"You are more than welcome. In fact, had we known, we would have organized a celebration in your honor. You shouldn't even be traveling on such a deplorable barge..." Alfrid added, casting a disdainful look at Bard. "You deserve only the best of the best. Please, follow me. I will take you directly to the Master."
"No, thank you," Miquella replied immediately. "I want to get the fish home quickly. Bard told me he could cook Sally at his house. We have little time... and I want to see what a bargeman's house is like!"
"Yes," Leda supported firmly. "It would be best if we continued our journey, Master Alfrid. If you wish, you may send a message to Thranduil to confirm our identity. He will vouch for us. Now, we would like to proceed."
Alfrid was completely frozen. He didn't know what to do, what to say, or how to get out of that situation without losing his authority. In the end, he had no choice but to give in... maintaining a forced smile.
The soldiers stepped off the barge. Bard was able to resume his way upriver while Alfrid hurried away to inform the Master, and Percy ran, almost skipping, straight to spread the gossip about the mysterious elves who had just arrived in the city.
Bard steered his boat through the town's canals after leaving the checkpoint behind. The hull brushed against the damp wood of the docks, and the black water parted in silence... but his face was far from calm.
"We're in trouble," he finally said bluntly. "They're going to be watching us now."
"They already were," Miquella replied with indifference. He tossed 'Sally' back into the barrels with a careless flick and completely dropped his childish act. "You seem well-loved here... and hated for that very reason," Miquella added. "Anything you do puts you under a magnifying glass. We are just a convenient excuse."
Bard didn't answer. He didn't want to. At that moment, the only thing that mattered was getting home without causing more trouble and, above all, not endangering his family. He docked the boat at a discreet spot, far from the main routes. There, the rest of the company climbed out of the barrels one by one, all reeking of the persistent smell of fish.
Most of the cargo was given away along the way, though Miquella made sure Ansbach took a basket for later. Then they began the walk toward Bard's house.
Esgaroth was a peculiar place. A human town built over the water, entirely of wood, held up by old, creaking pillars. It looked dirty, worn... but alive. Groups of people worked tirelessly at different trades, keeping the city afloat both literally and figuratively, though poverty leaked through every crack.
Miquella observed everything with genuine curiosity. He wondered if, just like with his dreams, he should keep a travel diary. Documenting every place, every sensation. It could be a good hobby.
Bard, the Eldens, and the dwarves moved through the corridors and bridges, inevitably drawing attention. The Eldens stood out too much... even more than the dwarves, though that was because of Miquella. The demigod had an enchanting aura that drew eyes effortlessly, as if the world itself felt inclined to watch him.
It wouldn't have been much of a problem, but in addition to the civilians, there were also soldiers. Some on their usual patrols, others clearly assigned to "watch" the newly arrived elves... or, to put it more politely, to ensure they were "safe."
They weren't a great obstacle.
In Miquella's hands rested a small scepter and a sacred seal, so discreet they could pass for simple ornaments or toys. With minimal, almost imperceptible movements, the soldiers seemed to become distracted, confused, or fall into a sudden drowsiness, completely forgetting whom they were following.
Bard watched this with growing confusion, not knowing if what he saw was real or if stress was finally playing tricks on him. There was no time to reflect.
"Da!" Bain, Bard's son, appeared through the crowd with urgency on his face. "The house... it's being watched."
"This job is bringing me more trouble than I expected," Bard muttered. None of this was in his initial calculations. Still, he was a man of his word. He couldn't betray those he had agreed to transport, and that integrity was, in large part, why the people respected him... and watched him.
"Can you do your magic thing with the others?" Thorin asked in a low voice, glancing at the men stationed in the distance.
"I can," Miquella replied calmly. "But isolated individuals are one thing. If there is even one I don't reach who sees us, it would be as if I had done nothing."
It wasn't entirely true. With Trina as his eyes and ears, he could cover much more ground than he admitted. But for him, this was still an entertaining game, a minor prelude before the true test that would come later. He wasn't giving his all... nor did he intend to yet.
"How annoying..." Thorin grumbled, watching the men who feigned disinterest but wouldn't look away.
"We have to find a way to get to the bargeman's house without being detected," Balin said. "Getting into trouble with humans now would only be another burden on the road."
"I agree," Miquella added. "I don't want to spend the rest of the trip with their noses pressed against my neck."
Suddenly, the slight sound of sliding metal was heard. Leda's sword threatened to leave its sheath as she stepped forward, her cold gaze fixed on the soldiers.
"Not like that either, Leda," Miquella said, letting out a small laugh. Then he looked up at the cloud-covered sky, pensive. "I think... I can find a way to pass unseen. But I'm going to need my sister's help." The idea was already taking shape in his mind.
The dwarves turned toward him in unison.
"Do we have to wait for the Eldens to arrive?" Dwalin grumbled. "They'll catch us before then. We can't stay here."
"Not that sister," Miquella replied.
The phrase was enough to make everyone raise an eyebrow, confused. Then it happened.
In front of Miquella, a white mist began to condense, swirling around itself. In a matter of seconds, it took a humanoid shape and, to the absolute shock of the group, a second Miquella appeared before them. It was almost identical... almost. The colors were more muted, less vivid, and its silhouette seemed to blur at times, as if reality had trouble sustaining it.
"Can I count on you for this, Trina?" Miquella asked, though he already knew the answer.
The copy replied with a small smile before vanishing before their eyes... reappearing several meters away, in the middle of a busy street where people were going about their lives.
"What an impressive city!" it was heard saying, in a deliberately loud tone. "Look at all these things! What is that over there!?" The figure ran down the street.
Trina's "Miquella" was purely illusory. It moved faster than it should, its image outstripping itself, skipping fragments of the path, appearing and disappearing like a broken mirage. And, as it moved, every time it crossed paths with a blonde woman, without her noticing, it clung to her with an uncanny familiarity for a few seconds, moving its lips as if speaking in secret, then pointing in another direction before moving there.
It all happened in a heartbeat.
Unless you knew exactly what was going on—or paid far too much attention—those details went unnoticed. And that was precisely what made the plan work. The soldiers who were "patrolling" saw their target speeding away. They couldn't lose him. Without hesitation, they broke formation and lunged after him, clearing the area completely. That day, the location of the elf child was infinitely more important than any police duty.
The dwarves and Bard stood open-mouthed, turning slowly toward the real Miquella as if expecting an immediate explanation.
"It's Trina," he said quite naturally. "Another sister. Think of her as a ghost... I'll tell you about her later." He turned around and began to move forward. "Now move. Let's take advantage of the distraction and go to Bard's house. I want to rest for a bit." He looked over his shoulder, almost amused. "I'm sure there will be lookouts there too. You lot handle that. I'm tired," he added.
...
In the Master's house, Alfrid was "giving his report." In front of him, a fat, red-haired, and disheveled man, consumed by vice, greed... and gout, listened with growing nervousness.
"It is true, my lord," Alfrid said in a carefully worried tone. "Bard has crossed all limits. Not only is he inciting the people to revolt against you, but he is also fraternizing with the elves to depose you."
The Master grit his teeth. "With the elves...?"
"That's right. At this very moment, there are at least two elves heading to his house. Who knows what they might be planning... elections, agreements, that sort of thing," Alfrid added, exaggerating just enough. "Very dangerous."
"No! That cannot be!" the Master stood up suddenly, but a sharp pain forced him to sit back down with a groan. "They cannot do this to me! I am the Master! After all I've done for them!"
"They no longer care, my lord," Alfrid replied with fake compassion. "Bard has poisoned their minds. He is an idol to the people... modest, intelligent, handsome, athletic..."
The Master frowned, clearly irritated. "That precarious... imitation of me cannot do this to me," he muttered, as if he needed to convince himself. "But what can we do?"
"First of all, we must keep Bard away from the elves," Alfrid said. "We cannot allow them to reach any agreement."
"Yes... yes, we cannot leave them together for another minute." The Master stood up again and walked to the balcony. "Call the soldiers. Tell them to go to his house and—"
"Wait, my lord," Alfrid interrupted him quickly. "We cannot do that."
The Master turned, annoyed. "Why not?"
"Because the supposed nephew of King Thranduil might be in his house," Alfrid explained. "If we cause an incident, we could provoke a diplomatic problem... and a very bad image for you."
The Master sat back down slowly, understanding the gravity of the matter.
"Then..." he said after a few seconds. "I will go myself. I will invite him to my palace. I will get him out of those filthy commoner houses."
"An excellent idea, my lord," Alfrid flattered him. "But I think first we should send a letter to the Elven Realm. Just to make sure Bard isn't deceiving us... and confirm if the Elven King is aware that his nephew is under the care of a possible criminal and rabble-rouser." He raised an eyebrow knowingly. "Furthermore, we should be watchful for the arrival of the guards who will come looking for him. Let them know we are always willing to receive him with hospitality."
"Well said, Alfrid," the Master replied, catching the intent perfectly. "Bring me a pen and my best ink." He walked with renewed enthusiasm toward his desk.
...
Meanwhile, arriving at Bard's house, he and his son moved forward appearing completely normal, as if they had separated from the dwarves hours ago. They managed to enter without trouble, ignoring the supposed "civilians" stationed nearby, whose true function was to watch and spy on them.
On the other hand, under the water and under the house, several figures moved stealthily. There was a single entrance discreet enough not to draw attention. The toilet seat was lifted slowly, and from there emerged the head of the first dwarf.
"We will... never speak of this," Dwalin whispered, humiliated and furious.
He climbed out of the bathroom, followed one by one by the rest of the dwarves, until it was the Eldens' turn. Agreeing to this plan had not been easy. In fact, Leda had almost struck Bard when he even hinted at the idea... but Miquella, as always, managed to stop her.
After several dwarves, Ansbach emerged and turned to help Miquella up. Behind him appeared Leda, with a look so cold she seemed to be searching for someone to kill for the humiliation inflicted upon her beloved lord.