Fires burned everywhere, screams echoed amongst the crumbling buildings of what was once Laketown. The fire drake from the north, Smaug, had left the Lonely Mountain to lay waste to the people of the once great Esgaroth.

One of the lucky to escape the desolation brought forth by the last great dragon known to Middle Earth was a young maiden called Illya. She was a healer- an apothecary- and she had gathered all that she could carry before fleeing with everyone else, barely making it to the shores of the Long Lake as Smaug fell from the darkened skies.

She helped those she could, assisting the wounded as they were carried to Dale once the remaining survivors had made it to shore. But things were looking very grim: food and water were scarce, there were more wounded than they could hope to treat, and there was little to no hope that many of them would survive the night.

Come morning, however, everyone was surprised with the welcome of very much needed food, water, and medicine at the hands of the Woodland Elves of Mirkwood. Illya searched through the medical supplies the elves had brought, relieved to see so many available, and got straight to work- not stopping for a break until she was sure that everyone had been taken care of.

That night was just as cold as the one before had been, but at least this time they were better off thanks to the supplies delivered. Illya had stood on the ramparts that night, wondering if a war was the only answer they had. She had heard rumors, though, that the dwarf Thorin Oakenshield had been taken by dragon sickness upon entering his old home and if that were true, Illya knew that no matter what Bard or Thranduil or anyone else would be able to reach him. The heir to the throne of Erebor would have to free himself.

But when dawn came the following morning, Illya watched with many others as all their able-bodied men and women took up arms and marched to the broken gates of Erebor alongside the army of the Woodland Elves. She prayed that somehow, they would survive and that the people of Laketown could rebuild what they had lost. They all knew that lives would be lost if the battle ensued, but no one- not even Thranduil or the Dwarves of the Iron Hills- were prepared for an attack on two fronts. The battle spilled much blood in the barren wilderland between Erebor and Dale, but more so when the streets of Dale began to flood with Orcs.

The Lake-Men who had to remain behind in Dale fled for their lives and did their best to find shelter where they could hide and wait out the storm of the battle. Many were able to barricade themselves together in the armory, but others were not so lucky. Illya had been cut off from the group she had ushered towards the armory and had to flee for her life as an ogre came barrelling towards her. As she came around the bend of the street, she spotted a trio of children and rushed to get them to safety. She hurried them along as best she could, yanking down fallen beams and banners or knocking over stacks of crates to try and slow the beast down. She was beginning to lose hope, fearing that they would all meet their end, but then a man came speeding down the sloped road in a cart and took down the ogre before running to embrace the children.

She watched with relief as they seemed to have been reunited with their father, then looked around for some kind of weapon. She wasn't much of a fighter, but she knew enough to be of some use helping people to the citadel as the children's father instructed them to get everywhere they could there. Just as the children left, running off to do as they were told, Illya called out to the man and rushed to tackle him out of the way as a huge chunk of stone rubble came crashing down from above. They fell into the ashen snow, the falling debris narrowly missing their feet. Illya looked down at the man, ignoring that she had landed on top of him for a moment and asked if he was alright. But before he could answer, more Orcs were coming their way. Illya pushed herself upright and stood, offering him her hand and helping him to his feet before retrieving the sword that she had dropped. The Orcs were quickly upon them and Illya did her best to help the man fend them off, grateful when other Men of the Lake came to their aid. When the Orcs were defeated and dead at their feet, Illya took her leave and began her search for other survivors anew. The onslaught of the battle continued to rage and blood continued to coat the streets of Dale, but Illya was able to get an additional ten of the Lake-Men safely to the citadel and helped to fortify the barricade before turning to treat the wounded with what little medical supplies they had.

It seemed like hours had gone by before the battle had finally come to an end and Illya stepped outside of the citadel with a dozen or so others, their hearts sinking at the carnage lining the streets and the battlefield outside of the ruins of Dale. The battle had been won by the Men, Elves, and Dwarves, but too many were lost- including Thorin Oakenshield and his two nephews, Fili and Kili. Those who had survived collected the bodies of their dead and gave them proper funeral rites- as best as they could given their circumstances- and went their separate ways with the elves returning home to Mirkwood and the dwarves congregating in Erebor as they buried their king and his heirs. The cousin to the king, Dain Ironfoot, would be crowned the next king of Erebor and trade would hopefully soon be re-established with the dwarven kingdom.

It was a long while before things had settled down enough to where everyone felt as though they could finally take a breather, but when that time came, with it came the sense of hope that they could rebuild what was lost and begin anew in times of peace.