The dwarves remained silent, watching Malenia first and then their King. It was a humiliating scene, and none dared utter a word. Thorin, still dazed, did not speak either.
The blow had been hard—and it was no time for a true fight between allies. Although his doubts persisted, time was pressing. Above all, there seemed to be no honorable way out: either confront the Eldens or accept the humiliation, something his pride could not tolerate.
Fortunately, the arrival of an unexpected guest offered a perfect excuse to escape the situation.
A short distance away, Dane and Latenna were confronting—not to say surrounding and intercepting—a human man who had been observing the scene. The stranger was eventually overwhelmed by numbers and pushed toward the center of the group, though not before offering resistance. His bow moved with speed and precision, and the pressure he exerted was by no means negligible.
"Who are you?" Thorin demanded, placing his sword against the human's neck.
Miquella had summoned a few swords for the dwarves, just enough so they wouldn't feel defenseless. Not too many; he claimed his power was limited, though the reality was quite different. Thranduil had provided an invaluable service regarding energy material for absorption.
"Bard," the man replied calmly. "A simple bargeman."
He showed no fear. His eyes scanned everyone present intently, as if evaluating escape routes should the situation turn sour.
"A simple bargeman?" one of the dwarves mocked. "I'd call you an archer... and a very good one at that." He held up a boot pierced by an arrow. "Luckily I didn't have it on when this passed through."
Several dwarves and Eldens nodded. They had seen Bard shoot with speed and precision, with an efficiency comparable to that of the elves. Had he not been outnumbered, the skirmish would have been far more complicated. For his part, Bard seemed to have no intention of testing such a large, armed group from the start; he was only watching. He had tried to withdraw until Latenna's wolf detected him before he could slip away.
"A man needs to know how to defend himself in difficult times," Bard commented in a quiet tone, though without lowering his guard.
"It seems too much of a coincidence," Thorin countered, pressing the sword slightly harder against his throat, "that a bargeman so skilled with a bow would be right here, right now." After everything that had happened, his paranoia had intensified. He doubted this wasn't yet another attempt to end him and his company. "What are you doing here?"
"Doing my job," Bard replied, unintimidated. "I came for the barrels." He paused briefly. "I could ask you the same question. Normally, dwarves don't come near the Woodland Realm."
"Thorin, leave him..." Miquella intervened, stepping closer. "He is an innocent man."
"Yes," Balin added. "There is his boat. He must be from Lake-town." He placed special emphasis on his words, as if trying to convey something more.
Thorin understood instantly. He eased the pressure of the sword, though he did not look away from the human. If this bargeman was who he claimed to be, he could also become something much more important: a potential transport and a way to save travel time.
Miquella, for his part, also observed Bard, but with a mix of affection and satisfaction. Deep down, the demigod was genuinely happy to see him there, just as he had hoped. He had tried to keep certain events as close as possible to the history he knew, hoping to ensure those few lucky events that could help them. Relying on history to repeat itself was no longer a complete certainty—he now knew that Eru Ilúvatar was not the only one exerting influence in this world—but he still wanted to take advantage of everything he could, at least until he established a solid foundation.
He had waited two long weeks in that elven prison just for this moment. And now, seeing it come to fruition, he felt satisfied.
Bard stood up, brushing off his clothes and glancing sideways at the company members. They were a strange group, undoubtedly, and he preferred not to provoke them. He decided to quickly finish what he had come for and leave. But Thorin's sword tapped his chest gently, stopping him.
"We wish to hire your services, bargeman," Thorin said seriously.
...
The company now surrounded Bard's vessel while he began loading the barrels, still arguing.
"I've already told you, I can't take you into Esgaroth," Bard repeated. "No one enters without the Master's authorization." He then pointed to the damaged barrels. "And I don't know what happened between you and the elves, but if you're in conflict, I assure you that you won't make it into the city. The Master's wealth depends on trade with the Woodland Realm. He'd likely hand you over to the elves if it gained him King Thranduil's favor."
"We don't have time for that," Dwalin grumbled. "We're just passing through." To him, Lake-town was nothing more than a waypoint. With Miquella in the group, they could recover equipment and provisions without much trouble, as they had done before. There was no desperation. "We just need you to get us as close as possible."
"I believe it's best to rest for a while in Esgaroth," Miquella intervened. He had deduced that the dwarves planned to use him as a support to resupply on the way, but he had other interests. He wanted to visit the city, both out of simple curiosity and to verify the existence of a certain Black Arrow.
"We need to rest," he continued. "Those two weeks wore me down too much. My magic won't be able to keep up the pace if we don't stop to recover properly."
His words caused immediate concern, not only among the Eldens but also among the dwarves. Miquella was a fundamental pillar if they wanted to reach the Lonely Mountain in the best possible condition. However, the Eldens—especially Malenia and Leda—sensed the truth almost immediately. It was nothing more than an excuse.
"It doesn't matter how we get into the city," Thorin said without hesitation. "We need food, supplies, and weapons." The dwarf prince no longer planned to use Miquella to obtain any of that. He preferred the demigod save his power for Smaug. Before, he hadn't believed the Eldens could keep their word and kill the dragon, but after everything he had seen, a spark of hope had been born within him. If they truly could finish Smaug... the dwarves could ask for nothing more.
"I already told you that..." Bard began again, ready to refuse.
He didn't finish the sentence. Leda stepped forward, took a bag from Moore's hands, and tossed it at the bargeman's feet. The metallic clink made its contents clear: coins, many of them.
"I can't..." Bard tried to say, but his voice trailed off as he looked at the bag.
"You will take us to the city," Leda said firmly, without raising her voice. If her lord wanted to reach Esgaroth, so it would be.
A brief silence followed as everyone watched the bag on the ground. That was practically all that remained of the Eldens' earnings from their time in the Shire.
"Will you take us?" Thorin insisted, locking eyes with the bargeman.
Bard picked up the bag, weighed it, and then looked at each person present. For a moment he seemed to hesitate, as if on the verge of rejecting them... but his words made it clear that was not the case.
"I can't take so many," he finally said. "Not only would it be impossible to smuggle everyone in, but my boat wouldn't support that weight without serious risk."
"Fine. We will split up," Miquella intervened, turning toward the Eldens. "Leda, Ansbach, you come with me." Then he looked at his sister. "Sister… I'm sorry, but we must separate once more. You all will go by land. Get into the city however you can: play the part of mercenaries, merchants… whatever is necessary."
The Eldens nodded without argument. Malenia approached Miquella and rested her forehead against his in an intimate, silent gesture. No words were needed. Then she turned and set out toward the city without wasting a second. The other Eldens followed her, leaving only Leda and Ansbach behind.
"Can we depart now?" Miquella asked, as if unwilling to give Bard a chance to say no
...
Shortly after, the dwarves, Bilbo, and the few remaining Eldens were aboard the barge, guided by Bard. Miquella watched the landscape calmly. Freezing water, thick fog… and yet, it seemed beautiful to him. He felt wonder and, at the same time, nostalgia for his home. He wondered if one day he could roam the Lands Between with the same freedom he now traveled this world. But for that to be possible, they would first have to rid themselves of the Greater Will... and any other being that threatened his longed-for peaceful life.
Thorin approached Miquella's side, leaning against the edge of the barge, and spoke in a low voice.
"We will reimburse you for what you've spent," he said, referring to the payment for the boat. He looked at the dwarves, who were already counting the coins they had on them, evaluating how much they could return to the Eldens. After all, this was their journey, their mission, and they didn't want to owe anyone anything, not even their allies.
"There is no need. It was only a few coins, metal without real value..." Miquella replied naturally. "And if you remember correctly, it is not impossible for me to amass a fortune with a bit of time and effort." He lightly raised the hand where his ring shone.
"Yes, I believe you… still, dwarves do not leave debts unpaid," Thorin countered.
Both fell silent, observing the bleak and haunting journey through the fog. Bard guided the barge with extreme care through ancient, half-submerged ruins; a mistake would mean a crash or sinking. Still, the landscape had something hauntingly admirable about it. When they passed dangerously close to one of those structures, Thorin frowned.
"Do you trust him?" he asked in a whisper, looking at Bard as if fearing he might decide to drown them all at any moment.
"Of course. He is a good man," Miquella replied without hesitation. Then he turned and spoke aloud, addressing the bargeman directly: "You are a good man, Bard! Keep it up!"
Bard, along with the other dwarves and the hobbit, raised an eyebrow in visible confusion.
"Thank you..." he replied after a few seconds, not quite knowing what to make of that. In his mind, he couldn't help but see Miquella as a child, even younger than his own son. Of the whole group, this strange "child" and the polite hobbit were undoubtedly his favorites.
Miquella looked back at Thorin, who was watching him with a tense expression, still doubting.
"Your paranoia is useful for staying alive," he said calmly, "but it is also a way to lose allies and end up alone. You doubted Bard just as you recently doubted me..." He shook his head gently, almost with resignation. "I understand you, Thorin, but you should remember that not everyone wants your gold... or your head."
He said this even knowing he didn't entirely have the right to say it, having in reality deceived them. Thorin could only nod, somewhat forced, as the Elden prince's words settled in his mind. He didn't want to admit it, but he was right. Now he felt slightly guilty for having doubted him, when without the Eldens they might not have made it this far.
Miquella sensed those emotions and smiled internally, alongside Trina. Then he returned to his "sightseeing trip" on the barge. One of the reasons Bard could only see him as a child was precisely because he acted like one: going from one side to another, observing, touching everything, coming closer to ask questions. Every thing, no matter how mundane, seemed to have a special charm for him.
And so it was. Miquella admired what, for his empyrean side, was trivial, but for his earthly side, was extraordinary. No matter the reason: this was a curious experience for the demigod, and he planned to make the most of it. Just as he had done on the journey, in the battles, in prison, and under the lash.
Everything was a new experience.