Sylas and his two companions arrived at the edge of Mirkwood, where a welcoming party of Woodland Elves stood waiting amidst the trees' golden light.
To Sylas's surprise, the one leading the party was none other than the Elven prince himself.
"Your Highness, Legolas? You came in person?" Sylas asked, clearly taken aback.
Legolas offered a warm smile. "When you first passed near Lake-town, the border guards spotted a dragon in the distance. My father suspected it was you, so he sent me to greet you."
His gaze then shifted behind them, drawn inevitably to the immense shadow of Smaug resting just beyond the tree line. Even having seen the great dragon once before, on the battlefield at Erebor, the sight still sent a cold shiver through him.
"Please, follow me," Legolas continued. "My father has prepared a banquet to welcome you."
To avoid frightening the Elves with Smaug's presence, Sylas had asked the dragon to remain outside the forest canopy. With that arranged, Sylas, Gandalf, and Bilbo followed Legolas into the Woodland Realm.
Inside the great hall of the Elvenking, King Thranduil sat upon his throne, a regal figure robed in silver and deep forest green. Upon his brow rested a circlet woven of fiery red maple leaves and dark berries, a living crown that spoke of autumn's majesty.
His presence exuded nobility, grace, and a quiet power, undeniably the ruler of Mirkwood's boundless woods.
But unlike their last audience, Thranduil descended from his throne, his manner courteous, though still reserved.
"Welcome, my honored guests," he said. "You grace my halls once again. This time, you must not refuse our hospitality, I have ordered a feast in your honor, and Mirkwood's finest wine shall flow freely."
Gandalf, ever the statesman, leaned lightly on his staff and gave a respectful nod. "Your Majesty honors us greatly. We are delighted to accept."
Thranduil then turned to Sylas. "Tell me, why does the dragon not join you?"
"Smaug is... not suited for forests," Sylas replied with a slight smile. "His size would crush the glades."
Thranduil gave a small, knowing nod. "Even so, we mustn't slight a guest. I shall have a banquet table prepared outside the forest, fit for a dragon of his stature."
Sylas blinked in mild astonishment, then bowed gratefully. "Thank you, Your Majesty. That's more than generous."
With Legolas accompanying them, they entered the grand banquet hall. Unlike the airy elegance of Rivendell, Mirkwood's halls were carved of living wood and lit by amber-glowing lanterns.
Unlike the Rivendell Elves, who favored light, vegetarian meals, the Wood Elves offered hearty fare, roasted venison, fresh river fish, wild mushrooms, and honeyed root vegetables. And their wine, strong and dark, flowed liberally.
Though graceful in demeanor, the Woodland Elves proved far less restrained than their High Elven kin, laughter rang through the hall, and music swelled with joy.
Elven maidens sang old epics in the ancient tongue, their voices as clear as starlight. Attendants drifted like wind among the tables, filling goblets and offering warm bread.
At the head table, Thranduil and Gandalf spoke at length, trading updates on Middle-earth's unrest and the shadows stirring in the East.
Meanwhile, Legolas sat beside Sylas and Bilbo, gently translating the ballads for them.
Their conversation soon touched on a name both familiar and bittersweet, Tauriel.
"She chose to walk a different path," Legolas said quietly, eyes downcast.
Though he never fully understood why Tauriel had chosen love over immortality, why she would forsake eternal life for a Dwarf doomed to fade within a mortal span, he no longer questioned it.
"She followed her heart," he murmured.
Then, just as the merriment reached its height, Thranduil looked at Sylas and delivered a surprising piece of news to everyone.
He intended to send Legolas out into the wider world for training.
What's more, he had entrusted Sylas with the task of allowing Legolas to accompany their company on the upcoming journey.
Legolas was visibly startled by his father's sudden declaration, it was clear Thranduil hadn't mentioned this beforehand.
Sylas, too, was taken aback, but not entirely surprised. For a father, such foresight was natural.
Thranduil clearly hoped his son would see more of the world, mature faster, and become independent, ready to lead in the future. Had Sylas not appeared, Thranduil might have sent Legolas out soon anyway. In fact, in another thread of fate, Legolas would one day become the only elf to join the Fellowship of the Ring.
But now, after witnessing Sylas's abilities firsthand, Thranduil had evidently decided to entrust his son's early training to someone he believed capable.
"Your Highness Legolas is an exceptional archer and a skilled warrior of the Elves," Sylas said warmly. "It would be our honor to have him travel with us."
Sylas had always held a favorable impression of Legolas, and he didn't mind gaining such a companion.
Thranduil smiled, clearly pleased with his acceptance. At a nod from the king, an elf stepped forward, bearing a golden tray.
Upon it sat a small, ornately decorated box, its surface gleaming with embedded jade and gemstones.
Sylas raised an eyebrow, visibly puzzled.
He glanced at Thranduil. "Your Majesty, what is the meaning of this?"
"This," Thranduil replied with calm sincerity, "is a token of gratitude."
"Gratitude that the Elves were not wiped out during the Battle of the Five Armies."
"Of course," he added, "there is also a request."
Sylas tilted his head. "And what might that be?"
"I ask you," Thranduil said, "to craft a magic wand for Legolas, one that belongs solely to him."
The request didn't surprise Sylas too much.
After all, he still owed custom wands to the siblings Elrohir, Elladan, and Arwen. What was one more? With a chuckle, he accepted the request without hesitation.
Still, he was curious about the contents of the treasure box. The craftsmanship alone suggested it held something of extraordinary value.
He slowly opened the lid.
Inside, cushioned in fine silk, rested a single silver-white fruit-seed.
It shimmered softly, almost glowing with a light of its own.
Whatever it was, Sylas instinctively knew it wasn't ordinary.
"This is…?" he murmured.
Gandalf's voice rang out in quiet awe. "It's the fruit-seed of the White Tree!"
He turned toward Thranduil, astonishment clear on his face. "Your Majesty, how did you come by a seed of the White Tree?"
Thranduil allowed himself a rare, faint smile.
"This is a seed of Nimloth, the White Tree of Númenor," he said. "I visited the island during the Second Age, before Nimloth was felled."
"I picked one fruit from her branches and brought it back with me."
He paused, voice tinged with regret. "I tried planting it here, in Mirkwood. But the soil and magic of this forest do not suit it. It never sprouted."
Both Gandalf and Sylas fell into stunned silence.
Sylas, looking at the fruit in the box, suddenly feeling it was heavy.
As far as Sylas knew, after the destruction of the Two Trees of Valinor, Telperion and Laurelin, by the dark spirit Ungoliant and the Dark Lord Morgoth, the Valar Yavanna, goddess of all growing things, created a new tree in memory of Telperion.
This tree was named Galathilion, the White Tree of Tirion, and it was gifted to the Elves of the Vanyar and Noldor. Though modeled after Telperion, Galathilion did not shine with light as the original tree had.
Later, the Elves of Tol Eressëa, the Lonely Isle, planted a sapling of Galathilion and named it Celeborn.
The Elves of Tol Eressëa maintained a close friendship with the Númenóreans. As a token of goodwill, they gifted a seed of Celeborn to the royal house of Númenor. The Númenóreans planted this seed in the King's Court at Armenelos, where it grew into a majestic White Tree named Nimloth.
Thus, the White Tree became a sacred symbol of the Númenórean people and their divine heritage.
However, as the Shadow grew in Númenor, Sauron eventually corrupted the king, Ar-Pharazôn, and much of the nobility. Under Sauron's influence, Nimloth was cut down and burned during a dark ritual of defiance against the Valar.
Only Isildur, one of the Faithful, braved death to steal a fruit-seed from Nimloth the night before its destruction. He was gravely wounded but succeeded in saving its legacy.
After the Downfall of Númenor, Isildur sailed to Middle-earth with the remnants of the Faithful and planted the seed in Minas Ithil, where it flourished as Gondor's first White Tree.
But its fate remained tragic.
When Sauron returned and seized Minas Ithil, he burned the White Tree. Yet again, Isildur had foreseen the danger and taken a seed to safety, planting it in Minas Anor, later known as Minas Tirith. This became the second White Tree of Gondor.
During the Great Plague of the Third Age in the year 1636, the second White Tree withered and died.
In 1640, King Tarondor planted a new sapling in Minas Tirith, creating Gondor's third White Tree.
But in the Third Age 2872, with the extinction of Gondor's royal line, even this tree began to fade, eventually withering without a successor.
To this day, no new White Tree has bloomed in Gondor.
The fruit that Thranduil presented to Sylas was a seed of Nimloth, the White Tree of Númenor, the third generation in the line from Telperion, after Galathilion and Celeborn.
This meant the fruit was, in truth, a fourth-generation descendant of the original Two Trees, a direct kin to the first White Tree of Gondor.
If the Dúnedain or the people of Gondor learned of this, they would undoubtedly offer anything to possess such a relic of their heritage.
"Your Majesty Thranduil… this is far too precious," Sylas said, clearly overwhelmed.
But Thranduil shook his head gently.
"You need not refuse it, Sylas," he said calmly. "Though this fruit-seed holds great symbolic value, its planting conditions are extremely harsh. If I couldn't still sense a spark of life within it, I would have believed it was long dead."
He sighed. "Do not place too much hope in it. I suspect that, aside from the sacred lands of Valinor, there may be no soil left in Arda where it could take root and grow."
Seeing Thranduil's firm yet composed expression, Sylas could only bow deeply and accept the priceless gift with solemn gratitude.
And so, Sylas resolved to craft the finest wand he could for Legolas.
After all, accepting such a rare and sacred gift without reciprocating would have weighed heavily on his conscience.
The atmosphere at the banquet was cheerful, and the scene outside the forest, where Smaug was being hosted, was just as lively.
The Wood Elves, though nervous, dutifully rolled out carts laden with food and drink, presenting them before the dragon in a show of hospitality.
Whole roasted lambs and pigs, barrels of fine elven wine, everything was laid out in a grand display.
Smaug lay in the clearing like a king, indulging himself with utter satisfaction. He gulped down an entire lamb in a single bite, drained a barrel of wine in one breath, and squinted his eyes with delight.
Inwardly, he sighed with contentment. 'Now this… this is the life. Why didn't I think of keeping some personal servants before?'
He devoured dozens of pigs and lambs and downed over a dozen barrels of wine before finally letting out a thunderous belch that released a few sparks from his nostrils.
The elves serving him turned pale with horror and exasperation.
Especially the elven chefs, sweating and overworked, who simply couldn't keep up with the monstrous pace of his appetite. At this point, they didn't even fear him anymore. They just wanted him gone before he emptied their entire food stores.
If this kept up, the Woodland Realm might very well face a food crisis.
...
Stones PLzzz
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