As a lord, Sylas naturally had dedicated chefs at his service.
Although he could easily conjure exquisite als with magic, doing so every day would eventually beco tedious. So he had personally hired the best chefs from Hogsade and Bree.
Faced with generous salaries and the honor of serving the Lord of Weathertop, many of his subjects competed for the opportunity, so even offered to work without pay, simply for the prestige of residing in the Castle.
These chefs were responsible not only for Sylas's own als but also for preparing food for his formidable companions: the Dragon Smaug, the Giant Eagle Thorondor, and the Three-headed Wolf Cerberus of Isengard.
In truth, most of their workload was taken up by those beasts alone.
When the butler Edward handed the dragon at to the chefs that day, their faces were filled with disbelief.
Dragon at! They were actually being asked to cook dragon at!
For a long mont, the entire kitchen stood frozen, as if dreaming.
After Gandalf had thoroughly enjoyed the al—one of the finest feasts ever prepared in the Castle—the two retired to the study to discuss Sylas's upcoming marriage.
Gandalf, well-versed in the traditions of the Elves, began to explain the customs in detail.
According to Elven ritual, when a man desired to marry the woman he loved, he must first obtain her parents' consent.
To do so, he would entrust a person of high standing to formally propose the union to the woman's family. Once consent was granted, both families would hold a banquet to announce the engagent, during which the couple exchanged silver rings as a sign of their betrothal.
By Elven law, at least one full year must pass between engagent and marriage. During that ti, if either party publicly returned the engagent ring, the union would be dissolved, and the returned rings would be lted down.
However, because Elves were unwavering in love, such dissolutions were exceedingly rare.
At the wedding itself, both families would gather once more. Under the witness of Varda and Manwë, the newlyweds would receive blessings, retrieve their engagent rings, and exchange golden rings, worn thereafter on their right index fingers.
Gandalf smiled knowingly. "So, Sylas, you now need to personally forge a silver ring as an engagent gift for your beloved. Have you any design in mind?"
Sylas hesitated. "I haven't thought that far yet. Do you have any suggestions, Gandalf?"
"The engagent silver ring is ant to express sincerity and devotion," Gandalf explained. "It can be as creative as your imagination allows. The wedding ring, on the other hand, is simpler, a symbol of unity. But this first one, this ring, should capture her heart."
A teasing smile tugged at his lips. "After all, you'll have to wait at least a year from engagent to marriage. If your engagent ring fails to please your bride-to-be, the wedding might be postponed. And I imagine you would find that rather distressing."
Sylas laughed softly, confident that Arwen would not do such a thing. Yet, because this ring was for her, he resolved to pour all his skill and heart into its making.
He spent the night sketching, designing, and refining until the perfect image of the ring took shape in his mind.
The next morning, he entered his alchemy workshop and retrieved a piece of Mithril Mother. He cut off a thumb-sized portion and placed it into the Mithril furnace to lt.
The furnace was powered by the purified crystal of a Balrog's heart, its flas capable of lting nearly anything. Yet even that heat could not lt the Mithril Mother.
Sylas conjured Fiendfyre and added it to the furnace, its serpentine flas hissing as the temperature rose. Still, the lting was slow.
Seeing this, Gandalf extended his hand and channeled the power of the Ring of Fire, Narya, into the furnace.
The flas roared higher, burning with a brilliance that made even the air tremble. Though the furnace was built to contain heat, Sylas could feel waves of warmth radiating outward.
At last, the Mithril Mother began to yield. Its surface softened, turning to molten silver-white, and the blazing heart of the fla burned away its impurities, leaving only pure essence.
When the tal reached its peak refinent, Sylas lowered the temperature and allowed it to thicken slightly before removing it from the furnace.
He placed the glowing mass upon the anvil and lifted the Mithril hamr. Each strike rang like music, resonating through the forge with a rhythm both mystical and precise.
With every blow, streams of magic flowed through the hamr and into the tal. His power intertwined with its substance, awakening its tal mory and refining its properties to perfection.
Gandalf stood nearby, watching intently. His eyes glead with admiration.
The wizard had seen the forges of both Elves and Dwarves, yet what Sylas demonstrated that night surpassed them in artistry and precision.
Under his repeated hamring, the Mithril Mother shed its last impurities and began to glow faintly, taking on the soft radiance of starlight.
Gradually, it assud the elegant shape of a ring.
When at last the silver ring took form, Sylas did not stop. While the tal was still warm and malleable, he took up a fine engraving tool and began etching Elvish Tengwar runes into its inner surface.
Then, to Gandalf's astonishnt, Sylas brought forth the purified Balrog heart. He drew his sword and carefully sliced off a fragnt about the size of a pigeon's egg.
The red shard glowed like a flawless gem, its brilliance deep and alive. As the core of a Balrog, the heart was pure crystallized fire essence, containing an imnse and inexhaustible energy.
Even a single grain of its dust, when mixed with Balrog blood, could transform ordinary lizards and snakes into magical creatures such as Fire Salamanders and Ashwinders.
Sylas placed the fragnt on his workbench and, with painstaking patience, began shaping it. Using tools of enchanted steel, he ground and polished the irregular piece day after day.
An entire month passed before he finally completed it.
The fragnt had beco a heart-shaped gem cut with countless facets, each one catching the light and releasing a cascade of brilliant crimson radiance.
Within its depths shimred a nearly invisible spark—a living ember drawn from the Balrog's divine core. It pulsed faintly, radiating an aura of immortality and undying fla.
That spark sustained the gem, drawing in the fire elents that lingered in the air, making it glow with gentle warmth like a living heart.
At last, Sylas embedded the heart-shaped gem into the silver Mithril ring, completing the final step of his masterpiece.
He lifted it into the light, and for a mont the entire forge seed to gleam. The heart-gem shimred as though filled with liquid fire, its glow spilling across the polished tal like sunset on water.
Sylas slid the ring onto his finger. Instantly, it adjusted to fit him perfectly, as though alive.
When he willed it to awaken, fire surged from the gem, flooding the entire workshop in an ocean of fla. The space, magically expanded by the Extension Charm, blazed with roaring heat, yet Sylas stood calm and untouched, his robes unscorched.
He focused his will, and the flas gathered before him, condensing into a blazing whip. With a flick of his wrist, the fiery lash cracked through the air and struck a steel armor standing in the corner.
The armor split in two, its molten halves dripping onto the floor.
Sylas moved again, and the whip reshaped itself into a sword. With another thought, it changed form once more—becoming a scepter, then an axe, then a spear.
Each weapon glead like a living fla in his hand.
Gandalf watched the display, his expression shifting from awe to delight.
"Sylas," he said admiringly, "this engagent ring is the most extraordinary I have ever seen."
Sylas smiled, lowering the weapon and letting the flas dissolve back into the gem. "Naturally, I would make nothing less. Only the best could ever be worthy of Arwen."
Gandalf nodded, eyes still fixed on the gleaming ring.
What he did not yet know was that the ring held more secrets than even his perception could unveil. The tal itself possessed mory and growth. When tempered in fla, it would not lt, it would shine brighter, stronger, more alive than before.
The longer it was exposed to fire, the greater its strength beca.
It was, in every sense, a living ring, one that would only thrive in the presence of fla.
With the engagent silver ring completed, Sylas and Gandalf began preparations for their journey to Rivendell to formally propose marriage.
But before setting out, Sylas made one final stop in the Shire.
He wished to invite an old friend to stand beside him on that montous day.
Bilbo was both surprised and happy for Sylas about his upcoming proposal in Rivendell, and he readily agreed.
Bilbo followed Sylas through the fireplace and erged into the grand hall of Hogwarts Castle, brushing soot from his curly hair.
"Gandalf!"
Gandalf laughed heartily and bent down to embrace the Hobbit, who barely reached his waist.
"It's good to see you, Bilbo. You seem well," the wizard said warmly.
Bilbo grinned, his face flushing with pride. "Of course I'm well! The treasure from the Lonely Mountain could buy all of the Shire twice over. I doubt I'll ever manage to spend it all before my days are up."
He chuckled mischievously and added, "And who would dare trouble now? Even Hobbits who've never set foot outside their burrows have heard of Hogwarts Castle on Weathertop and its black-robed Lord Sylas. So when I take a stroll, everyone nods politely, and keeps their distance."
Gandalf's eyes twinkled with amusent, while Sylas shook his head with a smile.
Bilbo puffed up proudly. "In fact, not long ago, the Shire's council even held a eting to discuss opening diplomatic relations with Weathertop. I voted in favor, of course."
"Oh?" Sylas raised an eyebrow, surprised. "The Shire wants to establish diplomatic ties with Weathertop? That's excellent news. We're neighbors now, more trade and goodwill between us can only help both sides."
Ever since Bree had co under his protection, Sylas's influence stretched across the lands surrounding it. Bree had grown into a thriving city, its roads patrolled and its barrows finally quiet after centuries of unrest.
Trade between the Shire and Bree City had flourished. The Hobbits' fad tobacco, ale, and mushrooms found their way to the markets of Bree and even to Hogsade, while Bree's own goods traveled westward into Hobbiton and Buckland.
Many Hobbits had even begun taking work in Bree, so as rchants, others as innkeepers or assistants. The Prancing Pony's cheerful new waitstaff were all from Hobbiton. And in Hogsade, one could now spot a few curious, wide-eyed Hobbits wandering about, fascinated by human wizardry.
Given the growing ties between their peoples, it was no surprise that the Shire's leaders wanted formal relations with Weathertop.
Sylas, however, didn't dwell on the matter. He knew the mayors of Bree and Hogsade could handle such diplomacy well enough.
When all three old friends were comfortably gathered in the Castle's firelit hall, Gandalf leaned back in his chair with a knowing smile.
"Well then," he said, his tone half serious and half teasing, "this ti, we're setting out to claim Rivendell's greatest treasure, the Lady Evenstar herself. So, Sylas, you'd best make yourself presentable. Dress in your finest robes, ride forth in grand style, and win both Lord Elrond's blessing and the heart of his daughter."
...
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