The journey was far from peaceful, but at last Mirkwood rose before them. Several groups of orcs had been slain along the way, and thanks to Miquella's healing, no wounds or lasting injuries remained from those battles. However, the situation changed upon reaching the borders of the forest.
Neither the ponies, nor the horses, nor even the bears seemed willing to approach any further. It was as if all of them had collectively decided their journey ended there, refusing to take a single step into that place.
"Dismount and release the mounts. Let them return to their master," ordered Gandalf, not yet dismounting his own horse.
The company obeyed, retrieving their belongings and bidding farewell to the creatures that had accompanied them up to that point. The runic bears growled at Miquella, as if giving him one final warning before parting, then slowly walked away with the horses and ponies, almost escorting them. Miquella could only wave goodbye as the beasts disappeared into the distance.
Then everyone looked at Gandalf, who remained mounted.
"You… aren't coming with us?" asked Bilbo, noticing the tension in the air. "You won't abandon us… right?"
The presence of the wizard who had dragged him into this was his greatest reassurance, and the idea of Gandalf staying behind was not comforting.
"I wouldn't, unless it were absolutely necessary," Gandalf replied seriously, gazing south, toward Dol Guldur. "But I still have a task to fulfill."
"Wait," said Miquella, though not as an attempt to stop him.
Everyone turned toward the demigod, who stepped forward. Miquella brought his hands together before him and closed his eyes. A faint light began to rise between his fingers—clearly, he was using his magic.
He was using the energy he had stored to accomplish two objectives at once.
From his hands emerged a purple mist, which mixed with the golden glow of his ring, and something new appeared in his palms. But the magic did not end there—the ring activated once more. The light did not fade. It intensified, vibrated… and then abruptly vanished into the air. A second later, something—or someone—fell to the ground in front of Miquella.
The demigod turned pale immediately. His legs trembled, and he had to be supported to keep from collapsing. Whatever he had done seemed to have consumed more energy than his ring had stored.
Everyone stared at Miquella… but soon their eyes shifted to those who had appeared. Or rather, those who had been brought: a woman with a quiver on her back and a bow in her hands, mounted—or rather, leaning—against a white wolf.
The dwarves opened their mouths, ready to shout something… but after everything they had witnessed so far, their ability to be surprised had dwindled. Curiosity was all that remained.
"Where… am I?" asked the woman, confused, feeling weak and almost unable to stand. Her wolf also struggled to rise; despite its exhaustion, it growled, trying to show aggression toward the group surrounding them.
"Welcome to the Free Eldens, Latenna," said Miquella with difficulty, forcing himself to stay upright. "Leda, Ansbach… explain the situation to her while I finish here."
His followers nodded, while the demigod approached Gandalf and the dwarves, still pale from the magical strain.
"Who is she?" asked Thorin. After Melania's appearance, he suspected the demigod had a habit of summoning his relatives. And to be honest, he found the ability both unsettling and impressive.
"Our new archer," Miquella answered tiredly. "Gandalf's departure leaves us short one member, and I thought it best to fill the gap. We lack long-range attackers, and—it's nothing personal, Kilian—but having more is always better than fewer. She can also serve as a scout in my place."
The others nodded. After facing so many enemies along the way, the idea of gaining more help was comforting. In fact, more than one dwarf couldn't help but wonder whether Miquella could summon an entire army… though that would certainly complicate their food situation.
"And Gandalf," continued the demigod, looking at the wizard, "going alone isn't safe. You'll need assistance."
"Are you planning to leave too?" exclaimed Bilbo, anxiety rising.
The dwarves were no calmer. Losing Gandalf was a heavy blow but tolerable… losing Miquella as well, however, meant losing their magical strength, and Thorin would not allow that if there was any way to prevent it.
"More or less…" Miquella replied, stepping closer to the wizard. "Here, Gandalf. Take this."
From his hand emerged the small talisman depicting a woman with long purple hair—the one he had just summoned. He placed it firmly in the wizard's palm.
"Keep it with you at all times. If you're in danger, my other half may help you. Though… that might leave me unconscious right here. So you all…" he said, looking at the others, "should be prepared for my absence if Gandalf ends up needing aid."
Gandalf examined the talisman carefully and tucked it into his robe without question. Any help was welcome, and even if he didn't fully understand what aid the object could provide, he trusted the judgment of the young golden prince. The dwarves and Bilbo breathed with relief at the realization that Miquella would not be leaving them immediately. The possibility of him fainting from time to time was one thing… but abandoning them completely was another matter altogether.
Thus, the group was about to split temporarily, just before entering Mirkwood.
"We shall meet at the Mountain before the Day of Durin arrives," Gandalf assured with confidence. Then he looked toward the forest, his expression hardening. "Be cautious. This is no longer the Greenwood of old. A dark power corrupts it… and other unknown forces dwell within. Beware of any creature you may find there. Do not touch the water. Avoid touching anything if possible. And above all…" his voice dropped to a deadly warning, "do not leave the path. If you do… you will not return."
With those final words, the company watched Gandalf ride away, disappearing between the hills. It was a heavy loss; losing a wizard was never a small matter. But Thorin, though stern, did not seem too shaken. With him traveled the Eldens, whose power and capability far surpassed that of any common ally. Even without Gandalf, the dwarf leader maintained confidence that they would complete their mission… though a missing wizard was still a missing wizard.
"Forward," ordered Thorin, moving to the front now that they no longer had the wizard guiding them. "We must hasten our pace. Better to reach the Mountain early; we cannot risk losing our chance due to some unforeseen delay."
The company advanced slowly along the narrow path, surrounded by trees that seemed more withered than alive, as if the very sap of the forest had been drained. Among the Eldens there was now a new member: Latenna, still weakened from the summoning, riding her white wolf—whose steps were slow and heavy. Thus, both remained at the center of the formation, protected on all sides. Beside her, Miquella rode Torrent, speaking softly, explaining where they were, what had happened… what he expected of her.
The demigod's charm was powerful. Even though Latenna was not one of his original followers, Miquella's words slid into her mind like whispers… whispers of the demon. The promise of curing the deficiency of first-generation albinaurics. The promise of giving them a home. The promise of bringing her sister and completing her mission…
With each promise, Latenna lowered her head and accepted to serve the young god, becoming yet another Elden of his growing retinue.
Miquella had summoned her because he needed an archer—an element missing in his group. Perhaps there were better choices, but Latenna was what his strength and his ring allowed him to bring at that moment. Besides, Miquella had a specific purpose for her presence: she would be the one to wield the Black Arrow and harness its power—the weapon that, originally, would slay Smaug.
Miquella handed the Black Arrow to Latenna, telling her it was a treasure that never failed. He assured her she could always recover it—or at least, that was what he believed to be true about the arrow. Finally, he asked her to protect it, for it had been prepared for a very particular target.
...
The company continued their journey along a path that, though ancient, seemed abandoned for decades. Miquella sensed something was wrong: a road that should have been straight now twisted with far more turns than reasonable. Perhaps a recent shifting of the earth had damaged it. Or perhaps it was the forest itself, trying to confuse them… or divert them from their true destination.
Whatever the cause, the advance was not easy. And although no dangers appeared at first, the atmosphere did not improve. The darkness thickened. The air grew heavier. And with each step, the forest seemed to watch them—silent, patient… waiting.
The first thing they all noticed was the slow progress. Following Gandalf's warning not to leave the path limited their options, making even the smallest detour unthinkable. The provisions Beorn had given them were not infinite and were already dwindling, especially the water. To make matters worse, hardly a thread of light managed to break through the canopy—if any at all. The darkness, the twisted path, the shrinking supplies… did not pose immediate danger, but they slowly eroded everyone's spirits. And when the rain began, morale sank further under the weight of soaked armor.
Fortunately, they had Miquella. With his magic, he could illuminate the area, and after absorbing vitality from a few trees, he attempted to summon food and water. But this was much harder: summoning individuals or specific objects—something concrete and known—was simple. But vague concepts like "food" or "drink" required precise visualization. Without care, he could easily summon something inedible or useless, wasting energy. He still lacked the power and control to reshape reality at will.
Soon enough, the provisions ran out, and the group depended entirely on Miquella's summonings to survive. The forest became more oppressive the deeper they went, as if the corruption within it strengthened with proximity. The atmosphere grew heavy, especially for Bilbo and the dwarves. The Eldens, more accustomed to magic and a ravaged world, withstood it better; they also relied on Miquella's presence as a pillar for their own will. Miquella himself found support in Trina, sharing the burden of exhaustion and the forest's pressure. Thanks to the Smile of St. Trina talisman, they could vaguely sense Gandalf's general state and mission—though they still lacked the power to see clearly across such distance.
The days in that forest were harsh, gnawing slowly at the group's resolve. Some dwarves were already showing confusion… and among the weaker Eldens—Thiollier, Latenna, and her wolf, freshly summoned and not yet fully restored—the oppressive atmosphere was equally burdensome.
The journey grew so arduous that the general strength of the group dropped dramatically. Only a few remained at full power: Miquella, protected by his ring, and Melania, whose inner curse overshadowed any external influence. The rest, either from exhaustion, hunger, or the forest's influence, found themselves operating between 60% and 90% of their usual strength