Luke was overjoyed to see Elrond and Galadriel arrive.
With a bright smile, he stepped forward to welcome them. "Lord Elrond, Lady Galadriel! Your presence brings unparalleled honor to Hogwarts!"
Elrond returned the smile warmly. "Congratulations, Luke. With a lord as mighty as you in Weathertop, I foresee greater peace for Eriador."
He then gestured to his eldest son, Elladan, who presented a spatial pouch.
"I've had scribes copy a portion of Rivendell's archives—books on elven spells, magic, and arcane principles. I hope you find them valuable."
Luke's eyes sparkled as he took the pouch. He knew its expanded interior well—he had enchanted it himself.
Peeking inside, he saw thousands of books neatly stacked.
"This is… incredible! Lord Elrond, your gift is beyond precious!"
Elrond's gesture was profound.
In Middle-earth, books were rarer than gold—vessels of a people's wisdom, often lost to war and time. Even the Dúnedain, heirs of Númenor, now relied on ancient blades to reclaim forgotten arts.
Rivendell's library was among the richest in the world. Luke had once dreamed of transcribing its contents with his Quick-Quotes Quill—yet here was Elrond, offering a trove of magical knowledge outright.
"Your delight is thanks enough," Elrond said kindly.
Next, Galadriel turned to Arwen, who held an intricately carved wooden box.
"This is my grandmother's gift."
As Luke opened it, a radiant light spilled forth.
Inside lay a crown of the White Tree, woven from silver branches so lifelike they seemed to sway in an unseen breeze. At its center gleamed a diamond, pulsing with captured starlight.
Luke was speechless.
Arwen beamed. "I designed it, inspired by my grandfather Eärendil's Silmaril. The gem holds my grandmother's light—it shines brightest in darkness."
Luke took a deep breath. "This is… too grand. Lady Galadriel, am I worthy of such a treasure?"
Galadriel stepped forward, her tall frame towering even over him.
"Worth is not measured by the object, but by the meaning it gains." Her voice, melodic and ethereal, seemed to hum in the air. "May it shine brighter still with your deeds."
Before he could react, she lifted the crown and placed it upon his head.
Starlight cascaded around him.
The crown's glow cast Luke in an aura of mystery and majesty—like a king descended from the night sky.
Even the elves gazed in awe.
Arwen's smile deepened, pleased her creation had found its perfect wearer.
Galadriel nodded approvingly. "Now, if all guests have arrived, might we tour your castle?"
The Great Hall fell silent as Luke entered with the elves.
All eyes locked onto Galadriel—her beauty and presence eclipsing even the hall's grandeur.
Luke, crowned and radiant, stood beside them without dimming their light.
He guided them to the high table, offering Galadriel the central golden seat—but she declined with a smile.
"Tonight, you are the host. We shall not overshadow you."
Elrond agreed.
Thus, Luke took the throne, with Galadriel and Elrond flanking him.
Arwen sat beside her grandmother, while Elladan, Elrohir, and Legolas joined Elrond's side.
Bilbo, Bard, Fíli, and Beorn—all old acquaintances—chose seats together.
At the far end, Mayor Larch and Butterbur sat stiffly, dwarfed by the nobility around them.
Larch barely dared to glance at the elven lords, his pride shriveling in their presence.
As the last guests settled, the floating instruments paused.
Luke stood.
"Let the feast begin!"
With a wave, tables groaned under sudden feasts—roasts, fruits, wines, and delicacies appearing as if conjured from thin air.
Gasps filled the hall.
Arwen leaned toward Luke, amazed. "Did you create all this?"
He chuckled. "Merely summoned from the kitchens. Magic can't make food from nothing."
(He omitted the weeks of practice—linking kitchen tables to the hall via enchantment to ensure flawless teleportation.)
As the banquet roared on, dwarves, emboldened by ale, demanded livelier tunes. The instruments obliged, swapping elegant melodies for rowdy battle hymns.
While the revelry continued, Luke and the elves slipped away to the garden pavilion, nestled between the Mallorn and White Tree.
By night, the Mallorn dimmed, but the White Tree blazed brighter under moonlight.
Elrond marveled. "Had I not known Galadriel gifted you the Mallorn seed months ago, I'd swear these trees were decades old."
Galadriel, touching the Mallorn's bark, seemed lost in memory.
"They remind me of the Two Trees of Valinor—Laurelin and Telperion, lighting the world in gold and silver…"
Her fingers glowed as Nenya, the Ring of Water, channeled its power into the tree.
Golden blossoms burst forth, gleaming like stars.
Not to be outdone, Elrond approached the White Tree, his own ring, Vilya, flaring.
Snow-white flowers bloomed, luminous as sunlit snow.
The two trees, now in full glory, stood as twin beacons—a echo of the ancient Light of Valinor reborn in Middle-earth.