Thranduil's expression grew increasingly somber as he listened to Miquella, who seemed to predict the end of his kingdom while simultaneously offering a potential way out. The King listened intently, yet he still could not bring himself to fully entrust the future of his people to this mysterious individual.
"Even if you put it that way… how can I trust that what you claim is true?" the King doubted. Though a part of him wanted to believe him, he had no proof.
"You may or may not," Miquella replied, shaking his head, "but your decision would not only condemn the dwarves and your own people, but many others. Evil must not dominate these lands." He paused briefly before continuing. "I propose the following: you desire those gems, do you not? I will secure them for you. In exchange, you need only trust me and prepare your army—either because what I say proves true… or to take the gems if I fail."
The tone was clearly persuasive.
"Thorin did not seem particularly inclined to return them," Thranduil pointed out, raising an eyebrow. "You know that what you propose could alienate your dwarven allies. It does not seem like something you would desire…"
"The dwarves need not find out," Miquella smiled mischievously. "With all the business with Smaug, I doubt anyone will notice if a few gems disappear. There is so much gold in that mountain that it would be difficult to even find them. Grant me the opportunity, and I will recover the gems."
The King frowned, not in rejection, but in reflection. This was not a bad option. He had not expected this young Elden to be willing to play such a game, but it suited his interests. Still, he wasn't entirely convinced. Much as he craved the gems, the lives of his people were more important.
"Even if I were to accept," he finally said, "how can you assure me that, when the time comes, the only thing I find are your corpses? Why are you so certain you can kill Smaug?"
"Hmm… perhaps when I began this journey, I didn't have absolute certainty," Miquella admitted, "but it is different now. Believe me: though it be a bloody struggle, we shall prevail."
"What makes you so sure?" Thranduil asked. "I do not want my troops to march only to finish a war you started and find themselves weakened for the next."
"I have the weapon to kill him," Miquella replied calmly, "as well as warriors who can face him without hesitation. Among them is my sister. I am certain that, even alone, she could end him. She may not be at her best, but I still have full confidence in her."
He looked up and held Thranduil's gaze with a certainty so firm it felt like an absolute truth.
The King did not understand where such confidence came from, even less so regarding a beast of Smaug's size. Very few beings, even in ages past, had been capable of killing a dragon single-handedly. And yet, somehow, Miquella's conviction made him think that perhaps… just perhaps… the title of "Dragon-Slayer" would soon echo in Middle-earth once more.
"Let me raise the stakes," Miquella added. "In addition to returning the gems, I will heal all the elves in this kingdom who have been tainted by the Scarlet Rot. And I can also offer you a way to combat it yourselves."
He said this while approaching Thranduil's throne and resting a hand on it, adopting the expression of an innocent and generous negotiator.
Thranduil heard those words and could not help but feel the temptation. He seemed to have few real options now. The red curse had to be treated; even without war, his people would eventually be decimated. Moreover, this deal provided the perfect excuse to justify a future armed intervention to himself.
"The elves will be pleased to establish a friendship with the Elden," the Elvenking finally replied, marking his acceptance of the agreement.
Thus, both kings discussed for a time, establishing the terms of cooperation, the details of the deal, and a general strategy.
"Then, what do you propose?" Thranduil asked. "Shall I release them and let them march toward the mountain? I do not think Thorin will trust you much if I do such a thing. He will surely think we have reached an agreement and ensure you cannot find the gems I seek."
"Of course we cannot do it that way, I know that well…" Miquella replied with a playful smile. "But we can put on a small performance. A simple escape. We leave, and you wait for the right moment to appear."
A preliminary plan of action was then established. Trina had already whispered to Miquella that Bilbo was with the Elden and that the elves had not yet noticed him, so he planned to use the same method from the movie to free the dwarves. Thranduil accepted the procedure without issue; in fact, he benefited: a few barrels in exchange for fewer mouths to feed and getting rid of the dwarves was, undoubtedly, a good deal.
"Very well," he said finally. "I will have everything proceed as you wish, but first, I want you to treat the tainted elves."
"No problem," Miquella nodded, "but let us hurry. I don't want Thorin to be suspicious." He paused briefly before adding: "If you can, bring me some sacrifices. Living beings with great vitality, or anything of high energy value. Otherwise, healing so many people could prove costly for me."
Thus, Miquella was guided to the elves affected by the Scarlet Rot, followed by Thranduil himself, who not only wished to oversee the process but also to witness that "healing" once again. Several Elven healers accompanied them; the King hoped that, however slim the possibility, they might learn something from Miquella's restorative magic.
"Many considered departing for the Grey Havens and traveling to Valinor, hoping to be healed there," Thranduil commented as he walked beside him toward the next chamber. "It seems that will no longer be necessary."
He traced a slight smile as he watched his people begin to recover.
"They wouldn't have made it," Miquella replied while holding a glowing stone, absorbing its power with his ring and evaluating its energy efficiency. "The Grey Havens have ceased their voyages to Valinor."
"What?" the King asked, confused.
"That was part of the message Gandalf wanted to convey to you. You should speak with him, but, in broad terms… there is no longer a path back to Valinor," Miquella clarified, moving on to the next object an elf handed him.
Thranduil remained pensive at that revelation but asked no more questions. The elves of Mirkwood had never been as eager to depart for Valinor as others of their kind, and were it not for the Scarlet Rot, they wouldn't have even considered it. So that news, though unsettling, did not affect them much now that Miquella was healing them.
After a long tour in which dozens—if not a couple of hundred—sick elves were cured, the journey finally concluded. The group then headed to a small garden protected by several guards. That place was no ordinary space: it was the Royal Garden.
"We are here," the King said, presenting that precious private enclave where he cultivated rare herbs. "So, what is this other method to combat the Scarlet Rot?"
Miquella stepped forward and sat on the edge of one of the plant-covered elevations, channeling energy from his ring while asking for paper and pen. An elf brought them to him, and he began to write quickly. Shortly after, he handed the writing to Thranduil.
What the Elvenking saw was a recipe. A surprisingly simple formula, composed of only three ingredients. When he looked up, confused, Miquella only gave him a calm smile.
Miquella then stretched his hand toward one of the walls. After a sudden glow, a small section of the stone became covered in a luminous moss, speckled with tiny shimmering crystals.
"This is Crystal Cave Moss," he explained. "You should ensure it expands to maintain a stable production."
He then moved to one of the cultivable areas and extended his hand again. The radiance emerged once more and, in a small portion of previously empty soil, a plant of light blue and silver tones sprouted.
"Dewkissed Herba. You should also try to make it proliferate, just like the moss."
Miquella stood up and walked toward the most prominent and well-kept area of the garden: a small mound where the rarest and most beautiful herbs grew.
"Now, the most important part… and the most complicated."
He extended both hands forward and closed his eyes. Despite his evident exhaustion, he turned again to the power of his ring. Energies flowed with great concentration and, along with a strangely familiar sensation, something began to take shape before him.
First, a small root appeared, stretching out to become not a budding tree, but something more like a branch emerging from the ground. On it, a single red bud slowly began to form.
"Here…" Miquella murmured, feeling somewhat drained. "The Sacramental Bud, the most important ingredient." He sighed wearily. "At least it is more convenient than having to shed my own blood."
Thranduil watched the new plants that had emerged in his garden intently, alternating his gaze between them and the recipe he held in his hands.
"Can this… cure the Scarlet Rot?" he asked, incredulous.
"If prepared correctly, yes," Miquella replied, sitting down to rest. "There is a point beyond which it is useless, but this would have been enough to treat all the elves I healed earlier, even in my absence."
"This is wonderful," the King said with a wide smile. The method was accessible and the recipe so simple even a child could learn it. "But… if you have this procedure, why not present it sooner? Why put so much effort into developing that Pure Gold?"
"They are two different things," Miquella replied calmly. "Furthermore, this method is not as perfect as you think." He began to explain: "This only cures mild cases of contamination. There is a point where, instead of healing you, it would kill you."
Thranduil nodded. It was just as he had suspected. Even so, it remained an invaluable solution for his people. Contamination reached lethal levels after prolonged exposure—something that was happening precisely because the elves could only contain the curse, not eliminate it from the bodies of the affected.
"Pure Gold is excessive for minor contaminations," Miquella continued, "but it is the answer for severe cases. The true terror of the Scarlet Rot is not just that it kills you; that would be the best of endings. The true horror is that it transforms you into something else." His tone grew serious. "Pure Gold can prevent that, contain its expansion—and not just that curse, but many other evils. It should not be dismissed. This is only a provisional solution. It is always better to have more weapons to face that which threatens our peoples, do you not agree?"
"I suppose you are right," Thranduil admitted. "Even so, this method will already save innumerable lives, and for that, we elves are deeply grateful."
The King bowed his head slightly in a sign of respect, and several elves imitated the gesture far more pronouncedly.
"Do not thank me yet," Miquella replied, waving it off. "You still have a long road ahead." He carefully stroked the newly created herb. "These plants are difficult to cultivate. I am not even sure they can grow in this place. You should do everything possible to succeed, especially with the Sacramental Bud. I have serious doubts you will manage it." He smiled bitterly. "The Scarlet Rot can only be repelled by something of similar power… and this bud is born from shedding my blood. I do not think you have a Maia willing to donate their blood regularly to water your crops."
Despite his words, Thranduil assured him he would do everything possible to cultivate those plants. Miquella, for his part, promised that should they fail, he would continue to provide new specimens from time to time.
And so, little by little, the friendship between the Elden and the Silvan Elves was sealed.