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Shouts and screams rose in the air from the direction of the main courtyard.
"Sounds like they could use some backup." Alenia commented, before turning to the family of four. "See you kids in a bit."
"Good luck!" Tilda called, as the half-elf turned and sprinted down the streets, drawing her sword from her side.
With a battle cry that rattled the buildings around her, the Ranger threw herself into the orcs, slicing and stabbing, the men of Laketown fighting alongside her. The sound of hooves thundered on cobblestone on a street below her, as she turned to see Thranduil racing into the city below her courtyard's overlook.
An arrow lodged itself in the Elven King's mount, and he tumbled from it's back, dropping into a somersault. He crouched low, his swords out and held low to his sides, as he glared at the orcs that surrounded him.
As the orcs lunged for her grandfather and he met them with a roar, Alenia launched herself over the railing. She latched onto an old rope as she fell, and swung to land on the cobblestone, her sword once more drawn.
The Elven King and the Ranger locked eyes amid their slashes, and they shared a small smile, before more elves poured in to help finish the rest of the beasts off.
As the orcs' bodies finally fell, Thranduil and Alenia sheathed their weapons, panting slightly.
There was a moment of silence, as they stared at each other.
"I wish I could take it back." Thranduil said suddenly. "I wish I had never banished your mother. I wish I had allowed your parents to stay in Mirkwood, and that I could've watched you and your sister grow up. I wish I could've known your sister before she died. I-I'm sorry."
Alenia's eyes softened, and she stepped forward. "My mother never spoke ill of her parents. She still loved you, despite her banishment, and I know that Hanna would've loved you too."
The Elven King opened his mouth but a horn blew on the battlefield, stopping him from speaking. Alenia raced to the edge of the courtyard, Thranduil at her heels.
The pair watched as the stone barricading the entrance to Erebor was cracked open by a large, swinging bell, and the dwarves of Erebor charged through the gates, swords drawn and battle cries falling from their lips. They watched as the dwarves of the Iron Hills raced to join their kin, forming a deadly point that crashed into the ranks of orcs, slaughtering all in their path. And they watched as Thorin Oakenshield led the charge, his crown and furs gone, replaced with the king that Alenia had followed out of a hobbit hole those many moons ago.
