Ella stood next to Gandalf and watched on as the dust cloud settled and revealed a large number of battle-ready raised spears.

The old wizard wrinkled his brow. "Ironfoot," he murmured under his breath.

With considerably more enthusiasm, the dwarves on Erebor's parapet shouted the same name.

Ironfoot. Of course.

In her headless panic, Ella had completely forgotten how Thorin had told her he had sent a raven to the Iron Hills for help.

So that was why he had hesitated so long to resign himself to his defeat, despite the evident superiority of Thranduil's forces.

And as luck would have it, his cousin Dain had arrived just in time.


What a bitter irony.

Her brave attempt to save her friends had been pointless. All it had earned her was the loss of Thorin's love and trust.

Oh, how she wished she could turn back time now. If only she had just waited and done nothing, she would have spent last night in Thorin's arms and he would still love her.

Her place would be next to him now and she would heartily join in the shouting and cheering of her companions at the sight of the most welcome reinforcement.

Instead, she stood at the wrong sight of the gate now, an outcast, a despised traitor. For stealing the King's jewel and giving it to his enemies was no harmless crime. She could just as well have attempted to stab Thorin right in the heart.

And in a sense, she had done just that, had she not?

Her intentions had been good, certainly, but it didn't say for nothing that those paved the road to ruin. ( Another of grandma Ermentrude's favourite sayings, along with 'no good deed goes unpunished'- mostly referring to her countless own ones of which the most selfless and least rewarding one had been to take her wayward granddaughter under her wings after the death of her parents. )


So heartbroken that she felt numb, Ella saw Thorin's cousin Dain charge towards them.

"Hey Thorin!" he called out cheerfully, then he turned to the besiegers of the Erebor and encouraged them politely to, well- piss off.

In other circumstances, the lord of the Iron Hills would have made a fun sight, on his war boar, with his fiery- red beard and a battle axe almost as big as himself, but not only was she hardly in the mood to smile right now, nor did Dain exactly make the impression of being one to joke with.

The expression on Thranduil's face was still priceless.

The elven king had been so certain of his victory only a minute ago, and now he suddenly found himself confronted with an enemy army as big as his own- but way more belligerent.

The smug smile had left his features and they froze into a stony mask when Dain called him a pretty, pointy-eared princess- and other less flattering names.

The dwarves on Erebor's gate cheered and brayed with laughter.

Gandalf sighed.

He stepped forward, greeted the commander of the dwarven army and did his best to defuse the situation, but his attempts to serve as peacemaker were doomed to failure right from the start.

Dain paid his warnings of an approaching orc army no more attention than Thranduil had before, and neither of the opposing parties was willing to back down. The centuries old enmity between the two people was too fierce, and both elves and dwarves thirsted for the other's blood.


Thranduil ordered his archers to attack and a hail of arrows flew towards Dain's army, but the dwarves were well equipped for this. Their ballistas shattered the elven arrows mid- air, accompanied by the thriumphant cheers of Thorin and his companions.

After the second fruitless attempt, the elven warriors put their bows away and raised their spears instead when the dwarven ram riders charged, and soon the battle was in full swing.

And then, suddenly, the sound of another horn broke through the battle noise.

Elves, dwarves and men momentariliry froze in their killing business and listened in horror to a terrifying voice coming from a high bluff behind them.

It commanded his troops to attack. In the Black speech of Mordor.

An icy cold shiver crept down Ella's spine.

She knew this voice.

It had ruled her nightmares for so long that she would recognize it everywhere.

Azog.

She looked to Gandalf who returned her shocked glance with a grim 'told you so but no one ever listens to me' expression.

Ironfoot bellowed a command and his men let go of their elven opponents, regrouped, and stormed forward to face the new threat. Thranduil's troops however, stood down and did nothing, seemingly content to watch their enemies run into their ruin.

The dwarves hurried to build a barrier with their shields and spears, but it was clearly a poor defence against the orc army which outnumbered them by a multiple. They would be overrun in no time.

Her eyes wide with horror, Ella caught her breath and prepared for the worst.

But then, the unexpected happened.

When the first assailants reached the dwarven shield wall, the elven warriors suddenly jumped over it like in a rehearsed, elegant dance and began to attack the orcs, soon followed by Bard's men. Elves, dwarves and men joined their forces against the common enemy.

Even so, it was a fight on knife edge.

Azog had not only countless orc warriors at his disposal, but also a few trolls with giant clubs able to pulp half a dozen men with a single well-aimed hit.

And this was only a part of his army.

When another horn sounded, Gandalf turned to Ella with a concerned expression on his weathered features. "He's trying to cut us off," he gasped. "They're going to attack the city. Come with me, quickly!"

As it seemed, Bard had come to the same conclusion. He ordered his men to retreat to Dale in order to protect its inhabitants, women and children mostly, his own among them.


One of the trolls used his head as a ram to break a hole in the city wall and then orcs swarmed in like rats. Ella drew her shining blue sword and followed Gandalf into the ruins of Dale.

With a queasy feeling she watched the old man face the assailing orc hordes with nothing but his wand to his defence. Should an- allegedly powerful- wizard not be able to summon up some kind of magic instead of trying to fight off heavily armed warriors with a wooden stick?

But then, was that his wand after all? Somehow she remembered it to look different-


Ella didn't have the time to further ponder this question.

All of a sudden, she heard the fearful screams of women and children nearby and instinctively she turned around and rushed to their aid when the first orc, a particularly big and ugly specimen, barred her way.

He lunged at her with his mighty war axe and she dodged the blow with a quick duck, then raised her own sword to block his second attack.

Steel clashed against steel with a screeching sound and the impact was so heavy that she was sure it must have torn her arm out of the socket.

With a pained gasp Ella sank to her knees.

The orc twisted his destroyed features into a malicious grin and struck out anew, but before his axe could split her skull she let herself fall forwards and through his legs.

Mid-fall she grasped her sword with both hands and thrust it with all her might into where she assumed ( hoped ) it would hurt even orcs the most- the vulnerable flesh of his groin. Certainly no honorable tactic by the book of fighting rules but, judging from his shrill shrieks of pain, most effective.

Ella pulled the sword out and hot, ill-smelling blood showered her face as her opponent collapsed and buried her beneath him.

Beside herself with disgust and horror, she kept stabbing at the body upon her until he no longer moved. When she had finally managed to struggle free from the corpse, she was completey worn out and couldn't decide if she'd rather faint on the spot or throw up first.

She barely had the time to wipe the blood off her face when the next orc already attacked. It was only thanks to Gandalf's quick intervention that the battle didn't end for her then and there.


The nightmare around them continued and Ella quickly abandoned any further thoughts of heroic deeds when it became clear that it would be hard enough to stay alive at all.

Even with the advantage of speed and agility on her side, and despite Dwalin's training, she was clearly no match for Mordor's soldies, and would be well advised not to leave the old wizard's side again.

After an indefinite period of fierce fighting during which Ella had lost all track of time, the city's defenders finally seemed to succeed in driving back their attackers, albeit at great cost of life on their side. Ella tried not to look too close at the human bodies in her way; some of them were barely more than children and she was scared to recognize one of Bard's among them.

During a brief lull in the fighting she heard another war horn sound, this time coming directly from the mountain.

Thorin. The dwarves of Erebor had joined the fight.

Her exhaustion momentarilily forgotten, she followed Gandalf up a balcony in the city wall and watched from there how Thorin and her companions stormed onto the battlefield and quickly cut a bloody path through the assailing orc hordes.

For a brief moment, her heart swelled with wild pride for them, but soon enough it was again replaced by fear and worry. The presence of the dwarf king might serve to give the defenders of Erebor new hope and confidence, and they fought even fiercer than before, but the number of their enemies was seemingly endless and more were still on their way.

And she could do absolutely nothing to help them.

If the last hours had made one thing abundantly clear, then that she was by no means a great fighter. Besides, she was quite sure Thorin would set no great store by her support now, neither moral nor otherwise.

Not now, nor ever again.

The thought came along with a sharp pang in her chest. Well, she'd better get used to it. It would be like this for the rest of her life.


"They cannot withstand for much longer," she turned desperately to Gandalf. "Is there nothing we can do ?"

The old wizard leaned on his wand and panted hard. His robe was speckled all over with orc blood. Sometime during the course of the battle he had lost his hat, and now his matted grey hair stuck to his sweaty brow.

"I have called for reinforcements hours ago. Beorn and my eagles are on their way," he mumbled. He raised his eyes towards the sky and frowned. "I really don't know what takes them so long-"

"Your feathered friends better come soon." came a familiar voice from behind them.

Ella spun around and her eyes went wide. "Kili!"

And it really was him. In the flesh and alive.

Still a little pale, his face and cheeks thinner than she remembered, but all in all he looked much better than when she had last seen him.

With a loud cry of joy she stormed down the stairs and flung herself into his arms.

The dwarf prince caught her with a surprised gasp and only then she remembered his injury. "Oh! Oh Kili, your leg! I'm sorry! " she cried and let go of him.

"Nevermind,"he grinned. "I'm well enough. I'm happy to see you too, Ella."

His smile took on a bitter note. " I just wished it were under different circumstances. We have only just arrived here-"

"We?" she enquired with raised eyebrows.

A faint blush rose up on Kili's pale cheeks. "We- that is, Tauriel and me. When I decided I had strained Thranduil's hospitality long enough, she insisted on accompanying me. I told her I could take care of myself but she wouldn't hear of it. Reminded me of how well that worked last time." He grimaced but the pure joy sparkling in his eyes belied his feigned annoyance. He didn't mind at all to be patronized by a certain auburn-haired she-elf. Ella fought back a smile. Not the worst foundation for a future relationship, to be sure.

"On our way here, we saw orc troops march towards the Erebor. " Kili continued. "We had hoped to arrive before them to warn you, but as it seems, they were faster-"

"It is Azog," Ella said with a shudder. "He commands this army."

Kili pressed his lips into a grim line. "Mahal curse his black soul." he spat.

He stepped towards the balcony rail and looked down at the battlefield below. "So many," he murmured.

He exhaled and drew his sword. "Thorin and Fili are down there. They'll need my help." He turned to Ella. "Go find Tauriel. She has promised Bard to get the women and children into safety, you should go with them. Tell her-" He paused and shook his head. "I will tell her myself when I return."

He hugged her briefly, then he turned around, jumped down the stairs and vanished in the hustle. "Kili wait!" she called after him. "I'm coming with you. I can fight-"

"And you have fought bravely," Gandalf agreed with a tired smile and laid a hand on her shoulder. "But we should do as Kili says. We will both feel better when we know you're safe."

Ella nodded reluctantly. She knew he was right. Truth be told, she was so tired and exhausted she could hardly stand on her legs any longer.

But then, a sudden movement on the battlefield caught her eye. A war chariot pulled by rams charged through the rows of the orcs and headed into the direction of the cliff that served as Azog's command centre.

And on it, holding the reigns, stood an unmistakable broad, majestic figure whose long raven hair waved behind him in the wind.

Thorin.

And Fili stood next to him, and she believed she could recognize Balin and Dwalin as well.

The breath caught in her throat. "What are they doing?" she whispered, but in her heart she knew the answer before Gandalf confirmed it with a grim smile.

"Trying to cut off the snake's head."