The journey remained slow after Ansbach's arrival, perhaps even more so than before—though not because of him. It was true that his current state was comparable to that of an ordinary old man, for whom such a trek would have been exhausting, and he was grateful that Leda and Miquella kept a measured pace. Still, as the days passed, Ansbach began to recover some of his strength. He was far from his prime, but soon he was able to walk the road without much difficulty.
The real reason for their slow progress was not him, but the constant detours they took. It wasn't that they were lost—Miquella had another goal before reaching his destination: gathering his former followers. For that, he needed power.
Miquella had discovered that he could absorb energy from various sources. The vitality of other beings was the simplest way to obtain large amounts, but he could also slowly draw energy from the air, the earth, the world itself… even from sunlight. Moreover, each type of energy affected the efficiency of his spells and actions differently: some were more useful than others, their potency varied.
When he had accumulated enough energy, he would use the power of his ring with growing skill to summon those who had once walked by his side. Thus, little by little, his old followers began to appear.
Hornsent, Redmane Freya, Moore, Dryleaf Dane, Thiollier…
They did not all return at the same time, but each experienced the same: appearing in an unknown place, recalling their death, marveling at the sight of Miquella, listening to his words, understanding what had happened… and receiving a new chance to follow him.
Their reactions were not identical, but the outcome was: though Miquella's charm no longer bound them, many offered him their loyalty without hesitation—perhaps for questionable reasons, but sincere in their own way.
The group dynamics were strange. No one was under Miquella's spell anymore, but all shared his fate in this unfamiliar world. Even so, he did not doubt their loyalty… even from those who had betrayed him in the past.
Thiollier, after a certain night, became more devoted than ever. Dryleaf Dane also swore allegiance without hesitation. Moore, calm as always, agreed to continue serving his lord.
Freya, though still devoted, did not take kindly to Miquella's views on Radahn nor his wish never to mention him again. Even so, remembering that he had saved her life, she chose to keep her oath… at least for now.
Hornsent offered his loyalty again without question. He had no enemies left to hunt, but knowing that he had been resurrected by Miquella's power, he promised to serve him forever—if, in return, his wife and daughter could be brought back.
In the end, in this strange world, all decided to follow him, at least for the moment. With his faithful gathered, Miquella felt secure enough to resume his path. Still, he took the necessary time to grant them the local tongue and explain the essentials of this new world. This delayed their march eastward even further.
All rallied under Miquella's banner, though none expected to see their former lord in his current state. Their reactions mirrored those of Leda and Ansbach: they noticed the change. Serious and serene at times, childlike and approachable at others, Miquella addressed them not only as a leader but as a friend… without losing his air of majesty entirely.
On the road, there were encounters with beasts and bandits who, to their misfortune, crossed paths with the group. These skirmishes served as training: all had to adapt to their new limitations. None—except Leda—were at their peak, and regaining their former strength would take time. For any who harbored treacherous thoughts, Leda's presence, now the most formidable among them, was a clear warning.
...
It was a peculiar journey, especially for those who had the fortune—or misfortune—of crossing Miquella's company. His group was so diverse, so out of place, that they inspired awe, fear, or simple bewilderment wherever they went. Yet it was precisely these encounters, both good and bad, that helped Miquella's followers adapt better to this new world.
In time, the quality of the journey improved. Moore resumed his former role as the group's trader, bartering goods found along the way for supplies and comforts with wandering merchants. Thanks to him, travel became more bearable.
To Miquella's dismay, he no longer traveled clinging to Leda's back. Now he sat in a small cart, surrounded by provisions. Leda was not particularly pleased with the change either, though she never admitted it. Still, the benefits were undeniable: less burden for her, more comfort for him.
He could no longer enjoy Leda's hair nor the way she tensed whenever she felt his breath so close. But in the cart, he had space to work on his own things, to think, to lose himself in his own world.
He was, after all, the least troubled of the group. Even with his seal to cast incantations, Miquella could only conjure a few minor spells before growing pale and shaky. Most battles were handled by his followers. Meanwhile, he devoted himself to study, trying to find answers to the questions that lingered in his mind.
He did not consider himself deeply knowledgeable about Arda, but many things here seemed closer to his native world. Some animals, recently risen undead, corpses scattered along the path… Something didn't fit. He suspected he wasn't the only one who had arrived—that the two worlds were connected—or perhaps that his very presence was corrupting the fauna and energy of this land. But he had no proof. It was frustrating. So, for now, he set the thought aside, contenting himself with watching the landscape.
It was a calm, beautiful road, and with his followers by his side, Miquella felt safe. No one spoke. The atmosphere was serious, but not tense.
Lost in thought, he gazed at the horizon… until he began to hum. At first it was a faint sound, nearly drowned out by footsteps and the creak of the cart, but gradually it took shape, until his childlike voice began to sing:
"When the night shapes secret dreams
That I cannot change
When the moon weaves tender silk to veil the day
Then I know you'll make the magic feel so alive
When the stars send gentle words I wish I could say
Then I hear your heart a thousand miles away
You are always in my dreams, my reason to live
You are always in all my dreams, my reason to give..."
It was a soft, melancholy song, but so sweet that one by one his followers turned to look at him. The lyrics were strange, belonging to a world not their own, but his voice carried something hypnotic. Not powerful or imposing… but warm, fragile, almost celestial.
"You are my pearl in a world of dirt
I will be yours forever
You are my flame, my heat, my spark
Like a fire in a world so dark
You are my pearl in a world of dirt
This love cannot be measured
You're my escape from a world of hurt
My delight in a world absurd
You're my pearl in a world of dirt..."
The song had originally been written as a duet, and without musical accompaniment, it did not shine as it should. Yet the tenderness in his voice, that cadence he had not possessed in life, held them captive. When he finished, Miquella noticed all eyes upon him. He gave them a light smile, almost shy.
He found it curious how easy it had been to sing that song in the common tongue. Some rhymes were awkward, but he had managed to make it sound quite good. He liked his voice here—much more than in his past life. Miquella had always had an angelic tone, but it was those songs from Earth that fed his spirit.
His followers, too, were left thoughtful. Those words, sung by their lord, made them wonder if they held some hidden meaning. Without another word, the group continued their march, the echo of the melody still lingering among them. From then on, Miquella would sing now and then, one or two songs from that forgotten world, and with them, he offered a small comfort: a spiritual balm in the midst of an uncertain journey.
...
Though they had taken many detours, they eventually managed to return to their original path. After some time living as true wanderers, Miquella's group reached the Midgewater Marshes: a place overly damp, swarming with flies, unpleasant for anyone.
They hadn't even fully entered when the flies became an unbearable nuisance for Miquella, who waved his hands frantically from the cart in such a ridiculous scene it might have made anyone laugh—anyone but his followers, who did not show a trace of mockery.
As they pressed deeper, his companions covered him with a cloth to shield him from the insects and let him travel more comfortably. They continued their march, but did not get far.
"There's something here," warned Hornsent in a low, tense voice.
"Stop," ordered Leda, raising a hand as her senses sharpened like the rest.
In a single motion, all of them drew their weapons and surrounded Miquella's cart. All except Dane, who fought with fists and feet—especially now that he had lost the energy required to wield his magic.
The group fell into silence. Even Miquella ducked low inside the cart, peeking out only slightly to watch.
Nothing could be heard but the buzzing of flies and the murmur of stagnant waters—until suddenly, a powerful jet of water shot toward them from an indeterminate direction.
With sharp reflexes, they all leapt aside. Moore yanked on the reins, pulling Miquella's cart out of the impact zone just in time.
"Crayfish!" Leda cried, pointing to a "mountain" rising from the water… one that was no mountain at all.
A colossal crustacean, grayish and covered in moss and mud, emerged from the depths. Without a second thought, it lunged at the group as if it cared nothing for the risk of facing warriors of their caliber.
"Hornsent! Ansbach! Freya!" Leda roared as she charged the beast with sword in hand.
She rolled through the mud to dodge a cloud of bubbles the monster spewed her way, and thanks to her bold distraction, Ansbach managed to leap onto the creature and drive his scythe into its face. Freya followed close behind, slamming her shield into the crustacean's flank to keep it from striking at Leda.
The monster spun violently, striking with pincers and its massive body at those surrounding it, struggling to throw Ansbach off to no avail—the scythe was already hooked firmly into its shell.
Though they no longer had their former strength, the group's coordination was flawless. Their combat instinct and the weight of their experience kept them lethal.
Leda and Freya pressed the attack head-on, barely holding back the crushing force of its pincers. Meanwhile, Hornsent took advantage of the distraction to drive his blades into the creature's belly and sides, ripping into its flesh.
Miquella watched from his cart, surrounded by Thiollier, Dane, and Moore, who stayed alert… until more creatures began to rise from the waters.
They were not as massive as the first, but there were many of them. Smaller Crayfish, though the largest was still half the size of the giant one, while the rest were no bigger than medium dogs.
The three guardians formed a ring around Miquella's cart and struck down any crustacean that drew near.
Miquella watched as they were surrounded. He knew his men could handle such creatures, but even so, he wished to help. Resolutely, he took up a sword from the pile of belongings stacked in the cart. During the journey, he had continued practicing bringing over objects from his home world. Though he wished he could summon people to aid him, this was not the time. He lacked the power to call forth those he truly longed for, and besides, it was unwise to grow his company further before settling properly.
He gripped the sword with both hands and tried to lift it, only to realize how much harder it was than it looked when watching his followers wield massive weapons so effortlessly. With strain, he managed to raise it, but the momentum was too much for his frail body. The next instant the blade came crashing down, dragging him along in a clumsy fall.
It was useless. He did not have the strength to wield anything heavier than a dagger, nor the practice to use one effectively. So, with regret, he did what he should have done from the start, though it stung to admit it.
He took up a sorcerer's staff and a glowing stone from among his things. He aimed toward the crustaceans, far from where his companions fought. The staff was plain, one of the most common and weakest, yet still functional. The stone, a glintstone, allowed him to cast without draining too much of his own energy. On the journey, he had learned that such gems could serve as substitute fuel for certain spells.
"Back!" he ordered Moore, who was moving in to protect him.
Moore, seeing what his lord now held, stepped aside cautiously, though he remained ready to leap to his defense if he failed.
Then, pointing his staff, Miquella shouted with all his might, though it was hardly necessary:
"CRYSTAL BARRAGE!"
Miquella sighed with relief. Accepting it was painful, but magic seemed to be his only option in battle for now. He would have liked to swing a sword like the others, but he was incapable—at least for the moment. And yes, he had shouted the spell's name as though he were in some role-playing game, even though it wasn't needed… but any Earth-born human trapped in the body of a half-divine child trying to cast magic would have done the same.
The battle did not last much longer. The massive Crayfish fell under the weight of their combined assault, and the rest, smaller ones, scattered. It wasn't worth chasing them down.
With the danger passed, the group regrouped. Miquella took a moment to draw energy from the corpses, gaining a bit more strength… and a troubling certainty: there were things in Arda that should not exist.
After that battle, crossing the marshes was simple. With no further obstacles, the group returned to solid ground. They had reached civilization once more: the town of Bree.
A wave of emotion swept through them. After so many days wandering, the sight of such a town was a relief. Accustomed to their native world, Bree struck them as both familiar and alien. Turbulent, yes, but alive. Its atmosphere evoked a lost peace, an echo of the days before the war of the gods.
Miquella had spoken to them many times about this world, but only now, seeing it with their own eyes, did his companions begin to understand some of his words. This was a world that, for now, had not been consumed by war… nor by outer gods.
They entered the town, drawing many stares, but did not stop. Their plan was to remain there for a time—to resupply, rest, and ask for directions. After that, they would follow the path their lord set before them…
Hobbiton awaited them