Princess of the Woodland Realm||LOTR

Elven Encampment at Dale

Thranduil had entrusted his daughter with the title of second in command for this war, should negotiations go south. She grew as impatient as her father, shifting in her saddle.

"Peace, Aranel. He will return with news soon." Thranduil noticed his daughter's growing impatience with the man. No sooner had the words left Thranduil's lips than Bard rounded the corner on his horse, riding up to the pair.

"He will give us nothing." He spoke angrily. Thranduil wasn't the least bit surprised.

"Such a pity. Still you tried." He stated, almost disinterestedly, as if he knew that would be the outcome.

"I do not understand. Why? Why would he risk war?" Bard turned his head back to the Mountain in time to see the Dwarves dislodge the head of one of the statues, causing it to fall. The stone head destroyed the raised bridge, disabling anyone from approaching the gates.

"It is fruitless to reason with them. They understand only one thing." Thranduil pulled out his sword and gazed at the Elvish designs. "We attack at dawn! Are you with us?" The King gently gestured for Aranel to follow him. Turning her horse around, Aranel rode next to her father. She would not disappoint him.

"This is a fight they cannot win. If Oakenshield has any sort of brains, he will surrender before the first arrows are even knocked into place." Aranel gazed at her father for a moment. Thranduil didn't respond. He had no reason to.

The Elven warriors were helping to arm the citizens of Lake-town while Aranel sparred with her father in a secluded area. She had no issues with her hand to hand combat this time around, Thranduil was impressed with her quick transition. The day grew late and the sun began to lower in the sky. The air was crisp and the wind was biting. An old man, clad in deep grey had ridden to Dale, bearing ill news.

Thranduil sat upon a large oak chair and Bard in a simple wooden one. Aranel stood behind her father, hands behind her back, listening intently to the Mithrandir.

"You must set aside your petty grievances with the Dwarves. War is coming. The cesspits of Dol Guldur have been emptied. You're all in mortal danger." He tried getting his words across. Aranel watched her father closely.

"What are you talking about?" Bard asked.

"I can see you know nothing of wizards." Thranduil stood and poured a few goblets of wine, offering one to Aranel and one to Bard. "They are like winter thunder on a wild wind, rolling in from a distance, braking hard in alarm. But sometimes, a storm is just a storm." He finished, gazing at the wizard.

"Not this time. Armies of Orcs are on the move. And these are fighters. They have been bred for war. Our enemy has summoned his full strength." Gandalf responded.

"Why show his hand now?" The King turned his head back towards Gandalf.

"Because we forced him! We forced him when the company of Thorin Oakenshield set out to reclaim their homeland. The Dwarves were never meant to reach Erebor; Azog the Defiler was sent to kill them. His master seeks control of the Mountain. Not just for the treasure within, but for where it lies, its strategic position." Gandalf led the trio out of the tent, Aranel still armed with her bow and arrows, protecting her father.

"This is the gateway to reclaiming the lands of Angmar in the North. If that fell kingdom should rise again, Rivendell, Lothlorien, The Shire, even Gondor itself will fall." Gandafl faced the three leaders behind him before facing the Lonely Mountain again.

"These Orc armies you speak of, Mithrandir, where are they?" Thranduil asked. For once, Gandalf couldn't respond.