Malenia had recovered considerably during the journey back. She had awakened, removed the sword driven into her own body, and managed to walk on her own. The power within her felt dormant but dangerous, like a contained storm. As long as she did not push herself, the Scarlet Rot would remain stable.
They were close to arriving when Trina appeared again in the form of whispers, informing them of the situation.
Malenia did not hesitate.
She immediately led the Eldens through a detour from the path laid out by the elves, taking them by surprise. She offered no explanations. When the elves tried to follow, they received only a brief reply: their paths diverged here, and duty called them elsewhere.
Thus, they bypassed the Elven Realm, changing course toward the river where they were to meet Miquella.
...
The barrels were swept through the underground river until they emerged outside via a small waterfall. Pushed by the current, they continued to drift further away; the escape could well be considered a success.
Miquella enjoyed the trip and seeing the sunlight once more. Although he had seen the outside a few times thanks to Trina, the sensation was still overwhelming—as it was for the dwarves. While they were used to living under the stone of the mountain, their home was nothing like an elven cell.
The current would eventually carry them to the lake, but they were still within elven territory. Before reaching the final exit, they had to pass through a small gate guarded by a few elves. Miquella trusted that, thanks to the arrangement with Thranduil, they could pass unnoticed. But nothing went as expected.
Not only did Trina warn him, but suddenly, an elf appeared falling from the sky, screaming, before crashing into the river with a dull thud. The dwarves and the two Eldens looked up, alerted by shadows and the sound of flapping wings. Then they saw them: giant, terrifying bats—the same ones that had dropped the elf moments before. Further ahead, the echo of combat rang through the galleries, followed by muffled cries. The few elves guarding the gate had been slaughtered by an orc squad, led by one who stood out among them. With a sinister smile, he pulled the lever and closed the river gate, cutting off their path.
"Kill them all," the orc roared, pointing his sword at the barrels.
The orcs drew their bows and fired. Arrows flew like a lethal rain toward the barrels, which drifted uncontrollably with the current. There was no way to slow down or dodge.
Miquella raised his hands, and a golden barrier unfurled before them, repelling the arrows one after another and saving them from certain death. But then the massive bats descended like birds of prey, ready to snatch their new victims and drop them from the heights—or worse, sink their fangs into their flesh.
Leda hurled her sword at the bat closest to Miquella, piercing it like a burning needle. She then climbed out of her barrel and planted herself atop the barrel of two dwarves, struggling to maintain her balance. Miquella moved his hand with a golden glow, and Leda's sword shot out of the bat's body, returning to its owner just in time for her to defend against the next winged monstrosity.
The dwarves could barely dodge the attacks or help Leda stay upright as they drew closer to the gate and the orcs. There wasn't much else they could do.
While Leda held back the bats and Miquella protected them from arrows, the dwarves were forced to face the orcs who jumped onto the barrels. Unarmed and exhausted after their long captivity, they were at a clear disadvantage. But just as one orc was about to strike, a knife flew straight into its neck. The orc fell dead before it could land its first blow. It had been Kili, using the weapon Leda had tossed him before.
Fili snatched the knife from the neck of the falling orc and used it to defend against the next enemy. The other dwarves followed suit, looting fallen orcs and arming themselves with whatever they could scavenge. Even Bilbo, still trapped in his barrel, tried to attack the feet of the orcs who, like Leda, were using the barrels as platforms.
Bolg, the leader of the attacking orcs and son of Azog, watched the battle with growing frustration. Dissatisfied with the course of the fight, he gave new orders. This time, the target was clear: Miquella. He felt the sorcerer's interference was the cause of their disadvantage—the reason the dwarves hadn't been turned into pincushions already.
Archers, infantry, and bats lunged at Miquella with no regard for their own safety. Leda jumped onto Miquella's barrel to protect him, balancing as best she could, as her lord's light weight made the barrel dangerously unstable.
But just as the orcs and bats closed in—with a particularly robust orc, covered in scars, ready to pounce, and a large bat stalking Leda's blind spot—two arrows fired from opposite directions struck the attackers down before they could complete their strike. The bat fell pierced, crashing into the river with a stifled screech. The orc was knocked back before completing its jump, the arrow burying itself with lethal precision.
Both the orcs and the Company turned their gaze to identify the attackers. On one side was Tauriel. She advanced at full speed, already nocking a second arrow. Her shot had finished the orc without hesitation, and she had no intention of stopping. She had outpaced the other elves, firing incessantly as she ran, harvesting orc lives one after another. Her face reflected a contained rage, cold and sharp as her arrows.
On the other flank, a mounted figure moved along the riverbank. It was an archer riding a large wolf, moving with a speed impossible for infantry. Her arrows struck down bats in mid-flight, one after another, before they could dive at the barrels.
Latenna, the swiftest, had been sent ahead. Trina had not only informed the Eldens of Miquella's escape but also of the enemies advancing along the path. Latenna's mission was clear: provide cover for the defenseless dwarves and the young demigod until reinforcements arrived.
Attacked from both sides, the orcs' offensive against the barrels was broken. The pressure eased enough for the dwarves to reclaim their weapons, immediately increasing their security and capacity to fight back. However, upon slamming into the gate blocking the river, the sudden impact made Miquella stumble inside his barrel, feeling momentarily dazed.
The battle turned chaotic. Bolg roared in fury as his attack crumbled and decided to intervene personally. He took a bow and drew the string, aiming directly at Tauriel—but the shot never left. A magical attack deflected it at the last instant.
Miquella, once again. He would not allow his yet-to-be-harvested fruit to be destroyed. Without hesitation, he unleashed his power against Bolg.
With the archers forced to divide their attention, Miquella had more freedom to strike. However, to his surprise, Bolg resisted the impact much better than expected. The magical blow barely nudged him back, as if he had received a simple shove. One of the orc's pauldrons fell away, torn off by the force of the attack. Beneath it appeared internal armor, thinner and reinforced with metal shards that glowed with an incandescent red radiance.
The sensation those shards transmitted to Miquella was eerily familiar. They burned in a way similar to the metal ring embedded in the Great Goblin's club… though clearly of inferior quality. The attack, while partially blocked, had caused several of those shards to lose their glow and fall inert to the ground.
Bolg growled, aware of the loss of protection. Based on the number of fragments remaining on that pauldron and the one on the opposite side, he calculated he could only withstand two or three more attacks. In his mind, the priority of eliminating Miquella rose several levels.
But before he could act, new figures emerged from the forest and joined the fray. The Eldens had arrived. At their head, Malenia threw herself into the fray, landing among the orcs and cutting them down without breaking her stride.
Miquella was glad to see his sister. Now, with everyone reunited, they had to move forward. The lever closing the gate, now unguarded, was enveloped in a faint golden glow before being flipped by Miquella's telekinesis as he moved his hand through the air with a precise gesture.
The gate opened. The barrels continued their course, swept along by the river's current, and the battle moved along the riverbed in constant motion.
...
The combat lasted only a short while longer. The elves took care of the orcs left behind, while the Eldens finished off those still trying to pursue the barrels. Bolg's attack had been repelled.
Tauriel, somewhat breathless, pulled her blade from the body of a dying orc, ending its misery. Her face was stained with black blood. She closed her eyes and raised her head toward the sky. Despite the bloody scene, her expression was one of liberation. That fight, in which she had lost control and surrendered to a near-berserker fury, had served as a release. Two weeks of repressed emotions, guilt, and tension had finally exploded.
But not all the orcs were dead. One, wounded but still able to move, raised his bow and tried to attack the elf from behind, as she had relaxed too much. An arrow struck the bow dead-on, shattering it before he could fire. A second arrow pierced the orc's head.
Tauriel turned slowly. The Elven Prince was lowering his bow, still steady, watching her in silence.
...
The Company, reunited once more, drifted down the river, leaving the orcs behind. They were free again, though exhausted. Finally, they reached a small beach and were able to leave the barrels. Miquella found it fun until the very end, but it was time to touch dry land. Everyone took a breather after the fight and the journey.
"Good thing you lot showed up," Oin said, patting Ansbach on the shoulder.
"Aye, I wouldn't have wanted to spend another day in that elven prison," Bofur commented.
"Ghasfdsfdf… asdfsdagah…" Bifur added, in his unmistakable way of speaking.
The dwarves were happy to stretch their legs, though they couldn't help a certain sadness at remembering they had lost all their gear—unlike the Eldens, who kept theirs intact. That image stirred doubts in Thorin once again.
"Where were you?" he asked, looking at the Eldens. "You just left, without a word, without telling us anything. If it weren't for what those elves did, I'd almost think you betrayed us."
Miquella, after sending the Eldens on their mission, had shared nothing with the others. He used Bilbo as a messenger but revealed little: only that he might have found a way to buy the dwarves' freedom. Thorin believed it… at the time. Now, however, something didn't fit. Miquella showed no marks from the lashings. It could be explained by magic, yes, but the more he thought about it, the more doubts arose. He didn't think the Elden King had betrayed them; they had earned his trust. Still, his pride pushed him to demand answers.
But before he could say another word, Malenia approached. With a movement as swift and harsh as the wind, she knocked him down with a dry punch that left him dazed. The dwarves reacted immediately, interposing themselves chaotically to protect their king. They didn't understand what was happening, but they braced for a fight they did not want.
"What happened…?" Thorin murmured, seeing stars as he rubbed his chin.
"I heard that in your talk with the Elven King, you mistrusted my brother," Malenia said, adjusting her gauntlet. "And that you spoke ill of him." She held his gaze for an instant. "It will not happen again."
With that, she turned around and walked away.