The cells remained submerged in an almost absolute silence, barely broken by the breathing and occasional movements of the prisoners within their confinement. No one was in the mood to argue. They had already spent enough saliva on complaints and reproaches; besides, none of them wanted a repeat of the "knife incident."
That silence, however, broke shortly after when the elves began to move once again. Both dwarves and Eldens approached the bars to see what was happening, and then they saw it: the missing piece.
Miquella advanced slowly down the hallway, hands shackled in front of him. Tauriel walked behind him, nudging him gently—more out of protocol than aggression.
"Miquella!" "MIQUELLA!" "My lord…"
The arrival of the Elden King sparked different reactions in each cell. Thorin was the most conflicted. Having calmed down slightly, he understood that his own actions had been exaggerated and that the relationship with the Eldens had been unnecessarily strained. Even so, he couldn't help but feel a certain relief at seeing Miquella in chains being led to the cells; at least it meant his relations with the elves weren't on good terms either.
"What happened?" Thorin asked when the boy stood before his cell.
Miquella slowed his pace until he stopped. He let out a sigh and adopted an expression of barely feigned surrender.
"Well… I tried to negotiate your freedom with Thranduil, but it didn't go very well," he said calmly. "Perhaps standing my ground wasn't the best idea, and I believe things worsened a bit more than desired. I won't go into details, but I made it clear that as long as you remain here, so shall I… and here I am."
He raised his shackled hands so there would be no doubt.
"At least, helping to heal the elves affected by the Scarlet Rot allowed me to obtain some concessions."
From the cells, the dwarves reacted with a mix of cheers and insults toward the elves, proud that Miquella had fought for them. The Eldens, by contrast, remained silent, worried but trusting in their lord's decisions.
"What kind of concessions?" Thorin asked, still uneasy about what might have been discussed between the Elden King and the Elven King.
"We could leave if we wanted to," Miquella explained, "but I made it clear I would not leave without you. So, even if we walked out now, they would assume we'd find a way to free you. Therefore, although I could be considered a 'guest,' I couldn't be allowed to move freely through Thranduil's realm. The solution was simple: I will remain here, locked away with you, so as not to cause trouble… while my people depart."
He paused briefly before adding:
"With me behind bars, I cannot interfere, but I can allow the Eldens to continue their journey."
"We will not leave without you, my lord," Leda said immediately.
The rest of the Eldens shared that determination, but Miquella raised his hands, calling for silence.
"Be calm. I know what I am doing. The truth is, I have a mission for you, and I won't be left alone," he added. "Leda will stay with me."
Then he turned back to Thorin.
"I have a plan to get us out of here. And if it doesn't work, my Eldens will press on toward the Lonely Mountain to fulfill their mission."
Miquella and Thorin looked at each other in silence. The Elden King played the role of a firm leader perfectly, willing to share the fate of his allies without betraying them.
The talk between the Dwarf King and the Elden King lasted no more than a few minutes. Miquella only wanted to make it clear that his imprisonment was a form of protest—a way to share the punishment imposed on the dwarves. But there was more to be done, and time was not on his side.
"May I go speak with my sister?" Miquella asked in a pleading tone, turning to Tauriel behind him.
The elf nodded and began to nudge him through the corridors leading to the cells on the other side, where the Eldens were held. As they moved, she clearly remembered the words Thranduil had passed to her: as long as the Elden King didn't ask for anything excessive, it should be granted… but without showing any goodwill or consideration. Everything had to be done in the coldest, most reluctant manner possible.
Miquella reached his sister's cell. The Eldens in the adjacent cells also paid attention, awaiting his words in silence.
Tauriel opened the door and allowed Miquella to enter, staying outside. The King's orders were clear, yet she couldn't help but feel confused regarding the treatment of the Eldens: it wasn't overtly hostile, but it didn't seem fair either. Without answers, she could only wait.
Miquella approached his sister. Malenia knelt to reach his height, and he reached out his shackled hands to gently caress her face beneath the helmet.
"I have a special task for you," he said affectionately, as his ring began to glow faintly.
"I am your blade. Your command is my will," Malenia replied without hesitation, with absolute conviction.
"Somewhere in this forest, there is a source of the Scarlet Rot," Miquella continued, now in a serious tone. "A creature hides beneath a contaminated lake. I want you to go… and eliminate it."
"It shall be done," she replied unflinchingly, as if the outcome were already decided. She would either fulfill the mission or perish in the attempt.
"Take the others with you. They will help," Miquella added, still caressing his sister's cheeks. "Ask Thranduil for an escort to save energy before the fight; he will be delighted to be rid of part of the problem. You have two weeks to go, succeed, and return. If you see that you cannot achieve it, come back. It doesn't matter. I want you here when we head to the Lonely Mountain."
Miquella continued giving her instructions, and the glow of his ring intensified with every word, though no one else seemed to notice.
"Trina will guide you. And this is important…" he said in a lower voice. "Our enemy may be the Scarlet Rot, but this is also a way for you to recover for what is to come. Do not fear that which we are going to control. The Scarlet Rot took much from us… now we shall claim the interest."
After saying that, he lifted his sister's arm along with the long blade. With his ring-hand, he extended two fingers and slid them slowly down the edge. The blade began to light up bit by bit, while the glow of the ring—and of Miquella himself—dimmed.
Miquella's trembling arm let go of the sword. The blade now shone with a faint light, visible only to the two siblings.
In contrast, Miquella looked unwell. Exhausted. Haggard, thinner, almost fragile. His blonde hair had lost its luster and color—not quite turning white, but dangerously close.
"You have the power to defeat it… together we can," he said in a weak voice.
He leaned toward her, resting his forehead against his sister's despite the metal helmet. Partly out of affection, but also because he no longer had the strength to stand on his own.
"Go now… and let us begin this final war against the Scarlet Rot with a victory."
A brief silence followed his words as they held each other. Miquella more out of necessity than will.
After that fraternal moment, Malenia wasted no time. She stepped out of the cell, casting one last look at her brother. Miquella followed her with his gaze, leaning against the wall, and called out to the rest of the Eldens.
One by one they stepped out of their cells—cells that, to the surprise of the dwarves watching from afar, had never actually been locked.
"Everyone, follow my sister. Fulfill the mission, but remember that your safety is paramount," Miquella declared in a short speech before dismissing his people. "We can lose today and still win tomorrow, as long as we remain alive. I want no unnecessary sacrifices."
Only Leda stayed behind, just as he had requested. He preferred to have his faithful knight protecting him in that moment of weakness… and, besides, he did not wish to be left entirely alone among dwarves.
The Eldens gave a final salute to their king before departing under the watchful eyes of the dwarves, who also saw them off in silence.
Tauriel, observing from the side, watched the scene with a mix of intrigue and curiosity. Those Eldens were strange, disciplined, and clearly plotting something… but her mission was clear, and it wasn't her place to question it.
Miquella remained leaned against the stone wall until he caught some of his breath. When he finally stood up, still weak, he approached Tauriel.
"I am ready to go to my cell," he said, leaning slightly on the elf.
Tauriel frowned slightly. She had assumed he would want to stay in his sister's cell. She had even noticed that the demigod had looked upward, toward the more distant cells, where communication with the other prisoners would be nearly impossible without shouting. That confused her… but she had orders.
Leda, seeing her lord so weakened, stepped forward to help him. She didn't understand why Miquella wished to go so far away either, for she had followed his gaze. However, a slight signal from his hands stopped her, and she had no choice but to obey.
Nudging him carefully, Tauriel led Miquella through the corridors to the upper cells, away from the rest. From there, the distant shouts and protests of the dwarves could still be heard; they had seen the Elden King being taken away without understanding the truth.
Soon they arrived in front of a spacious cell, larger than those of the dwarves, similar to the ones the Eldens had occupied. It wasn't luxurious, but for someone Miquella's size, it was practically a room: enough space to walk around a bit. That secluded spot had been chosen so that no one would witness his actions, visits, or any other suspicious movements.
Tauriel opened the door and waited for Miquella to enter, but he seemed lost in thought. Then she placed a hand on his shoulder, making him react. Miquella looked up, nodded, and let himself be guided… hiding the fact that his ring was glowing faintly and that there was a spark of mischief in his eyes.
The elf pushed him gently, but suddenly, for no apparent reason, she exerted more force than she intended and the demigod lost his balance. Tauriel tried to catch him, but her fingers only caught the fabric of his tunic. The garment, which shouldn't have been so fragile, gave way with a sharp sound, tearing, and Miquella fell to the ground.
The fabric remained in the elf's hand.
Miquella rolled over and used his small hands to cover his naked body, looking at Tauriel with a piteous expression, as if she were a cruel aggressor who had attacked him in a secluded place.
"Lady Elf…" he said with a trembling voice, on the verge of tears. "My clothes…"
Inside, he was laughing.
Tauriel stood paralyzed. She didn't understand how it had happened, and much less could she associate this "accident" with the helpless child who now looked at her as if fearing she was about to pounce on him.
"I… I didn't…" she stammered, her voice tense, before composing herself. "I will find you something to wear."
"There is no need," Miquella replied, pushing himself up with difficulty and taking the remnants of his tunic, awkwardly arranging them to cover himself with the same pitiful attitude.
Inwardly, he sighed. Tauriel's reaction had been enjoyable, though not as intense as he had hoped. He supposed that's what happened when one tried to play games with an elf over six hundred years old.
Even so, he was convinced that in those two weeks, he could get more out of her than a simple surprise.
Suspecting nothing, Tauriel walked away to find him clothes, while Miquella, now recovered, began to conspire in silence.