"Oi! You! Pointy hat!" Alfrid cried to someone outside, "Yes, you! We don't want no tramps, beggars nor vagabonds around here. We've got enough trouble without the likes of you."

Ara ran to where he was. He was speaking to an old man clothed in gray with a pointed hat and a wooden staff. He looked like he had journeyed far for his face was coated with dust and his eyes were tired.

"Alfrid!" Ara cried, approaching the stranger, "Go do something useful!"

Alfrid glared at her and slunk away quietly.

"Forgive me, sir," Ara said to the old man, "What can I do for you? Can I get you anything? Food? Water?"

"No, thank you, my lady," the old man said, "My name is Gandalf. I must speak with your leader."

"Bard the bargeman has taken charge for the time being," Ara said, leading Gandalf through the crowd, "I am his wife, Ara, at your service."

"Ara," Bard's voice rang through the crowd. He approached and saw Gandalf. "Who is this?"

"Gandalf," the old man replied, "and I bring terrible news, I'm afraid."

"Come," Bard said. He led Gandalf and Ara to Thranduil's tent.

Thranduil did not seem pleased to see Gandalf.

"There is not much time," Gandalf began straight away, "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!"

Bard stepped forward, "What are you talking about?"

"I can see you know nothing of wizards," Thranduil said, standing up haughtily, "They are like winter thunder on a wild wind rolling in from a distance, breaking hard in alarm. But sometimes a storm is just a storm."

Of all the elves Ara had met, she felt Thranduil was at the same time the prettiest to look at and the hardest to like.

"Not this time," Gandalf said, "Armies of orcs are on the move. These are fighters. They have been bred for war. Our enemy has summoned his full strength."

"Why show his hand now?" Thranduil asked.

"Because we forced him," Gandalf said, "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."

"The orcs that attacked us must've been searching for them that night," Ara said to Bard.

"His master seeks control of the mountain. Not just for the treasure within, but for where it lies, its strategic position," Gandalf continued, "This is the gateway to reclaiming the lands of Angmar in the north. If that fell kingdom should rise again, Rivendell, Lorien, the Shire, even Gondor itself will fall."

"These orc armies you speak of, Mithrandir," the elf king said, "Where are they?"

Gandalf sighed, indicating that he didn't know. That was enough for Thranduil, who turned away. Even Bard wasn't sure if he should keep listening to the rantings of an old wizard.

"Since when has my counsel counted for so little?" Gandalf asked, "What do you think I'm trying to do?"

"I think you're trying to save your dwarvish friends, and I admire your loyalty to them," Thranduil said, "But it does not dissuade me from my course. You started this, Mithrandir. You will forgive me if I finish it."

The elf king went out to check on his troops.

"Bowman," Gandalf said, approaching Bard, "Do you agree with this? Is gold so important to you? Would you buy it with the blood of dwarves?"

"It will not come to that," Bard said, "This is a fight they cannot win."

"That won't stop them," a familiar voice said.

Ara, Bard and Gandalf all turned to see Bilbo Baggins emerging out of the darkness.

"You think the dwarves will surrender? They won't," Bilbo said, "They will fight to the death to defend their own."

"Mister Baggins!" Ara cried.