Miquella, now fully awake, knew it was time to begin his recovery.
He focused on his ring, letting it draw in the energy of the sun and the surrounding air. He needed to replenish his strength before attempting to heal his companions—especially his sister.
"Good morning," said Gandalf, noticing the demigod stirring. He took a deep puff from his pipe before continuing. "I've tended to most of the wounded, though I doubt I've done it half as well as you could have."
"I just need to recharge a bit," Miquella replied calmly. Gandalf nodded silently.
"Is everyone awake already?" asked Glóin, blinking heavily as he sat up.
One by one, those who had been conscious and resting—and those roused by the movement and murmuring—began to rise. They were all exhausted, covered in dust and blood, their wounds aching with every breath, yet the simple joy of being alive was enough to sustain them.
Malenia also opened her eyes, waking to find her brother in her arms. Miquella embraced her with a tenderness that contrasted sharply with the devastation around them.
"It's so beautiful to see you again…" he whispered, gently caressing his sister's face.
"Miquella…" murmured the red valkyrie, her voice trembling with emotions long suppressed.
For the first time, the others had a moment to truly look at the newcomer—the imposing woman clad in radiant armor, her red hair cascading like dying fire down her back.
The Elden lowered their heads in reverence. Though they served Miquella, they all knew how deeply he loved her, and that bond alone was enough to earn her their absolute respect.
The dwarves, on the other hand, did not know who she was, but no explanation was needed. A woman so tall, capable of mowing down orcs as if they were stalks of wheat, was worthy of admiration. Her bearing, her aura—everything about her spoke of a great warrior.
Gandalf, however, watched her closely. He could sense within her an immense power, nearly equal to Miquella's, yet different—heavier, more unpleasant… and dangerous.
"Would you do us the honor of introducing this fair lady?" asked the wizard politely, though in his mind he was already bracing himself for something that might defy comprehension.
"Ah, yes. How rude of me," said Miquella, straightening with a smile. "Everyone, allow me to introduce Malenia," he declared proudly. "My twin sister."
The silence that followed was almost comical. All eyes darted between the small blond boy and the towering red-haired woman, searching for any resemblance. Then they looked at each other as if all thinking the same thing: He can't be serious…
"She may not look it, but it's true," Miquella said with a soft laugh. "When I told you I was an adult, I meant it. My sister and I are cursed—mine is an eternal childhood. While she grew into the warrior you see, I remained like this…" He looked up at her with a mischievous smile. "Though, thinking about it, it's not so bad—I get the biggest hugs."
He nestled again into Malenia's arms, and she held him with a mixture of tenderness and strength.
The dwarves said nothing. They could no longer deny that this child was no ordinary boy, though it was hard to grasp. Some still doubted their kinship—Malenia's helmet hid much of her face—but something in the way they looked at each other, the ease of their closeness, dissolved all doubt.
"If you're cursed to be a child… what curse does she bear?" asked Bofur, unable to hold back his curiosity.
The silence that followed was almost tangible. The Elden bowed their heads; everyone knew how delicate the subject of the royal twins' curse was. But Miquella, far from uneasy, lifted his gaze with a serene smile.
"Show them, sister… and let me see as well," he said softly, brushing her cheek with tenderness.
Malenia nodded without a word. She raised a hand to the helmet that concealed her face. She felt no shame—her brother had asked it of her, and that was enough. Besides, though she didn't know the non-Elden present, she could sense they were Miquella's allies, and that was reason enough to trust.
When she removed the helmet, a murmur rippled through the group. The dwarves and Gandalf widened their eyes as the warrior's face was revealed—and as they saw the red rot that had consumed her eyes, leaving dark marks and scars across her skin. Then, calmly, she began removing her prosthetic limbs one by one, revealing the full extent of the damage her body bore.
Balin lowered his head in sorrow. "By Durin's beard…" he muttered, regretting that Bofur had asked. That sight was no mere war wound.
The image of the fierce woman who had struck down orcs like a vengeful goddess now shifted into something more tragic, and yet, more admirable. How could someone so broken continue to fight with such ferocity? The dwarves' respect for her deepened even further.
"Our apologies… we didn't know," Balin said finally, his voice low and sincere.
"It's all right," Miquella answered softly. Then he approached his sister and placed his hand on her decayed flesh, looking at her with pure affection. "Does it hurt?"
"I can feel it… weakening," Malenia replied quietly. "It's still there, but its power is fading. Though… I sense it's slowly returning, trying to consume me again."
Miquella smiled—one of those smiles that seemed to radiate pure hope.
"Then you don't have to worry anymore." He raised his hand, showing the faintly glowing ring. "Because I've found a way to end it. Just give me some time to regain my strength… and we'll rid you of your torment."
Malenia looked at him in surprise. It wasn't common to hear her brother speak with such certainty about that curse; they had tried countless times before, always in vain. For a moment, she saw in his eyes the same light he once had in the ancient days, when they still dreamed of a world free of suffering.
"I always knew you would," she said solemnly. "And I don't mind waiting. I am your blade… and I will be, for the rest of my days."
Miquella chuckled—sweetly, yet with mischief.
"Heh… more than my blade, I'd rather you were my sheath," he said, his tone affectionate yet playfully suggestive.
Malenia regarded him in silence, trying to discern his meaning, but failed. At last, with her usual calm, she answered:
"I'll be whatever you wish me to be."
Miquella pursed his lips, half amused."Well… I suppose you didn't quite catch my meaning," he said with a soft laugh. "But that's all right. We've got plenty of time for me to teach you."
He picked up her helmet and carefully placed it back on her head. The armor was still needed to contain the Red Rot until his ring had fully recharged. While he worked, he noticed some of the dwarves, driven by curiosity, examining Malenia's sword with awe.
"Oh—pardon us," said Dori, quickly returning it. "It's just… we've never seen craftsmanship like this. It's magnificent."
"Many a dwarf would return to battle if they could wield something like that," added Dwalin with a deep laugh. "Though they'd likely drink themselves senseless first."
Malenia took no offense. She merely nodded and began fastening her prosthetics once more. She was still disoriented—unsure where she was, who these people were, or what exactly had happened—but she trusted her brother and would wait for him to explain when the time was right.
Gandalf, studying every move she made, lifted his pipe and spoke in a grave tone."Those scars… that curse you speak of… it's no ordinary affliction, is it?"
Miquella slowly shook his head."No. It's a plague that once ravaged our land. We call it the Red Rot. It corrupts everything it touches—even the soul." His voice carried a deep sorrow, though a spark of hope flickered in his eyes. "But I believe I've finally found a way to fight it."
"Something like this, perhaps?" asked Gandalf, rummaging through his robe. He pulled out a small cloth pouch and drew from it a reddish, withered branch. "Radagast gave me this. Said he found it in Greenwood—well, they call it Mirkwood now—near a red river that poisoned everything around it."
Miquella and the Elden exchanged startled glances. That fragment carried a familiar energy, a faint echo of their own world.
"Yes… that's exactly it," Miquella said, taking the branch between his fingers. "It seems the Rot has found its way even here."
"And how dangerous is it?" came a firm voice. Everyone turned toward Thorin, who had just risen, frowning. "As bad as those black roots we found along the road?"
"Worse," Miquella said bluntly. "The Red Rot originates from an ancient and powerful dark being. If it has reached these lands as well, we must treat it seriously."
A heavy silence followed, thick with tension. But then the demigod smiled. He raised his ring, and golden light enveloped him. The branch crumbled to dust, dissolving into a faint shimmering mist.
"But don't worry," he added calmly. "When our mission is done, the Elden will deal with this corruption. We have an old score to settle."As he spoke, he reached out his hand toward his sister.
Though many were still troubled by what they'd heard—the black roots had been enough cause for alarm—the conversation soon shifted toward lighter matters.
"So… where exactly are we?" one of the dwarves finally asked, breaking the silence.
Before anyone could answer, a powerful beating of wings echoed through the sky. Great shadows swept overhead, followed by the piercing cries of eagles. All eyes lifted as the majestic creatures descended.
"Well, my friends," said Gandalf with a weary smile, "allow me to introduce the home of some old acquaintances."
The eagles landed gracefully, carrying in their talons the spoils of a successful hunt—sheep, rabbits, and hares—which they dropped nearby. Then, with gentle nudges of their beaks, they offered their gifts.
Among them stood one of imposing size.
"This is Gwaihir, Lord of the Eagles," Gandalf announced solemnly. "We owe our rescue to him."
The great eagle let out a mighty cry, spreading its wings in a grand gesture that sent a gust of wind sweeping around them.
The eagles delivered their catch, and the company accepted it gratefully. Everyone needed to regain their strength. The eagles' nests were no mere tangles of branches—they stretched deep into mountain caverns, a natural fortress of stone and height. There, they lit a fire easily, especially with the aid of Narya, the red flame that burned in the wizard's hand.
Soon, the air was filled with the smell of roasting meat. They ate, recovering some of their strength, and Miquella used the leftovers to recharge his ring, casting a minor healing spell that soothed them all.
During the rest, Miquella began explaining to his sister the nature of this new world and their mission. There was much to tell, but this was not the time. He preferred to speak to her alone, in peace, once things had settled.
Malenia listened attentively, studying every expression. There was something different about her brother. He had once been serene, almost distant—but now his gestures were livelier, his eyes more human. Something profound had changed within him. She didn't ask—not yet—but she knew that many trials had reshaped him.This world, she thought, might just become their new home.
As they spoke, a young eagle with pale plumage approached, curious. She was Gwaihir's daughter—a proud and noble creature, fascinated by the strange visitors. Miquella extended his hand and gently stroked the feathers of her neck while continuing his quiet conversation with Malenia, Leda, and the other Elden as they planned the next steps of their journey.