CHAPTER 128: RETURN

Upon hearing Gandalf’s words, Sylas felt a touch of embarrassment.

Had he been chasing shadows and ignoring the light?

He never would have imagined that the music magic he had always used to lift his spirits and banish dark emotions was, in truth, a powerful method of soul cultivation.

It was as if he had been sitting atop a mountain of treasure without ever realizing its worth.

Now that he understood the true value of the music, Sylas would not let it go unheeded again. He promptly asked Gandalf how to use the melody for proper meditation.

Gandalf, generous as ever, offered more than just guidance. He also taught Sylas a second form of meditation, one rooted in the use of herbs. By lighting aromatic plants such as sage, cedar, sandalwood, or mugwort, one could enter a meditative state. The aroma helped calm the body and mind, serving as a kind of anchor to draw the soul into the stillness of thoughtlessness.

This was a technique Gandalf himself had long used. He would burn pipe-weed in his pipe and enter a meditative trance, often receiving flashes of insight and wisdom in that suspended calm.

More importantly, this method could be combined with Sylas’s music meditation to enhance the depth and clarity of the experience.

Sylas was deeply grateful for Gandalf’s open-handed teachings. As a token of his thanks, he spent over a week crafting a new flying broom using laurelin wood. It was swift, finely balanced, and he gifted it to Gandalf with great care.

Though such a gift could never match the depth of his gratitude, it was the best offering he could think of for the moment.

To his relief, Gandalf received the broom with delight. Without hesitation, he mounted it and soared through the forest of Lórien, his gray robes fluttering behind him like a comet’s tail. The Elves below often paused in their duties, glancing upward at the curious sight.

Not long after, Sylas sought out Lady Galadriel.

He approached her respectfully and produced a single fruit, the seed of the Holy White Tree, that Thranduil had entrusted to him.

"Lady Galadriel," he said, "do you know how this seed might be awakened and made to grow?"

A glimmer of interest touched Galadriel’s eyes as she took the fruit into her hands and examined it with quiet reverence.

"I did not expect to see a seed of Nimloth," she said softly. "I had thought all such fruit lost, save for the one preserved by Isildur before Númenor fell."

"This came from King Thranduil," Sylas explained. "He once visited Númenor long ago and plucked it himself."

Galadriel nodded in understanding. Then, like a breeze over water, she turned and glided across the garden path, her moon-white robes brushing gently over the grass. Sylas followed closely behind.

They came to the silver basin nestled in the heart of the garden. Galadriel knelt beside it and placed the fruit into the clear stream flowing within. The surface rippled gently around the seed as she pressed it beneath the water with her hand.

"This seed is old," she said, "and it has long thirsted. Let it soak here for three days. When it has drunk its fill, you may take it."

She looked up at him and continued, "Afterward, place it beneath the light of Eärendil. Let it bask in that sacred radiance until it glows faintly. Only then should you bury it in soil untouched by shadow or corruption. In time, it will break its shell and rise."

"I understand. Thank you, my lady," Sylas said, his eyes bright with joy.

He had not expected such a swift and complete answer, nor had he realized the light of Eärendil, the phial she had once gifted him, would play a role in awakening the White Tree’s seed.

...

Three days passed in the blink of an eye. Sylas retrieved the fruit of the Holy White Tree, now fully soaked and glistening with absorbed water. As instructed, he placed it beneath the light of Eärendil, allowing the sacred radiance to gently bathe the ancient seed.

He had already decided where he would plant it, on Weathertop.

Though the fruit in his possession came from a fourth-generation Holy White Tree, it still carried the legacy of a divine creation. The original tree, Nimloth, was born of the light of Telperion and crafted by the Vala Yavanna, the Queen of Earth and Giver of Fruits. Even this distant descendant retained an aura of power and sanctity.

According to Lady Galadriel, the Holy White Tree shared a profound connection with the natural world. Wherever it took root, its presence would nourish the land, invigorating flora and fauna alike. Plants would flourish, animals would thrive, and the very air would grow lighter.

More than just a blessing to nature, the Holy White Tree was a beacon against evil. Its roots, once spread beneath the soil, would suppress the reach of shadow. Lands once polluted by dark magic could be slowly purified. The tree itself exuded an aura that weakened the strength of dark sorcery in its vicinity.

The sap of its fruit and leaves held potent healing properties. It could mend the body and soothe the mind, even those afflicted by long exposure to malevolent forces. Wounds of both flesh and spirit would respond to its touch. It was said to offer some resistance to poison and curses, and even ease the burdens of the soul.

For this reason, it had long been a target of shadow.

Sauron had once driven the Númenóreans to cut down Nimloth, desiring its destruction above all. Later, in his conquest of Gondor, he captured Minas Ithil and burned the White Tree that stood there, a symbol of hope, a defiance he could not abide.

After spending nearly two months in the golden woods of Lórien, Sylas and his companions prepared to return to Rivendell.

As they departed, Lady Galadriel bestowed parting gifts.

To Legolas, she gifted a bow carved from the heartwood of laurelin. The bowstring, fine and silver-gold, was woven from strands of her own hair. It was a weapon of grace and deadly precision, tuned to the archer’s will.

To Bilbo, she gave a small wooden box of grayish hue, within which lay soil from her own garden. Planted in it, anything would bloom with rare beauty. It was a gift Bilbo had humbly requested, a touch of Lórien to bring home.

She kissed his forehead as well, a quiet benediction. The light in that kiss carried the power of healing, dispelling the creeping corruption of the Ring that had begun to weigh upon his spirit. Bilbo stood a little straighter afterward, his eyes clearer.

When it came time for Sylas’s gift, he made a bold request. He asked Galadriel for a seed of the laurelin.

He intended to plant it alongside the Holy White Tree’s fruit, forming a living tribute, a miniature echo of the Two Trees, atop Weathertop. A beacon of light and life where once stood a place of watchfulness and ruin.

Galadriel, ever intrigued by the weaving of symbolism into action, found his vision both hopeful and poetic. She granted his request and gave him a small glass vessel filled with water drawn from the silver basin, a sacred stream said to be touched by the light of Telperion. This water would nourish the laurelin seed and guide its growth.

This time, Sylas and his companions did not take flight upon the backs of the Great Eagles. Instead, they returned through the magic of the Floo Network, stepping one by one into the fireplace and vanishing in emerald flames, reappearing in the warm halls of Rivendell.

Even Arwen joined them. With the connection now established between the hearths of Lórien and Rivendell, she could move freely between her father’s home and the woods of her grandparents. The barriers of distance had melted away like snow in spring.

Teleporting so many people at once had nearly depleted Sylas’s supply of Floo Powder.

So he prepared to begin crafting a new batch.

The primary ingredient in Floo Powder was moonstone, a mineral prized by the Elves for its gentle, silvery glow reminiscent of moonlight.

When Elrond heard of Sylas’s need, he generously sent a large shipment of flawless moonstones. Sylas, however, was stunned by the extravagance and politely declined to use such high-quality material for something as mundane as transportation powder.

Understanding his sentiment, Elrond then arranged for a second delivery, rougher, more common-grade moonstone. He assured Sylas that Rivendell had it in abundance and he was welcome to take as much as he required.

With suitable materials now in hand, Sylas began producing Floo Powder in one of Rivendell’s quieter chambers.

During this time, he also entrusted the young eagle Thorondor to Elrond for healing. The eagle had suffered from a congenital weakness and required care from the skilled Elvish healers.

Meanwhile, something unexpected occurred.

Arwen and Aragorn finally met for the first time.

In the original course of events, their meeting took place when Aragorn had come of age, and it had sparked a love that would shape both their fates. But this time, Arwen met him at the age of eleven.

There was no romance, no spark of destiny, only the warm affection of an elder sister toward her father’s ward.

To her, Aragorn was simply Estel, a quiet and curious boy growing up beneath the protection of Elrond.

Back in his workshop, Sylas found that the moonstone supply was plentiful. For the other ingredients, spider silk and snake fangs, he took creative measures. The spider silk he used came from the Giant Spiders of Mirkwood, stronger and more durable than the usual kind.

As for snake fangs, he had no ready source.

Without hesitation, Sylas flew out to the nearby Trollshaws and entered the forests just beyond Rivendell. There, using Parseltongue, he summoned a host of venomous snakes.

It was effective. Within a short while, he returned with a bag full of fangs.

The snakes, however, were left thoroughly disgruntled. Each had been relieved of one of their prized venomous fangs, and none dared hiss in front of prey for fear of being mocked.

After half a month of work, Sylas successfully produced an entire barrel of Floo Powder. It would serve him and his companions well for a long time.

In gratitude for Elrond’s assistance, Sylas gifted him a generous bottle of the powder.

As for young Thorondor, under the Elves’ care, his condition improved dramatically. His congenital ailment had been healed, and with good nourishment and time, he would one day soar across the skies like his brethren among the Great Eagles.

By now, Smaug had arrived near Rivendell and was amusing himself by chasing Trolls through the forests, unleashing havoc upon any foolish enough to cross him.

Finally, it was time to leave.

Sylas, Gandalf, Bilbo, and Legolas gathered in front of the fireplace and, with a swirl of green flame, vanished from Elrond’s halls.

Their destination was Weathertop.

As for Smaug, he continued his long flight on foot and wing, making his own way to the tower.

Inside the restored Amon Sûl, the once-forgotten fireplace roared with green flame, and for the first time in many years, life stirred within its cold stone walls.

"Scourgify," Sylas said quickly, waving his wand and removing the soot and grime from himself and his companions.

Once they were presentable again, he looked around the chamber and smiled.

"Finally, we’re back."

He raised his wand and began sweeping away the layers of dust that had accumulated in their absence.

Legolas tilted his head upward, gazing in awe at the towering ceiling.

"So this is Amon Sûl," he murmured. "They say it was destroyed a thousand years ago by the Witch-king’s army. How did you restore it, Sylas?"

Gandalf, now comfortably seated on a conjured sofa, chuckled.

"You should have seen it. He brought the entire tower back to life in a matter of seconds. It was like watching a forgotten legend rise from the ashes."

Bilbo had already stepped outside and was admiring the surrounding landscape when Sylas, having cleared the first floor, turned his attention upward.

"Spiraverto," he called out, flicking his wand.

A miniature tornado formed instantly and spun upward through the spiral stairs. One by one, it cleared each level of the tower, collecting dust and cobwebs before exiting through the observation deck and dispersing the debris across the wind.

Legolas watched the spell in amazement.

"Your magic is incredible," he said, eyes bright.

Sylas smiled.

"Want to learn it? I can teach you. But cleaning the tower will be your job from now on."

"Deal!" Legolas agreed without hesitation. For the chance to study Sylas’s magic, cleaning was a small price to pay.

Just then, Bilbo burst back inside, his cheeks flushed with excitement.

"Sylas, come quickly. You need to see this."

"What is it?" Sylas asked, curious.

Gandalf and Legolas exchanged glances and followed.

Breathless, Bilbo pointed out toward the horizon.

"There’s a village at the base of the hill. Just beyond the Midgewater Marshes."

...

Stones Plzz

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