Miquella walked through the forest without a fixed destination. He didn't know exactly what he was searching for, only that something—a voiceless voice, a formless presence—was calling him.
His steps were as graceful as those of a fairy, gliding among roots and fallen leaves with a cadence strangely light, fast and slow at the same time. He wandered among the trees without purpose or clear direction. At first glance, a child would be easy to follow… yet Leda was beginning to grow uneasy. Though she had stayed close at the beginning, she could no longer recall when or how the distance between them began to widen.
That unease turned into fear once she realized her lord, who had been only a few steps ahead, was now slipping away among the trees, further and further, his figure dissolving into the shadows.
"My lord!" she called firmly, but Miquella did not answer. He did not even turn back. It was as if he couldn't hear her… or as if he chose to ignore her completely.
Leda clenched her teeth and broke into a run after him, a gnawing sense that something was wrong. Of course, there was always the chance her lord was playing, hiding to tease her. It wouldn't be the first time. But instinct screamed this wasn't it.
To her dismay, just as Miquella passed behind a tree, he vanished completely. No trace of his silhouette, not even the faintest sound of his steps. Nothing.
Alarmed, Leda rushed to that very tree… only to find no one behind it. She looked in every direction. The forest seemed unchanged. No footprints in the earth, no crushed grass… as if he had never been there at all.
"MY LORD!!!" she screamed, drawing her sword in an instant. "ANSWER ME!!! MIQUELLA!!!"
But there was no response. Only the murmur of the wind through the leaves, and the unsettling silence of a forest that seemed to hold its breath.
...
Meanwhile, Miquella kept walking, unaware of how far he had come. His pace was serene, almost careless. He felt the calling had ceased—not because he was lost, but because he had already arrived at his destination.
That was when he noticed something had changed. The surroundings were no longer the same. The once uneven ground had become level, soft like a well-tended garden. The vegetation glowed with a luminous green, almost ethereal, and the trees, though still tall to him, no longer towered like giants.
"Calm yourself, young Maiar," said a gentle voice, as if born from the very air.
Miquella turned. There, caressing an unripe fruit on a low branch, stood a woman dressed in shades of emerald. Her face was serene. Neither beautiful nor ugly… or rather, so common that it became extraordinarily captivating. A beauty not born of features, but of a presence impossible to describe. As if perfect normality concealed something deeper. So beautiful, without being so…
"I am not a Maiar," he replied calmly, stepping forward with caution. His hand slid discreetly toward the ring he wore. He felt no hostility in her… yet instinct warned him this woman was not to be taken lightly.
"But your power is like that of one," the woman said, turning to him. She stepped naturally, her gaze filled with a strange tenderness. "At least for now. To call you Maiar would not be wrong, though your origin is different."
"Who are you?" asked Miquella, intrigued. By now he was certain: this woman was no ordinary person. Nor was this place ordinary. This forest pulsed with an ancient vitality, incomparable to the one he had crossed minutes before.
"You may call me Yavanna," said the woman, smiling with a pure, transparent expression. A smile that hid no ulterior motive… because she had none.
"The Valar…?" asked Miquella, surprised, though deep down he had already sensed it.
"I'm glad you recognize me, king of the Eldens, Miquella," the woman replied, her clear gaze fixed firmly upon the demigod's eyes.
"Shouldn't you be in Valinor…? The Valar are in Middle-earth? Are you going to intervene against…?"
But he stopped. Something lit up in his expression. His gaze grew solemn, as though he understood something profound, yet his hand tightened around the ring he wore.
"Or have you come… for us?" he concluded quietly, raising his face slightly to look at the enigmatic woman.
"Yes… and no," she answered calmly, as if she understood every word Miquella had left unspoken. "Which answer would you like to hear first?"
There was compassion in her voice. Not condescension, but a sincere attempt not to disturb the boy more than necessary.
Miquella fell silent for a few moments, contemplating one of the Creator's highest angels. Then, in a low voice, he asked:
"Are you alone?"
"Yes," Yavanna affirmed with composure, unfazed by his tone. "You're right to say that the Valar dwell in Valinor. We should not appear here, in what they call Middle-earth. In truth… my presence is a mistake. Let's say I broke the rules and slipped away… for a while." She glanced toward the horizon with a light smile.
"Then… this is my second question," Miquella said, never taking his eyes off her, calculating every possible ramification of what was happening. "Why did you 'slip away'? What are you seeking? Why did you call me here?"
Yavanna laughed softly, a sound that seemed to caress the air.
"All those questions have the same answer: you, little Maia." She spoke slowly. "I came to see you. I hoped to meet a future fellow, allie… colleague? Perhaps a friend."
The forest fell into expectant silence. They looked at one another for a long time, as if time itself had stopped. Yavanna, serene and patient; Miquella, still alert, mistrust and curiosity dancing in his eyes. Yet that tension, though it seemed eternal, eventually dissipated.
Miquella sighed and loosened his shoulders, surrendering partly to the peaceful atmosphere surrounding him. He relaxed his stance and, at least for now, lowered part of his guard. The Valar before him had shown no hostility, no intent to harm. The least he could do was respond with respect.
"Very well… I believe you," he finally said, trying to recover his usual attitude. "And what does the Lady of the Harvest desire of me?"
He gave a slight bow, elegant yet tinged with that subtle childlike irreverence that always marked Miquella. Or at least, who he was now.
The lady smiled, unbothered in the least by the gesture. Noticing the boy had lowered his guard, she allowed herself to observe him more closely: his serene face, his fragile yet powerful body, the aura surrounding him… so new, yet so ancient.
"I told you already: I wanted to meet you," she repeated softly, stepping forward with slow grace, as though afraid to break the harmony with a sudden move.
"It is an honor, Lady Yavanna… but why?" Miquella asked, still watching her every gesture. "From what you've said, I assume you know who I am… what I am… where I come from. You're not here to banish me from this world… are you?"
He asked with genuine curiosity about how the high powers of this world saw the arrival of the Eldens.
"Yes, I know well who you are. We all do," she replied naturally, clearly referring to her brothers, the other Valar. "But deciding what to do about your arrival is not for me alone. I have not even formed a full opinion about you yet."
She paused briefly, circling Miquella slowly, studying him as though perceiving something only she could see.
"But you should not worry about that. The very fact you arrived is already a sign that the Father has accepted your presence in Arda… Though, in truth, it is more complicated than that," she added with a smile. "But I am not the one who should tell you this. Someone else will, in time."
Miquella watched the woman, who seemed to admire his body with a gaze free of malice or desire, only genuine wonder. Her words reassured him, yet deepened his doubts. He felt that if he pressed her enough, she would answer, but he did not want his hunger for truth to ruin what seemed a friendly conversation.
...
Leda ran through the forest without direction, consumed by fear, anxiety, and anger. She no longer even knew where she was going: she had lost herself searching for the one who had vanished at her side. Desperate, at last finding the path back, she sprinted toward the camp, her heart clutched tight, praying her lord had returned and it was all her fault for losing sight of him.
The clamor of her armor rang loudly through the trees, so much that the Eldens heard her long before they saw her. Perceiving her approach, they all turned in her direction. Leda emerged from the trees, breathless, her face flushed, her breathing ragged, her eyes wild like a cornered beast's.
"Was Miquella here?! Is he here?!" she demanded in a hoarse, urgent tone that could not be ignored.
"No," Ansbach replied, raising an eyebrow, instantly realizing something was wrong. But before he could ask what had happened, Leda had already turned and dashed back into the forest without another word.
The Eldens wasted no time. The moment they understood the situation, they seized whatever weapons were nearest and rushed after her without hesitation.
Since they had stayed near the forest waiting for their lord, they were not at the dwarves' camp. Barely had they vanished among the trees when Bilbo appeared down the path, a plate of cooked sausages in hand. He had meant to tell them that the meal was ready… and maybe, if the chance arose, chat a little with Miquella.
But seeing no sign of the Eldens, he froze in place. Holding the plate aloft, eyes narrowed, brow furrowed, he stood motionless, wearing an expression of pure confusion. Without meaning to, he made a perfect imitation of Travolta in Pulp Fiction, looking left and right.
...
"So, do you expect me to take your side… or what?" asked Miquella, now seated on a fallen log.
"It is not necessary for you to take a side," Yavanna answered serenely. "You may remain neutral, if you wish. There will be many factions, Miquella… even among us, the Valar. In time our views will begin to clash. We will see the world differently. But there is one thing we all share: we want the best for Arda." Her gaze settled on the trees, then returned to him. "That is why I came. Because I believe you can do great things for this world."
"And are you sure you know me well enough to say that?" he countered with doubt. "Perhaps you do not see the real Miquella. Perhaps you've projected onto me someone I am not. Maybe you are following the wrong image."
Yavanna smiled with an unshakable calm.
"I know you well. I have observed you. I know what kind of person you are." Her voice dropped, more intimate, more compassionate. "You only want to reunite your family. You want to redeem your mistakes. You want to fulfill your unfinished dreams… and yes, you also want to lose yourself in the pleasures of mortals."
"Well… I suppose that's true," Miquella sighed. His voice carried unease, as if he felt exposed. "But I don't think you know how far I am willing to go to achieve it," he added, more serious now, a shadow crossing his gaze.
"I never said I believed everything would be perfect," Yavanna replied calmly. "I am ready to accept that terrible things may happen along the way, because I trust that despite everything, you will make this world a better place."
Miquella stared at her in silence. He wanted to believe her, yet doubt gnawed at him.
"I don't know if I can understand you… but I hope you're right," was all he could answer.
"All in time. I know you will succeed if you truly wish it. You are the key… the door to a beautiful future… or a devastating fate," she said with a mix of hope and concern.
"Didn't you just say you trusted me?" Miquella asked, confused by her shift in tone.
"Your arrival… you yourself… could be the best thing that has ever happened to Arda… or the worst," she said with a solemnity she hadn't shown before. Her eyes now reflected honest unease, but soon her smile returned. "Still, I am betting on the future I desire… and I am here to help make it real."
Miquella regarded her with growing curiosity. She moved her hands behind her back, then extended them toward him. In her palms lay two radiant objects: one shone with intense golden light, the other with luminous silver. Both glowed with an almost sacred brilliance.
"I cannot decide what path fate will take," she said. "But I can try to nudge it toward the more favorable one." She offered them to him.
"What are these?" Miquella asked, carefully receiving them.
They were oval in shape, their glow so intense he suspected that without a divine body—though weakened—he would not even be able to look at them directly.
"Seeds. From the Two Trees," she replied, gazing at them as though they were her children.
"From those two trees?" Miquella repeated, his eyes wide. Suddenly, the symbolic weight in his hands grew heavier.
"Yes," she nodded. "I know in your world there once was a Great Tree I would have loved to see. As a gift, I give you these seeds. I hope you will care for them… and that someday I might see such beautiful trees grow once more."
Miquella gazed at the seeds, brimming with life and power, and in his mind's eye he saw the growth of the trees. The memories of the Erdtree were still vivid, giving these seeds an even deeper meaning.