The lands of Dale were looking better, less ashen than when they had first come upon the abandoned kingdom, and thrice better than the aftermath of being run down by orc and troll. There were bouts of green peeking through the once burnt grounds; the life swept through both the grounds and the people. Newfound Dale was growing. And soon, it would stand proudly, headstrong amongst its neighbours.

There was murmur about visitors, which were not rarities any longer to the stone walls of Dale. Surely, it was more fitting than Laketown, Bard mused, as he went out to greet such visitors that had a citizen or few speaking of. Oh. Mid-greeting, Bard found himself rendered silent. But of course. Elves making such a grand entrance, did little to subside any subtlety. “Lord Thranduil, to what do I owe this visit?" 

1. bowbearer reblogged this from breniarchive-blog and added:

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   "Not I, my lord,“ the Elvenking passes his mount with trust into the hands of the elves at his back, and in swift order...

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