All the crustaceans' corpses began to disintegrate into particles of light, leaving the dwarves once again astonished. However, dismissing it as just another "wizard thing," they chose not to ask further questions. Unlike them, Gandalf watched with a certain unease. Though the Eldens had proven themselves valuable allies, he could not ignore certain details… though for now he would say nothing. He preferred to observe, and when the time came, inquire more deeply.
They were ready to move on, though not without losses. While Miquella managed to heal most of the wounded, one of the ponies could not be saved. With permission granted, the young elden used its corpse to feed his ring, which now shone with a vibrant radiance. The accumulated energy opened tempting possibilities, yet Miquella restrained himself. It was not the time—not yet. He still lacked enough for what he truly wished to summon.
They left the marshlands shortly before mounting again. At the loss of the pony, Miquella considered riding with Leda—her mount seemed strong enough to carry them both—but in the end he chose instead to travel in the wagon, as before.
The journey went on, now filled with renewed conversation. The skirmish with the giant crabs and crayfish had proven to be… rather revealing. Debates about the encounter quickly arose, along with questions for the Eldens regarding such creatures and other possible threats from their homeland that might appear here, dominating the group's discussions.
Bilbo, despite not having fought, was the most curious. During supper, it was he who broke the ice with the questions everyone wanted to ask but did not know how to phrase. Miquella answered with his soft, melodious voice, wrapping each story in a captivating atmosphere. Even the most trivial descriptions came alive in his narration.
As they traveled, the young elden could not stop glancing at his ring. The stored energy pulsed strongly, as if demanding to be used. Not enough for his greater desire, but certainly enough for something significant. Fortunately, he had improved at containing power: waste was diminishing steadily.
It was then that a ruined building, long visible in the distance, rose clearly before them.
"The ruins of Amon Sûl," Gandalf commented in a solemn tone.
All raised their eyes upward. Some with reverence, others with mere curiosity, and a few with no particular interest.
"Impressive… it would make an excellent stronghold," murmured Miquella, his gaze lost beyond what the others could see. He already imagined it as a watchtower… or perhaps something more ambitious.
Considering certain possibilities, Miquella strayed briefly toward the ruins, accompanied by some of his Eldens. His excuse was simple: "sightseeing." The visit was swift and efficient: they entered, inspected, and left with the same speed, convincing the dwarves that no more time would be wasted. What they did not know was that Miquella's ring had gone in brimming with energy… and now glowed a little less, though it still held a significant reserve.
The group contemplated the ruins for a few moments more before the path forced them to move on. It was tempting to rest there, but many hours of daylight remained, and the day could still be productive. They left Amon Sûl behind.
Since leaving the marshes, Miquella had not ceased to use his magic. Though his ring's energy loss was now minimal, he decided to make use of the small residual leak by applying reinforcement and recovery spells on the ponies. Thanks to this, the journey became swifter, and the group chose to push a little further before halting.
During the trip, Gandalf began riding alongside the wagon, next to Miquella. He did so for the sake of "knowledge exchange."
"They're quite useful," said Miquella, holding a glimstone in his palm. "Good energy, though they burn out quickly if overused… so it's best to keep some spares. I tell you, it'd make an excellent addition to your staff. A fine magical battery."
He extended the stone toward the wizard, who took it curiously, examining it closely. The power it radiated was subtle, but unmistakable.
"It truly is a very interesting stone," said Gandalf, nodding appreciatively.
"Take it, use it. This is no time to hoard things, but to employ them well," insisted Miquella, gifting it without hesitation.
"Thank you. I shall make good use of it," the wizard replied, carefully tucking it among his belongings.
"And if you need more, just ask," added Miquella, opening a bag full of such shimmering stones. "I even have a really big one… for a special occasion," he said with a smile, lifting a glimstone the size of his own head.
Gandalf looked at him, both intrigued and cautious.
"Now I understand your confidence about facing the dragon… I see you are prepared," he said. "But it will not be simple. I do not want false bravery to drag you into a useless death. Fighting the dragon must be a measured decision, not an impulsive one. Only when victory is assured."
The old wizard had spent days learning more about the Eldens… and they never ceased to amaze him. They were diverse, powerful, and according to the stories Miquella shared, also dangerous. There were creatures in their world of origin that could unleash chaos upon Middle-earth if they ever arrived here. Yet he was relieved it was Miquella who had come: this young demigod was, all things considered, sensible, reasonable… and if things continued as they were, perhaps a powerful ally.
"The true source of my confidence is not the objects we carry," said Miquella, calm but firm, his eyes sweeping over his followers. "But ourselves. Believe me, old man… we are beasts cloaked in human skin. For now we restrain our power, but when the time comes to release it… none shall stop us."
…
That night, the howls of wolves echoed in the distance. It was a large, dangerous pack.
"Wargs," murmured a dwarf gravely.
Even so, there was little concern. The watches were shared between Eldens and dwarves, and they also had the presence of two powerful wizards. The dwarves, who seldom trusted others, now felt safer than ever. In fact, after warnings of orc presence in the region, the thrill of sinking their axes into enemy skulls outweighed any fear of a surprise attack.
That night also marked a subtle change in the group. The Eldens, who had so often shared tales of their world, at last listened to the stories of the dwarves. They spoke of the orcs, of the wargs… but also of the legendary Battle of Azanulbizar and how Thorin earned his title of "Oakenshield." Those words not only instructed but also united warriors of different worlds.
…
The eastern road carried them on, until they reached a place of special meaning. For Miquella, that spot bore a different weight: it was there he had taken his first steps in this world. A surge of emotions struck him—nostalgia, doubt, curiosity. What had become of the innkeeper? And of the town of Bree? He still carried the rune from that woman, though no longer on his person… at least, not upon someone.
The rune had been embedded in one of his weapons. It was no longer actively used: the power it granted had been surpassed by current circumstances. Yet it remained a symbol, a memory. Curiously, the weapon had acquired a peculiar property: [greater penetration] against minors.
Miquella said nothing of this. He kept silent for hours, though his effort to disguise it did not go unnoticed. The Eldens, Gandalf, even some dwarves perceived it. Only Leda, who knew more about her lord's beginnings in this world, intuited what was in his mind. That was why her hands gripped the reins tighter, her gaze darkening. She knew that, when the time came, debts would have to be settled. And she knew well that there was an innkeeper to visit, and a severed head to offer her lord.
Miquella, for his part, was unaware of those thoughts. His attention lay elsewhere.
There was a buzzing in his ear.
Not a common sound, nor entirely real. Faint, almost imperceptible, yet insistent enough to make him realize something was amiss. It repeated intermittently, bringing with it a strange sensation—familiarity? Yes, though not of something he knew. He tried to focus, thought of forcing an interpretation with his ring's energy… but something in that buzzing held him back. There was a softness to it, as if telling him not to worry, that all would be well. Strange… unsettling. Yet also soothing.
Meanwhile, the landscape grew more difficult. The East Road now skirted a dense forest, the terrain becoming increasingly challenging. The ascents and descents were constant, and the silence of the surroundings was broken only by the ponies' hooves and the wind through the trees.
The group passed an old ruined house. There were still hours of daylight left, yet Gandalf paused a moment to regard it silently.
"A farming family once lived here," he murmured, recalling his past journey to the Shire.
"Could something have…?" Miquella began, but broke off suddenly, gazing into the forest before saying, "I think we should stop here."
"We could still go on for a few more hours," said Bofur, raising his hand to measure the sun's position.
"We've already gone far enough," Miquella replied, stepping down from the wagon. "And we cannot keep squeezing the ponies with magic."
As if his words were divine law, all the Eldens immediately dismounted, not even considering pressing onward. The decision was made.
With so many in favor—and after a long day's travel—the dwarves too chose to halt. A day's rest would not disrupt the itinerary, and the idea of stretching their legs was more than welcome. As they pointed out, they had already gained considerable ground thanks to Miquella's magic, so a day of rest would not hinder their journey in the slightest.
Camp was raised, though Gandalf did not seem entirely convinced. He watched the remains of the abandoned house with concern. For now, however, it would be a lesser problem. They were approaching a hidden valley, one the wizard had had in mind from the beginning. There they hoped to find one of the wisest and most influential beings in the region, someone who could guide them and offer a safe haven… though convincing the heir of Durin would not be simple.
Indeed, after a heated argument with the stubborn dwarf, Gandalf stormed off with a frown, muttering under his breath as he pondered how to lead them there without their realizing it.
"Gandalf?" Bilbo asked, noticing his hurried steps.
"I'll go for a walk," was all the wizard replied before striding off alone.
The dwarves, ignoring the matter, assumed it was one of those "wizard things" and thought little more of it. The Eldens did not follow either; their attention was fixed on Miquella, who kept gazing into the forest with an uneasy expression.
"My lord…?" Leda asked cautiously.
"I'm going to pee" Miquella answered naturally, walking toward the thicket. The call he felt was too strong to ignore.
"I'll accompany you," said Leda, sensing something was wrong. But at that moment Miquella turned to her with a look full of meaning, as if to say: 'So, you want to watch me pee?' Flushed with embarrassment, the knight quickly clarified: "To protect you…"
Miquella smiled inwardly, pleased at having flustered her a bit, and went on his way. He did not mind having company, and though he had no real plan to relieve himself—though perhaps he might later, just for fun and to unsettle her further—his main concern was to uncover the origin of that call, which intensified with every step he took into the woods.
The rest of the Eldens remained in tense expectation. The unease that something might be happening behind their backs drove them to pay attention to every sound and sign, ready to rush into the forest if the situation demanded it.
Bilbo, meanwhile, found himself without his two main interlocutors: the wizard and the demigod. Since joining the journey, he had done little beyond tending the ponies… and wondering whether it had really been a good idea to accept this adventure.
Well, there was something else he had been doing… though not by choice. Rubbing his sore shoulder, he remembered the training.
After crossing the marshes, Miquella had suggested combat practice. He brought small swords and sticks, proposing light sparring. His child's body was not ideal for battle, and he wished to grow accustomed to using weapons as soon as possible. For some reason, Bilbo was dragged into the activity. According to Miquella, "to improve his survival."
The sight of a hobbit and a child demigod clashing with sticks as if playing was an unusual entertainment for the dwarves, who sometimes joined in or offered advice. But for the Eldens it was another matter. Too many times, Miquella had to stop his followers from killing anyone who dared strike their lord—even in agreed-upon training.
The Eldens' loyalty was such that even the dwarves deeply respected it. They witnessed the uncontrollable fury that overtook them whenever anyone dared harm their lord.
This even led some Eldens to "participate" in the training, challenging those dwarves who happened to have struck Miquella. Though the situation occasionally slipped out of hand, the exercise proved worthwhile.
At least Bilbo now had some scars to boast of when he returned home. Of course, none had been caused by an actual enemy.