The castle construction was completed and Sylas sent invitations far and wide.
To the east bank of the Anduin in the Beornings' lands, he invited Lord Beorn himself. To the valley of Rivendell, he sent word to Lord Elrond and his twin sons, Elladan and Elrohir. To Lothlórien, he invited Lord Celeborn, Lady Galadriel, and the Lady's granddaughter, the princess Arwen. From the Woodland Realm came an invitation to King Thranduil. He even reached out to Radagast the Brown, dwelling near Rhosgobel, and to Tom Bombadil and Goldberry in the Old Forest.
To the Lonely Mountain and Dale, he sent an invitation to Thorin Oakenshield and Bard. And of course, he did not forget Bilbo Baggins. Even the nearby town of Bree was not overlooked, both the mayor and the Prancing Pony's innkeeper, Barliman Buttercup, received an invitation.
Thanks to the magical Floo Network now linked to the great hall's fireplace, Sylas was able to send most of these invitations instantly. The only one he could not reach was Gandalf. Ever since acquiring a broomstick, the wizard's whereabouts had become even more unpredictable, no one knew where he might be at any given moment.
This banquet was not only a celebration of the castle's completion, but also the formal declaration of Sylas's lordship over Amon Sûl and its surrounding lands.
On the appointed day, the summit of Amon Sûl was unusually lively. The villagers from the foot of the mountain, Hogsmeade Village, had dressed in their finest and made their way early to Hogwarts Castle, each person taking up their duties in preparing the feast.
Hogsmeade had grown quickly in recent months; its population now exceeded a thousand. This was after Sylas had carefully vetted the newcomers, removing troublemakers, thieves, and bandits from among those who had come seeking refuge. Without this filtering, the number of residents would have easily doubled.
Along the main road from Bree to the mountain, a rather luxurious carriage sped forward. Beside the carriage were a driver and a footman, and a small escort of mounted militiamen. Inside sat the mayor of Bree, and opposite him, the rotund and cheerful innkeeper of the Prancing Pony, Barliman Buttercup.
The mayor Graeme's ancestors had once been nobility. Though the family no longer held a title, he still carried himself with the quiet pride of noble blood.
He once awarded a gold medal to Sylas for helping resolve the incident with the Ancient Barrow Down Corpse. It had been a small matter to him then, something that didn't warrant much concern. As long as nothing threatened his authority over Bree, he saw no reason to interfere.
That was, until just over a year ago, when the Tower of Amon Sûl appeared atop Wind Cloud Peak and became the domain of a black-robed wizard, Sylas.
This sudden development gave Graeme a pause. After all, Amon Sûl wasn't far from Bree, and now that towering fortress had an owner. Would it affect Bree's safety? Or worse, his position as mayor? Uneasy, Graeme sent scouts to investigate what had happened after the tower's appearance.
When he learned that the master of Amon Sûl rarely stayed at the summit and instead traveled eastward, he breathed a sigh of relief. Yes, the black-robed wizard wielded strange magic, but if he wasn't nearby, there was no immediate threat.
That sense of relief lasted until half a year ago, when a group of villagers arrived from the east and settled at the foot of Weather Hills. They claimed to have come seeking refuge under Sylas's protection.
Graeme's attention sharpened once more. Still, he sneered at first, thinking this was just another failed venture, leaving prosperous Bree for an isolated mountain was nothing more than trading comfort for hardship. In his mind, Sylas was now little more than a minor village leader with no real influence.
That smugness didn't last long. Not when Sylas returned to tower with a dragon.
And not just any dragon, an immense, fire-breathing creature that could scorch trees to ash with a single breath. At the same time, Sylas welcomed the new villagers as his subjects and proclaimed himself lord over the peak.
Graeme's confidence evaporated. If Sylas decided to extend his rule to Bree, what could he do? Surrender? Resistance was laughable, this was a dragon we were talking about.
The mayor's dread deepened the day he saw it with his own eyes. The massive beast soared over Bree, its shadow blotting out the sun. It descended into the dense forest, exhaled a torrent of dragonfire that reduced towering trees to embers, then, with a flap of its colossal wings, wrenched another tree from the ground and carried it away towards the tower.
The sheer power radiating from the dragon was enough to make Graeme feel he might wet himself on the spot. From that day on, any thought of resisting Sylas vanished.
Innkeeper Barliman Buttercup, who knew a little of Sylas from past encounters, suspected the mayor's fears and said with a shake of his head, "Mayor, you're putting me in a tough spot. I've only crossed paths with Lord Sylas a few times, and never spoken with him in depth. How can I make a thorough judgment?"
Still, Barliman's expression softened as he continued, "But in my eyes, Lord Sylas is a remarkably benevolent and fair ruler. I've heard he collects only a one-percent tax from his people, and even that is entirely spent on improving the lives of the villagers. He doesn't keep a single coin for himself."
Graeme stared at him in disbelief. "No tax for himself? Impossible! What is this, charity work? Then how does he pay for the upkeep of his castle? And for all those feasts and celebrations?"
Barliman's eyes gleamed with admiration as he replied.
"There is something you don't know. I heard that when Lord Sylas subdued the giant dragon in the Lonely Mountain, he also obtained the dragon's treasure. They say it's a hoard as high as a mountain!"
"So many treasures… any single piece would be worth a fortune. Even if you spent it over several generations, you'd never use it all! That's why Lord Sylas doesn't care about collecting that little bit of tax."
"Treasure as high as a mountain!" Graeme's eyes widened. Just imagining such wealth made him swallow hard.
"With so many treasures, isn't Lord Sylas afraid that someone will try to steal it?"
"Who would dare?" Those treasures are guarded by the dragon itself. Who has the ability to steal even a single coin from under a dragon's nose?"
Graeme immediately recalled the terrifying figure of that great beast and shook his head. Unless someone was mad, who would dare to face a dragon?
At that moment, the coachman's voice rang out from outside the carriage. "Mayor, we've arrived at Hogsmeade Village!"
The conversation stopped at once. Graeme and Barliman Buttercup both looked out of the window.
They saw a broad, flat road branching off from the main route and leading north into a village. The village backed onto a lake, with fertile fields stretching outward, planted with grain and vegetables. High stone walls enclosed the settlement, and along both sides of the main avenue were shops, taverns, and other buildings.
It looked more like a small town than a village. The streets were spotless, with no litter in sight, and trash bins stood neatly along the road. There were even public toilets and bathhouses. Villagers were assigned to clean the streets, their wages paid from that one percent tax.
At this hour, most villagers had gone up to the mountain castle to help prepare for the banquet, leaving only the young and elderly behind.
An old man stood watch at the gate. Seeing the carriage and the militiamen, he stepped forward calmly, bowed toward Graeme, and asked, "Sir, may I ask if you've come to attend the banquet?"
The servant jumped down, handed over an invitation, and said, "Our master is the town chief of Bree, invited personally by Lord Sylas."
The old gatekeeper's expression brightened at once. "Ah, so it is the Town Chief himself! Please, come in!" He pushed open the gates, and the carriage rolled inside.
Graeme took in the sights, his eyes full of shock, and, unexpectedly, a hint of admiration. "It seems Luke is truly fortunate to have met such a lord," he murmured.
Though obsessed with power, Graeme could see the promise in Hogsmeade's future. Under such a powerful lord's protection, the village would surely thrive. In time, it might surpass Bree itself, perhaps even becoming a city-state.
The carriage passed through the village and came to the lakeshore. Before them stretched a solidly built stone bridge, crafted by dwarves, spanning the waters. It was the only direct route to Weather Hill Summit.
Graeme and Buttercup stared in disbelief. In their youth, this had been nothing but a dangerous mosquito-ridden swamp. Now it was a shimmering blue lake, so vast it mirrored the entire mountain above.
At the summit, the majestic castle stood tall, with the Tower of Amon Sûl piercing the sky. Two great trees, one gold, one silver, shone brightly in the sunlight, bathing the castle in a sacred and solemn radiance.
Whether it was Graeme and Buttercup in the carriage, or the coachman and militiamen outside, all of them stared open-mouthed.
Were they heading to a fairyland?