Bree was a small but bustling town, with its own virtues and misfortunes. Upon entering, Miquella and his followers discreetly observed in all directions, both out of precaution against any eventuality and out of admiration for the place.
They wandered through the streets in search of a place to stay until, finally, they found the inn The Prancing Pony. Miquella, with a spark of enthusiasm in his eyes, pointed at it. He wasn't entirely sure if it was the place he thought it was, but he saw no problem in taking the risk.
The group stopped in front of the inn. Of them, four entered first: Miquella, closely escorted by Leda, Ansbach, and Moore. It was still early, so the place wasn't crowded, though there were enough customers for their peculiar group to draw some curious glances. As expected, the one who paid them the most attention was the innkeeper, who had to attend to them.
They approached the counter, Miquella at the front, his guardians flanking him—alert, though not hostile. The young former demigod spoke politely:
"Hello, good sir. I'd like to know if we could lodge at your establishment, and how much it would cost to stay two weeks, for eight people."
His voice, though trying to sound mature, could not entirely conceal the youthfulness of his body.
"No problem, little man," replied the innkeeper with a kind smile, leaning slightly over the counter to get a better look at the small leader. "For two weeks, I can offer you two rooms for fifteen silver coins."
Miquella smiled at the term little man. At least he hadn't been called child, which felt like a small victory. He was still grappling with the fact—or perhaps the dreaded certainty—that his body would never change. Of course, it had its advantages and disadvantages, but at that moment, he felt a bit of the dignity and adulthood of his past life return through that conversation, and it was a relief.
"Very well, that sounds fair," he replied, though in truth he had little idea if it was or not. Still, he wanted to handle this first transaction himself; later he would leave such matters to those who truly knew what they were doing. "Moore, pay our host."
Moore stepped forward, pulling the necessary coins from the travel pouch. As the one responsible for the group's finances, he was the custodian of most of their wealth.
The innkeeper accepted the payment with satisfaction, and at last, the group secured a place to rest under a roof. They carried the essentials to the rooms, leaving the cart outside under careful watch. Then, they split into smaller groups.
Among the belongings accumulated during the journey—whether objects Miquella had summoned or items acquired along the way—there were several they did not intend to keep. So, organized in pairs, each group took a category of goods: furs, jewels, weapons, utensils, etc., and went off in search of places to sell or trade them.
...
Night had fallen by the time the group reunited at the inn, enjoying a hearty dinner. During their sales, they had also taken the chance to explore the town a bit, and now they shared the information they had gathered.
Miquella, savoring the food served at the inn—accompanied by some pastries he couldn't resist buying—listened attentively to his companions' reports and their small discussions. Though there wasn't much to recount—the time had been short—some interesting observations about this new place did surface.
After dinner, they soon retired to rest.
The group divided into two rooms. Miquella shared his with Leda. The latter couldn't help but feel nervous as she removed her armor under the attentive—and completely innocent—gaze of her young lord. Miquella, as was now his custom, waited calmly. Though he had his own bed, he had grown used to sleeping embraced with someone since their nights in the open, seeking warmth and safety.
Now, without the constant danger of exposure, the closeness became even more evident.
Miquella, without a shred of shame, quickly nestled against Leda, resting his head on her chest, and fell fast asleep within minutes, lulled by the warmth and comfort he found in her. Leda, on the other hand, spent the night awake, unable to fall asleep. It wasn't the first time this had happened, but feeling how Miquella, unconsciously, curled up against her like a kitten made the situation even harder to endure.
Despite being in a relatively safe place, they never completely let down their guard. As a set rule, in each room someone always kept watch in turns, and so it would remain while they stayed there. They would never allow danger to approach their lord—not if they could prevent it.
...
A few days passed in Bree. Miquella and his followers settled in peacefully, finally enjoying some proper rest after their long journey. It wasn't complete rest, of course: being in such a busy crossroads made it much easier to gather information, and Miquella decided to make the most of it to resolve some of his many questions about this world.
So, during this time, it was common to see one of his peculiar warriors roaming through the town, asking questions here and there. It was also common to see the young blond boy, carrying a small bluish doll in his arms, strolling and marveling at everything he found.
Finally, on the last day of their first week in Bree, the entire group was gathered at the inn. They were seated around a large table in a corner, while the night grew lively around them. Some traveling musicians had arrived and were playing cheerful tunes for anyone willing to toss them a few coins, filling the air with a warm, contagious vitality.
Miquella's group had decided to take a day of complete rest and relaxation. Food and drink were already on their way. Though none of them seemed entirely accustomed to such a peaceful and bustling atmosphere, after all they had endured, they managed to blend in somewhat with the murmur and music of the night, allowing themselves to enjoy this small respite.
"Is something the matter, my lord?" asked Leda, sitting at his side, noticing his distant expression.
"No… nothing," replied Miquella, clutching tightly against his chest the little blue doll he always carried with him.
He was lost in thought, reviewing all they had learned during that week. The answers he had obtained were not as encouraging as he had hoped, and moreover, those persistent dreams and the unsettling feeling that something—somewhere far away—required his concern kept him uneasy.
He hugged little Ranni even tighter in his arms, as if seeking comfort.
He had thought bringing Ranni would be easier, since she had no physical body, and he had spent all the energy he had managed to gather in hopes of at least bringing one of his sisters to keep him company. But he had been naïve. Even without an empyrean body, the accumulated energy had not been enough.
Instead, the only thing he managed to materialize was a miniature replica of Ranni's doll body. It wasn't what he had wished for… but at least it was something.
Since then, he had not let it out of his sight. He used the small figure as a comfort, a balm for his stress.
It wasn't that he enjoyed playing with dolls, really; but perhaps the fact that it was such a perfect copy of his sister helped soothe his soul. Nor did he care how childish it might seem: hugging it, whispering to it, sharing his deepest thoughts—and sometimes, simply his everyday ramblings—had become a habit. Perhaps, deep down, all of this eased his loneliness a little.
It wasn't that he didn't appreciate the company of his loyal followers, who were more than comrades; but the emptiness left by the absence of his family was a pain he could not fill.
Thinking of his siblings… of his home… hurt. The dreams of them grew ever more frequent, ever more real… until that little doll came into his hands.
Miquella snapped out of his thoughts when the food and large jugs of beer arrived. His anguish faded temporarily as he contemplated the abundant dinner before him. They had decided to spend a little extra that day, allowing themselves a few luxuries to celebrate the brief rest and fleeting sense of freedom.
His followers were not as enthusiastic as he was about all this. They remained in an unknown world and still debated the recent discoveries and possible plans for the future, so focused that they did not notice how young Miquella, slowly, reached for one of the jugs of beer.
In truth, in his past life on Earth, Miquella had never been very fond of alcohol. Perhaps it was more due to lack of funds than true aversion. But here and now—conveniently ignoring the fact that he was once again a child—he wanted at least to try what this marvelous and damned drink had to offer.
So, taking advantage of the fact that no one was watching, he claimed the pint of beer that originally belonged to Leda and took a huge gulp, downing more than 30% of its contents in one go…
...
...
...
Leda and the others barely noticed when Miquella slipped away from his seat. Nor did they see how, staggering slightly but moving with surprising speed, he approached the musicians, handed them a few coins while explaining something, and began to move around the inn.
Well, considering the swiftness and the sheer unexpectedness of it all, it was normal that it took them a while to realize. Still, Leda was quick enough to notice that her beloved lord had vanished.
"It seems that the undead are a relatively new phenomenon here," Ansbach was explaining, pulling out a white cloth that covered something, about to reveal his find. "It's estimated that one in every hundred corpses might rise. That's what the gravedigger told us. He doesn't know exactly when it started… This wasn't even the first place they've been sighted, but—"
"Wait!" Leda interrupted, alarmed. "Where's Miquella?"
Everyone looked at each other and then around the room, hastily rising from their seats. That was when they noticed the music had changed. By the time they spotted their lord's bright golden hair, the situation had already spiraled far beyond any possible control: everyone in the inn—or at least most of them—was staring at the same point, where the beautiful boy had already started singing and dancing wildly and clumsily.
"I like big butts and I cannot lie
You other brothers can't deny
That when a girl walks in with an itty bitty waist
And a round thing in your face
You get sprung, want to pull up tough
'Cause you noticed that butt was stuffed
Deep in the jeans she's wearing
I'm hooked and I can't stop staring..." (Sir Mix-a-Lot – Baby Got Back)
Miquella seemed completely unleashed. Though his childish voice and the poor musical accompaniment did no justice to the song, his enthusiasm, exaggerated movements, and the sheer energy he exuded managed to capture the true spirit of the melody.
The entire inn was stunned by such a spectacle. Some, the more drunken ones, burst into whistles and cheers, applauding the impromptu performance.
Meanwhile, Leda and the others stood frozen, unable to react at once to what they were seeing: their lord… belting out such vulgar lyrics with such confidence and poise! And as if that weren't enough, when Miquella began to shake his little rear, attempting a clumsy yet unexpectedly sensual twerk against one of the columns—nearly falling flat on his face—they finally snapped into action.
Without wasting another moment, they all rushed to catch him. But Miquella, seeing them, tried to flee, still staggering, still shaking his hips to the rhythm of the music as he shouted the lyrics. He didn't get far: soon he was seized and dragged back, accompanied by the boos of the other patrons, disappointed at the abrupt end of such peculiar entertainment.
It was precisely because Miquella resisted so vehemently being taken back to his room that the group had no choice but to drag him back to their table instead of leaving right away.
"My lord…" Leda asked, holding onto Miquella, who was still babbling.
The young one's head lolled from side to side, his gaze unfocused but, somehow, still conscious. Leda and the others looked on with growing concern, until Hornsent discreetly pointed to the nearest pint of beer—the very one Miquella was trying clumsily to reach. Then they all understood… and, at the same time, were even more baffled.
"My lord, you're drunk…" Leda whispered under her breath.
"I know I'm very hunk!" Miquella replied, in a slurred, dreamy voice.
"My lord…" Leda insisted, desperate for him to come to his senses and accept being taken to rest. It was difficult—shocking, even—to see her untouchable and perfect lord in such a state, especially after what they had just witnessed.
"Shut up… Lida… I want beer…" Miquella mumbled, still stretching his hands toward the pint, though he soon gave up, defeated by Leda's strength and his own lack of coordination. "Hmm… let me drink, Meda… hehe… Meda…" he chuckled, then suddenly broke into a pitiful sob. "I need it… it's horrible…"
"What's wrong, my lord?" Leda asked, alarmed at the sudden emotional shift.
"It's shit…" Miquella wept with the childish fury of a frustrated boy. "The Dark Lord, Sauramon, isn't dead yet… and he's gonna be a pain in the ass…"
"We'll take care of him, my lord. You don't have to worry…" Leda tried to comfort him, caressing his back.
"No, no we can't… not that easy… it'll be hard…" he kicked weakly, muttering between his teeth. "I had it all planned… money, country house, land… wealth and peace…" Then he lifted his gaze toward Leda, holding her face with trembling hands. "Even, at first, I thought of taking you as my wife, my sweet Ledia… having a family together…"
Miquella looked at her with a sad tenderness that made the knight's cheeks flush red. But when he spoke the word "family," his own expression broke once again.
"Family… I miss them… I'm alone…" he whispered with crushing sorrow. "Even though you're here… it's not enough… I need my family… blood of my blood…"
Then Miquella's attitude shifted abruptly. He clumsily sat on Leda's lap, wrapped his arms around her neck, and fixed her with a mischievous, seductive gaze.
"You can still give me what I want, my loyal knight…" he whispered, half pleading, half commanding. "Give me a family… come on, take me, get me pregnant, make me a new family!" he exclaimed euphorically, thrusting his hips against her in a clumsy, uncoordinated motion. Then, as if correcting his own nonsense, he shook his head vigorously: "No, no! Reverse! The other way! I… I'll get you pregnant! Yes… that's it…"
Completely lost in his drunkenness, Miquella lunged at her again, hugging her and pressing his face against Leda's neck, where he gave her an unexpected, clumsy lick. Soon after, perhaps due to the warmth and comfort of her arms, he finally fell asleep against her shoulder, unable to utter another word.
The table fell into sepulchral silence.
Dane was the first to break it:
"That… was strange…" he said, earning unanimous nods from the others.
All eyes turned to Leda, who remained stiff as a statue, her face dangerously red as she held the sleeping Miquella in her arms.
"Leda, do you think…?" Ansbach began to ask, but never finished.
THUNK.
Suddenly, Leda, still rigid as a post, collapsed onto the table, unconscious, a thin trickle of blood running from her nose. Miquella, still in her arms, knocked lightly against the wood as well, though he seemed not to feel it.
There was another long moment of utter silence.
Without a word, several of the others instinctively shoved their pints of beer as far away as possible, as if it were deadly poison. Then, without wasting more time, they carefully gathered up Leda and Miquella and carried them to their rooms.
...
Miquella awoke very late the next day.
With two headaches battling inside his skull and memories he prayed were nothing but a bad dream, he had no intention of getting up… but from what he heard on the other side of the door, he had no choice: he had to rise before a massacre occurred.
"I remember each and every one of them, every witness," Leda growled with the fury of a wild boar. "We have to find them and kill them all before they escape. Only then will our lord remain pure! No one who saw what happened yesterday must be left alive!"
Miquella let out a muffled groan in his bed. It hadn't been a dream. He would have to act fast before Leda did something irreparable.
How was it possible that half a pint of beer had taken him down like that? It made no sense. Even if he had lost part of his "invulnerability" by becoming a "normal child," this was absurd.
As he tried to clear his head, another worry began to surface in his mind: he'd had a dream. An important dream. He knew it with every fiber of his being.
But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't remember why…