"Ah, welco! Long ti no see, Sylas!"
In the rolling hills west of the Sea of Rhûn, Sylas appeared with a soft flash of blue light outside a humble wooden cabin.
The Blue Wizard Róstámo stepped out, his voice warm and delighted. He had sensed the ripple of magic the mont Sylas arrived.
Beside him stood the other Blue Wizard, Morinehtar, smiling just as kindly.
Sylas inclined his head respectfully. "Good day, Róstámo, Morinehtar. Forgive my unannounced visit."
Róstámo laughed, his eyes bright beneath his hood. "Oh, please! Formalities ill suit this place. Aside from the beasts and birds, we rarely see guests here. Your arrival is a joy!"
Morinehtar added, "Indeed, Sylas. You are our friend, and our savior besides. You'll always be welco here."
The warmth of their greeting eased the weariness of Sylas's long journey. He followed them inside the cabin, whose interior slled faintly of herbs, woodsmoke, and the sweet scent of milk.
Róstámo handed him a steaming bowl of milk, fresh from the Araw Cattle.
The mont Sylas drank it, he felt vitality surge through him. Even with his extraordinary constitution, the milk seed to strengthen his limbs and sharpen his senses.
No wonder the Easterlings coveted the Araw Cattle so fiercely, so tribes even worshipped them as totems of divine strength. Their milk, hide, and horns were all priceless treasures.
These majestic creatures were the descendants of the divine cattle of Oromë, the Huntsman of Valinor. Massive and white as snow, they once road freely across the eastern plains of Rhûn.
But centuries of hunting had nearly wiped them out.
During the height of Gondor's power, when its borders reached even to Rhûn, the Steward Vorondil the Hunter slew one of the Araw Cattle and fashioned its horn into a mighty war-horn.
That sa horn beca a treasured heirloom of the Stewards' line, until the War of the Ring, when Boromir, son of Denethor, fell in battle and the horn was broken in two.
Such was the reverence and rarity of the Araw Cattle.
Now, after ages of persecution and shrinking lands, barely a few hundred remained in all of Middle-earth, kept alive only through Róstámo's guardianship.
That was precisely why Sylas had co to the Blue Wizard first. If anyone could grant him the horns he sought, it was Róstámo.
After exchanging news and small stories of the West, Sylas finally stated his purpose.
"I've co seeking the horns of the Araw Cattle," he said earnestly.
Róstámo's face brightened. "Ah! Is that all? Of course, no problem at all!"
He rose and disappeared briefly into a side chamber. Monts later, he returned carrying a gleaming white horn nearly a ter long.
"This," Róstámo explained, "is a horn that Norimal, my own bull, broke while sparring with another. I've kept it ever since. See if it suits your needs?"
Sylas's eyes lit up. He rembered Norimal well, an enormous bull with fur white as snow and horns that glead like polished jade, radiating a faint inner light.
To possess even a fragnt of such a creature was a gift beyond price.
"This is perfect," Sylas said sincerely.
Róstámo smiled and added, "Then take it. And take these as well."
He led Sylas outside to a nearby valley, where a small herd of thirty Araw Cattle grazed peacefully, mostly cows and calves, with a few proud bulls watching over them.
"You may keep them," said the Blue Wizard. "They'll thrive under your care far better than here."
Sylas was montarily speechless. He summoned his enchanted spatial box and, with careful magic, transported the herd within.
He intended to release them upon the open grasslands near Weathertop, where they could live freely and safely.
Out of gratitude, Sylas tried to offer Róstámo a vial of Elixir of Life, but the Blue Wizard waved it away gently.
"These cattle are not mine, but Oromë's," he said kindly. "You owe nothing, my friend."
Seeing Róstámo's sincerity, Sylas smiled, bowed in respect, and tucked the vial away.
He lingered only a short while longer, then bid farewell to the two Blue Wizards and prepared to return West.
Activating his Portkey, Sylas vanished in a swirl of golden light, and reappeared upon the familiar slopes of Weathertop.
He made his way to the shores of the Black Lake, where the calm waters reflected the mountain's crown.
Across the lake lay Hogsade, and on this near side stretched wide, fertile plains, perfect for his new herd.
Sylas opened his spatial box, and with a shimr of light, the Araw Cattle appeared upon the grass.
For a mont they were restless, snorting and stamping at the unfamiliar scents. But as the wind brought them the fragrance of grass and wildflowers, they cald and began to graze peacefully.
They were magnificent, giant creatures with pale, radiant hides that caught the sunlight like burnished ivory. Their horns shone faintly, almost luminous in the afternoon light, and the air around them seed to hum with power.
The calves were golden and soft-furred, their eyes curious, their pink noses twitching as they explored their new ho.
Sylas watched them with quiet satisfaction.
They were beautiful and sacred, and their presence would bless Weathertop with strength and abundance.
Their milk could fortify the body; their horns could serve in place of unicorn horn for even the most advanced Potions, Felix Felicis, among them.
That realization stirred Sylas deeply.
With the horns of the Araw Cattle, he could finally recreate Potions long thought impossible in Middle-earth.
After ensuring the Araw Cattle were settled upon the grassy shores of the Black Lake, Sylas left them under the care of the Kraken dwelling in its depths.
With that done, Sylas returned to Weathertop Castle.
Now that he had secured the rarest ingredients, replacents for unicorn horn and blood, it was ti to gather the remaining components for Felix Felicis, the Liquid Luck.
He ascended to the tower common room, where a great fireplace burned ceaselessly, its flas dancing with strange, multicolored hues.
Peering into the fire, Sylas saw several Fire Salamanders basking comfortably amid the embers, greedily devouring the flas as though they were nectar.
These creatures were his own creation, ordinary lizards transfigured through infusions of Balrog blood and fragnts of a Balrog's crystal.
They were bound to fla itself; to leave it was to die. Only by feeding them chili peppers could their lives be briefly extended, but beyond the fire, they would soon wither into ash.
Because of this, Sylas rarely paid them much mind. So long as the flas burned, they would thrive, and more importantly, they would never escape and set his castle ablaze.
He reached into the hearth with a pair of enchanted tongs, stirring through the ashes. The Fire Salamanders hissed in protest, spitting sparks at him in annoyance.
"Fiery tempers indeed," Sylas said with a grin, unfazed.
At last, he unearthed three small Fire Salamander eggs buried deep in the cinders. They were fragile and hard to find, almost the color of ash itself. He quickly froze them with a Freezing Charm, preserving their volatile essence before they could cook themselves to death.
Felix Felicis required six Fire Salamander eggs, so Sylas moved on, checking every fireplace in the castle.
The creatures reproduced quickly; wherever there was fla, there were Salamanders. Before long, he had collected the full set.
Next, Sylas descended to a sealed chamber below the east wing.
The air shimred with heat. Dozens of fireplaces lined the walls, each burning with enchanted fire, and within each fla, serpentine shapes slithered and coiled.
Ashwinders.
They too were creations of his, spawned from fire and Balrog blood, stronger and more willful than the Salamanders.
Unlike their smaller cousins, Ashwinders could leave the flas for a ti, and when they did, they sought dark corners to lay their eggs.
Their eggs were dangerous, red-hot and prone to spontaneous combustion. If left unattended, they could ignite an entire room within minutes.
That was why Sylas kept them confined here, where their heat and hatchlings could be safely contained.
He didn't bother looking into the flas. Instead, he searched the shadows, and sure enough, soon spotted a cluster of glowing eggs hidden beneath a stone ledge.
They pulsed with fiery light, like molten iron, and the air around them shimred with heat.
A few were already on the verge of ignition. Sylas raised his wand and cast a crisp Glacius, a Freezing Charm that instantly cooled them to safety.
He gathered the frozen eggs into a reinforced pouch, satisfied that he had arrived in ti; a few minutes later, the entire room might have gone up in flas.
Neither Ashwinders nor Fire Salamanders needed much tending, so long as their fires burned, they would continue to breed and provide him with a steady supply of ingredients.
His next stop was the Acromantula hall, a cavernous chamber thick with webs. There, dozens of enormous spiders labored endlessly, their spinnerets glistening as they wove silk under the stern eye of their overseer, Smaug.
The great dragon, ever the miser, had taken to managing the spiders as if they were factory workers. Even though Sylas possessed the Philosopher's Stone and could create gold at will, Smaug refused to relent.
In his words:
"Transmuting gold is one thing. Earning it from labor is another. You can never have too much treasure!"
"Evil capitalist," Sylas muttered, watching the dragon nap atop his hoard while the spiders toiled.
Still, he indulged Smaug's obsession. The Acromantulas spun webs by the mile, their venom extracted regularly and their dead repurposed as food for Herpo. Nothing in Sylas's domain went to waste.
From their venom sacs, Sylas carefully drew seven drops of pure Acromantula venom, sealing them in crystal vials.
With that, the most volatile ingredients were complete.
Over the next several hours, he gathered the rest: two pints of Mandrake extract, one pint of lemon juice, twenty-three fresh amaranth petals.
When the final petal rested in its silver bowl, Sylas exhaled deeply.
At last, every ingredient for Felix Felicis lay ready.
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