning.

Tim stopped drinking halfway through his mug and stumbled out of the hall after about an hour. Astra gladly finished it for him, and she and Aldamir had a second round in addition. Astra had to carry him home.