Sylas and the others remained in the Woodland Realm for two days.
Then, they officially took their leave from Thranduil.
Before departing, however, Sylas, having received Thranduil's permission, established a fireplace that would act as a new node in the Floo Network. He also gifted Thranduil a small pouch of Floo Powder.
Though the dusty manner of travel didn't appeal to Thranduil's refined sensibilities, he immediately recognized the immense strategic value of the Floo Network.
It had the potential to connect the scattered realms and strongholds of Middle-earth into a single communicative web. With it, messages, or even people, could be transported in an instant.
That such a powerful magical tool was entirely in Sylas's hands only deepened Thranduil's respect for him.
After their formal farewells, Sylas's group left the Woodland Realm with one more companion.
Now numbering four, they rode westward on Smaug's back, continuing their journey.
Legolas, though outwardly composed as ever, was clearly thrilled by the experience of riding a dragon. His elven restraint kept his expression neutral, but the flushed tips of his pointed ears betrayed his excitement.
As they flew over the western reaches of Mirkwood, a few Giant Spiders were startled by Smaug's shadow and began scuttling away in panic.
Legolas reacted swiftly. He drew his bow and, with flawless precision, shot one spider clean through the head.
Just as he was about to loose arrows at the remaining two, Sylas raised a hand to stop him.
Legolas turned with a puzzled look, and Sylas smiled.
"Don't kill them all. Leave me a couple."
With a flick of his wand, he cast a Petrification Charm that froze the remaining spiders mid-scurry. Then, using a Levitation Charm, he floated them over and tucked them neatly into his spatial bag.
Bilbo, Gandalf, and Legolas all stared at him, visibly baffled.
"Sylas," Gandalf asked, eyebrows raised, "what exactly do you plan to do with a pair of Giant Spiders?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Sylas replied with a chuckle. "Their silk is incredibly tough. I have a spell that can weave cloth from magical materials. With spider silk, I could make fabric tougher than most armor. It'll be worth a fortune."
The other three exchanged glances, speechless.
Gandalf narrowed his eyes. "You already have enough treasure from the Lonely Mountain to rival a dragon's hoard. Why are you still thinking about profit?"
Sylas gave an annoyed little kick to Smaug's scales.
"Because I'm raising a dragon now. No amount of money is ever enough."
He couldn't help but think back to the parting expressions of the Wood Elves. Though polite, they had struggled to suppress their smiles. Even Thranduil had let out a subtle sigh of relief.
Sylas could only rub his temple at the memory. The way everyone had acted, it was as if they had just sent off a natural disaster disguised as a guest.
Sylas never imagined that one day he would become an unwelcome guest.
All thanks to Smaug devouring over a hundred sheep and pigs in just two days, and emptying the entire wine cellar of the Woodland Realm.
The Elves had been forced to grab their bows and hunt game from the forest to replenish their depleted meat stores.
Sylas hadn't realized until now just how terrifying the appetite of a dragon that never slept could be.
After witnessing the monstrous consumption firsthand, he seriously considered finding a way to make Smaug sleep again. That way, at least he wouldn't have to worry about feeding the beast.
But the real headache came when Smaug adamantly refused to sleep on anything but a bed made of gold.
He was stubborn to the extreme, stating with unwavering pride that he would rather die than compromise, even when Sylas threatened him with the Cruciatus Curse.
According to Smaug, it was the lifelong pursuit of all dragons to sleep upon mountains of treasure.
In ancient times, dragons would fight over gold not just with Dwarves, but with each other, launching brutal raids just to claim the riches of another's lair.
In the end, Sylas had no choice but to promise that once they returned to Weathertop, Smaug could rest on the treasure hoard they brought back from the Lonely Mountain.
Only then did the dragon finally stop grumbling in his ear.
Even so, Smaug still wasn't satisfied. He grumbled that the amount of treasure they carried was far too small for a proper bed, barely one-tenth of what had once filled Erebor. It couldn't even cover his tail.
He thought back longingly to the days when he lay atop the Lonely Mountain's vast wealth, the greatest in the world.
Now? He was following a master with shallow pockets.
A dramatic fall from grace, in his opinion.
Sylas listened to the dragon's muttering with twitching lips and a rising urge to commit murder.
Watching Sylas mutter bitterly to himself, Gandalf and Bilbo both burst into laughter.
Even Legolas couldn't help but curve his lips into a rare smile.
They had all expected Smaug to be a terrifying, arrogant beast. None of them had anticipated he'd be so... chatty, and whiny.
As for Sylas's earlier comment about "making money," they all knew he was only half-joking.
Still, the idea of using Giant Spider silk for clothing intrigued them.
They had all seen how durable the webbing was, strong enough to resist even sharp Elven blades.
If someone could truly spin that silk into cloth, the result would be lighter, softer, and more durable than most traditional armor.
Better yet, the material was renewable and abundant.
The more Legolas thought about it, the more he believed the Giant Spiders in Mirkwood might finally have some use.
Perhaps he should write to his father and suggest capturing a few and raising them. With Elven craftsmanship, it might be possible to weave truly exceptional armor.
After crossing through the last stretch of Mirkwood, the group stopped at Beorn's house.
Beorn, though wary of Smaug at first, eventually allowed them to stay for a short while.
After saying their goodbyes, they set off once more.
But instead of continuing west toward the Misty Mountains and Rivendell, they turned south, following the flow of the Anduin River.
Sylas had one more important stop to make before returning to Elrond's house.
He needed to visit Lothlórien.
Not only had Sylas promised to make wands for Elrohir, Elladan, and Arwen, but now Legolas's wand had been added to the list.
There was also the staff that Gandalf had pledged to craft for him.
For all these reasons, a trip to Lothlórien had become necessary.
Lórien lay east of the Misty Mountains and west of the Anduin River, separated from Dol Guldur, the southernmost tip of Mirkwood, by only the wide river itself.
Here, the Celebrant and the Nimrodel streams flowed down from the Misty Mountains, merging into the Anduin and forming a lush, verdant delta.
Protected by the power of Nenya, the Ring of Water wielded by Galadriel, time itself faltered in Lórien. The valley stood sacred and unmarred, perhaps the last untouched sanctuary in all of Middle-earth.
As Sylas and his companions approached the forest's edge, they immediately felt the pressure of an invisible magical barrier. Without guidance, it was nearly impossible to find a safe path inward.
Fortunately, they had Gandalf with them.
As a frequent guest of Lórien, Gandalf was familiar with its ways.
Following his suggestion, Smaug was left waiting outside the forest, a precaution that spared many lives and trees.
The remaining four walked alongside the river, upstream into the forest. Around them, the trees stood ever-green, and the grass flourished richly beneath their feet. It felt like stepping into the primeval spring of Arda, untouched by the ages.
Golden leaves drifted gently down from upstream, their gleam so vivid it looked as though they were forged from gold. Even Smaug, watching from afar, couldn't help but squint with interest.
The deeper they went, the greener the world became, until, quite suddenly, it shifted.
The green gave way to gold.
Towering Mallorn trees rose like ancient guardians of the forest. Their bark was smooth and silver-grey, but it was their golden leaves that shone the brightest, turning the whole wood into a realm of autumnal radiance.
The golden leaves blanketed the ground beneath them like a royal carpet spun from light.
It was no wonder this place was called the Golden Wood.
As they continued walking, three Elves emerged from the trees ahead of them.
"Ah, Haldir, it's been a long time," Gandalf greeted the leading Elf with a warm smile.
The Elf, tall and graceful, returned the gesture with a nod. "Mithrandir."
"The Lady knows you have arrived," Haldir said. "She sent us to welcome you. Please, come with us."
Gandalf chuckled quietly. "Galadriel's foresight never ceases to impress. I suspect she noticed us the moment we crossed the border."
With Haldir and his companions guiding them, the group made their way toward Caras Galadhon, the heart of Lothlórien.
Caras Galadhon was perched atop a green hill, wrapped in a moat and encircled by living walls of grass and wood. But it was not a city of stone.
Rather, it was a city of trees.
The Elves of Lórien made their homes high among the mighty Mallorns, building elegant platforms and dwellings in the trees' canopies. Bridges arched from tree to tree, and lanterns like hanging stars lit the paths above.
To Sylas, it felt like they had stepped into the night sky itself, with lights glittering through golden leaves like constellations woven through the forest.
In the heart of this radiant city stood the tallest and oldest Mallorn tree. Beneath it, a fountain bubbled softly over smooth stones, its waters collecting in a shining silver basin before spilling into a crystal lake.
From there, the waters flowed outward as a stream, the Nimrodel, named for the Elven maiden of old.
This spring was said to possess the power to wash away fatigue and restore vigor, infused with extraordinary magic.
Where the Nimrodel flowed, it passed through a secluded and exquisite garden, Galadriel's private sanctuary. Within it bloomed countless rare and wondrous flowers, their colors vivid across all seasons, untouched by time or decay.
Guided by the Elves, the group ascended a spiraling wooden staircase that wound around the ancient trunk of the central Mallorn. They climbed higher and higher, until they reached a vast platform nestled high in the golden canopy.
The palace of the Lord and Lady of Lothlórien stood there, its structure elliptical and graceful, built in harmony with the tree itself. Several platforms surrounded a central great hall, interconnected by delicate bridges and staircases, the architecture seeming to hover weightlessly among the boughs.
From this lofty perch, one could look out and see the whole of Lórien's golden forest stretching endlessly into the horizon.
They stepped into the great hall.
At the far end stood two thrones, equal in height and elegance, positioned side by side with no hint of hierarchy between them. Near the thrones, a simple spiral staircase coiled upward into the higher boughs, disappearing toward the royal quarters above.
Gandalf moved with the ease of familiarity, having visited many times before.
But for Sylas, Bilbo, and Legolas, it was their first time within the heart of Lothlórien. They looked around in silent wonder, admiring the breathtaking fusion of natural beauty and Elven craftsmanship.
Soon, soft footsteps echoed from above.
Two Elven figures descended hand in hand from the staircase. Their presence seemed to illuminate the hall itself, drawing every gaze toward them in reverent awe, an instinctive reaction, like turning toward sunlight.
They were Celeborn and Galadriel, the ruling lord and lady of this timeless realm.
"Mithrandir," Celeborn greeted with a gentle smile, "the autumn leaves of Lórien have fallen dozens of times since you last walked these woods. What storms beyond our borders have delayed your return?"
His voice was deep and clear, like the first thunder after a long winter, resonant and grounding.
He stood tall and regal, with long silver hair and robes that shimmered softly in the filtered light, their elegance drawn from nature itself rather than wealth or vanity. He radiated a calm majesty, graceful, yet formidable.
If Elrond was like a spring breeze, warm and compassionate, a ruler who embraced with mercy...
And if Thranduil embodied the untamed wilderness of Mirkwood, distant, sharp, and proud...
Then Celeborn was something different entirely. He was the quiet strength of stone and time, an ancient guardian who had seen countless ages pass. His calm was unshakable, his presence steady and enduring, like a mountain watching over the valley below.
"No storm is fierce enough to shake your calm, Lord Celeborn," Gandalf replied with a respectful bow. "Though I must admit, only one force might stir your peace."
He smiled as he glanced toward the Lady.
Celeborn chuckled, the warmth in his eyes softening his stern bearing.
Meanwhile, Galadriel stepped forward, her gaze shifting from Gandalf to the others.
Her eyes, like pools of starlight, settled on Sylas.
"Sylas," she said softly, "we meet again."
...
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