Miquella arrived only to see the dwarves rush toward him in desperation, their bodies ravaged and weakened by the disease.
"Sit down and remain calm if you wish to let me work," the demigod said.
His voice, soft yet laden with authority, was enough to silence them. The dwarves obeyed immediately, returning to their stone cots. Some, too weak to climb up easily, stumbled and fell a few times before managing to settle themselves.
Miquella approached one of them and dragged a small stool to the bedside, stepping onto it to reach the proper height. From there, he began to meticulously examine the treatments performed by the Elven physicians, observing them with a serious expression.
"Interesting…" he murmured. "You are actually quite skilled to have arrived at this solution."
His eyes lingered on the areas where the Scarlet Rot had previously been most evident.
"This method succeeds in suppressing the rot and forcing it into a latent state… though it does so at the cost of the host's vitality, and it only works on minor infections. Even so, it has merit."
Both the dwarves and the elves listened in silence. In the former, hope and anxiety mingled; in the latter, doubt and a growing sense of offense. Had it not been for the guards—and Miquella's own aura—several Elven doctors would have already moved to challenge the child who, with apparent arrogance, evaluated their methods and dared to touch a patient who was not yet fully recovered.
"If this were any other poison or disease," Miquella continued, "I would be certain you could find a cure in time. But this is no common ailment."
There was no contempt in his words, only an uncomfortable truth. That evil had a divine origin; perhaps only with the aid of the Maiar or higher entities would it be possible to fully counteract it.
It took him only a few moments to understand the methods used by the elves, clearly discerning both their virtues and their limitations. However, his work was not yet finished.
The Scarlet Rot, as with the Elven techniques, could be treated in its early stages. Cases like Malenia's, on the other hand, were absolutely incurable… or at least they had been until now. Miquella possessed new tools. He bore his ring, and with it, the possibility of reaching levels of power far superior to before.
He rested his hand on Dwalin's forehead, closed his eyes, and began to channel the energy of the ring. He had to be careful: he had never treated the Red Rot in living beings this way, and he was not willing to lose a dwarf to a mistake.
The plan was simple in theory: eradicate the rot and restore the body. To save energy, he would use the scarlet corruption itself as fuel.
The room fell into absolute silence. Miquella concentrated; the dwarves watched with bated breath; the elves, with growing intrigue. Dwalin felt the most tension: a current of energy flowed through his body from the demigod's hand, and all his hope was pinned on this working.
A moment later, a golden glow covered the affected areas of his body. It was brief, almost imperceptible. When it faded, not a single trace of the Scarlet Rot remained.
Miquella withdrew his hand and observed the dwarf. Dwalin stared at his own hands in disbelief. The weakness, the pain, the lingering discomfort… everything had vanished. He felt as well as he had before entering that cursed forest, as if everything that had happened was nothing more than a dream.
Dwalin leaped off the cot and suddenly began moving from side to side, hopping and throwing punches into the air, laughing out loud.
"Ha! Good as new," he said with genuine joy.
The dwarves erupted in cheers upon seeing their companion fully recovered. This proved that their condition had a solution—that the sickness was not a final sentence. Soon, many of those looks shifted toward the elves, who were still stunned, and the glances quickly turned mocking.
"Heh, Elven medicine is nothing but talk," Dwalin bellowed, with the rowdy support of the others. "That I won't fully heal? Ha! Let it be clear: we dwarves are not something a mere sickness can defeat so easily."
However, noticing Miquella's gaze and seeing the demigod raise an eyebrow, Dwalin's mocking expression immediately transformed into one of respect. The dwarf bowed slightly with authentic reverence.
"Of course, none of this would have been possible without the help of the Eldens," he added. "They are true friends and saviors of the dwarven people."
The other dwarves, even Thorin, nodded at his words, recognizing them as an unquestionable fact.
Miquella did not linger on the praise. His only concern was finishing the healing of the dwarves. That first intervention had taken longer than expected; it was his first time treating the Scarlet Rot in a dwarf, and since they were a race created by the divine beings of this world, he feared that energy differences or other circumstances might lead to a disastrous result.
Now that he had confirmed there were no adverse effects, he could work with greater peace of mind. He approached the dwarves one by one, resting his hand on their bodies so the ring could absorb the scarlet rot. With that corrupted energy, he cast a minor healing spell. Still, it was not a simple process: absorbing the rot was slower than manipulating other energies, and he had to remain completely focused to extract only the evil without draining the dwarves' vitality.
The elves watched the scene in disbelief. The contamination that had caused them so much trouble was being eradicated quickly and, apparently, easily.
And they were not the only ones.
Thranduil, informed that Miquella had awakened, had come personally to greet him. Learning that the demigod was with the dwarves, he changed course immediately and arrived just in time to witness Miquella effortlessly healing the last of the afflicted. The Elven King's eyes widened in awe at this display of power: the eradication of an evil that had distressed him for so long.
As he finished with the last dwarf, Miquella cracked his neck as if the work had left him exhausted, though it was a deliberate exaggeration.
"Greetings, Elden King. I am Thranduil," the Elven monarch stepped forward while the other elves moved aside to make way for him.
"Just Miquella," he replied naturally. "Though the Elden are under my command, I do not yet have a kingdom I can call my own."
Miquella turned to look him in the eye.
Thranduil nodded slowly. From the little he had gathered about the Elden, Miquella held the title of prince, though he did not know if it was merely a nominal rank or something more. In any case, he strove to show his best side. He had no intention of slighting him, neither for his situation nor his youthful appearance. Someone capable of curing the red curse deserved respect.
"Your companions are already resting in their quarters. You may go see them if you wish," he continued, "though I would be pleased to converse with you for a moment, if you have the time."
"We don't need to waste any more time here. We're leaving," Thorin interrupted with barely contained fury, directing his hostility directly at the king he considered his enemy above all elves.
"I don't recall speaking to you," Thranduil replied with an identical lack of courtesy.
He walked slowly through the room without even deigning to look at him, as if the dwarf did not deserve his attention.
"Though it is curious to see you in these parts," he added. "It seems the forest gave you a rather harsh welcome."
"Nothing we couldn't handle… not even your 'incurable' diseases are a match for dwarves," Thorin retorted, with the immediate backing of his kin.
Even though everyone knew it hadn't been their racial strength that saved them from the Scarlet Rot.
"Typical of dwarves, taking credit that does not belong to them," Thranduil said at last, pinning Thorin with a gaze full of contained contempt. "But this is not the place for discussion."
He turned and headed toward the exit.
"King Miquella… Thorin," he added, signaling for them to follow before crossing the door, intentionally emphasizing the title of one and the absence of it for the other.
Thorin's anger flared even higher, like a fire fanned by the wind. Balin immediately approached and, in a low voice, advised him to restrain himself. They were currently within the Elven realm, and while the king seemed interested in Miquella, that didn't mean he couldn't make things difficult for them.
They had to be cunning if they wanted to get out of there without major trouble. Balin only hoped Thorin would be able to master his temperament.
Both Miquella and Thorin followed Thranduil, escorted by a group of Elven guards. During the walk, the king pointed out some of the unique features of his kingdom with the courtesy of a good host, addressing Miquella almost exclusively and deliberately ignoring a certain dwarf.
Finally, they reached the throne room. Thranduil did not take his seat upon it, remaining below to stay at the same height as his "guests."
"So… what brings you to my realm specifically?" he asked miquella. "Few dare to venture into this forest in these times."
"We are only passing through. We are headed to the Iron Hills," Thorin replied brusquely. "Nothing that should concern the elves."
He did not want more people knowing their true objective, much less the elves. However, judging by the king's expression, it seemed that secret was no longer much of a secret, which made him scowl.
"How curious," Thranduil said, feigning surprise. "I thought you might come for other reasons… such as reclaiming your ancestral land: Erebor. Killing the dragon and recovering your home. Many would believe it a noble quest..."
He then looked at Miquella.
"I have heard the Elden plan to help the dwarves, though it seems a thankless task to me. Far too dangerous. Smaug is not exactly an easy foe, and your lives would be at great risk," he added, as if speaking from a place of genuine concern.
"What the dwarves and their allies do is not something you need to worry about," Thorin replied bluntly.
"Do not worry, King Thranduil," Miquella intervened with a calm countenance and a kind voice, living up to his title. "We are fully aware of what we are doing, and yet we must do it. But I thank you for your concern."
...
While the kings of three races discussed, another figure moved stealthily through the Elven lands.
Bilbo, seizing the opportunity, had used his magic ring to turn invisible. He wandered freely, though the elves remained vigilant and he was nearly caught a couple of times. He had begun to rely too much on the ring, especially after it had saved him so many times… and not just for that, but also because of the dark temptation emanating from it.
During his wandering, he managed to find the dwarves, who had been taken to cells. The elves planned to keep them detained for the moment, at least until negotiations concluded.
Seeing this, Bilbo decided to head toward the Elden. It seemed the best option for now. When he arrived, he found them being treated with much greater consideration; at the very least, the room they were in looked nothing like those cells.
Waiting for a moment when the Elven surveillance relaxed enough, he slipped among them until he reached the place where the Elden were gathered. Using his small size, he positioned himself behind them and removed the ring.
"Guys… over here. It's Bilbo," he whispered as he revealed himself, staying hidden behind the Elden so as not to be seen. "What's the plan?"
"Wait," Malenia replied without even moving.
She wasn't just speaking to Bilbo, but to everyone.
"Miquella has awakened and is speaking with the Elven King. We must await his orders."
The Elden felt relieved to know their lord was well. No one asked how Malenia knew; it didn't matter. Waiting was not a problem. They relaxed just enough to rest, ready to move quickly if the situation required it, but without lowering their guard.
Bilbo hadn't expected that answer. He was prepared for an infiltration and rescue mission, but it seemed that, for now, he had to set it aside.
As the only one the elves had not yet "captured," he had to remain discreet. Hiding among the Elden, he ended up relaxing more than intended and, leaning against the wall of a corner, he finally fell asleep.