The Mallorn and the White Tree now stood in full bloom, their blossoms releasing a fragrance that drifted across the entire castle grounds.
The scent of the Mallorn's golden flowers was like the warmth of sunlight itself, comforting and gentle, wrapping the body in a pleasant heat. The blossoms of the White Tree carried a cool, airy fragrance, light yet invigorating, as though a fresh breeze from the snows had touched the soul.
Sylas's eyes brightened.
The fragrance of the White Tree's flowers clearly had a strengthening effect upon the mind.
"Thank you, Lady Galadriel. Thank you, Lord Elrond," Sylas said sincerely. "Without you, who knows how long it might have taken these two trees to bloom."
He knew well that, though the twin trees had been cultivated with great care since their planting, they were still young. They lacked the deep, slow-grown power of trees that had stood for centuries. It was the difference between a mountain herb that had grown wild for decades and one raised quickly in a tended garden, both beautiful, yet vastly different in potency.
Now, with the power of the Elven Rings, Galadriel and Elrond had replenished that missing foundation, weaving centuries of strength into the roots in moments.
The two elf-lords accepted Sylas's thanks with quiet grace, then took their seats once more in the moonlit courtyard.
From afar came the faint echo of music and laughter from the great hall, but here, between the twin trees, the world felt still and apart, a pocket of peace where the moonlight mingled with the golden and silver glow of the blossoms.
"Tell me, Sylas," Elrond said at last, "what are your plans for the future?"
"Plans?" Sylas blinked, caught off guard. "Do you have some suggestion in mind, Lord Elrond?"
Elrond's expression grew more formal. "In truth, we came tonight with a purpose, to invite you to join the White Council. Would you accept such an offer?"
Sylas stared, startled. "The White Council?" He had not expected the invitation.
His gaze shifted to Galadriel beside him. She sat calm and composed, as though the decision were already made.
"Surely," Sylas said slowly, "joining the White Council would require the agreement of all its members. Does Gandalf know of this? And… Saruman? He is the head of the Council, would his approval not be necessary?"
"It was Mithrandir's suggestion from the beginning," Galadriel replied. "He believes you have rendered great service in the struggle against Sauron, and that you possess both the will and the strength to continue that fight. Elrond and I are of the same mind."
"Gandalf… you give me too much credit," Sylas said, a little humbled. The White Council was made up of figures of immense wisdom and power, beings who had walked the world for thousands of years.
'Wasn't it too great an honor to invite someone so young?' Sylas thought briefly, but Galadriel's voice left no room for doubt.
"You need not be so modest," she said, her gaze steady upon him. "You and I drove Sauron from Dol Guldur. Later, you subdued the dragon Smaug. You led the victory in the Battle of the Five Armies and struck down two generations of Orc-kings. Such deeds are unmatched in these days.
"The White Council was founded to stand against Sauron and his servants. Your invitation is the joint decision of myself, Elrond, and Mithrandir."
She rose from her seat and walked to the edge of the pavilion, looking out over the moonlit mountains below.
"As for Saruman, he ceased to be the leader of the White Council the day he turned from the Light. Though his name has not been formally struck from the rolls, to avoid unrest among the Free Peoples, his fall is beyond dispute."
Sylas's brows lifted. "Then… have you found proof of his betrayal?"
Until now, his own suspicions had come from visions and prophecies, not solid evidence.
Galadriel nodded, her face a blend of disappointment and cool resolve.
"Mithrandir went to Isengard under pretext. To draw Saruman away and avoid suspicion, I sent a message that lured him from Orthanc, giving Mithrandir the chance to search his tower."
Her voice hardened. "In his laboratory, Mithrandir found a Palantír, its sight darkened by Sauron's touch, and the schematics for forging a Ring of Power."
Sylas was taken aback. 'So soon?' He had believed Saruman's dealings with Sauron would not begin until after the events at Dol Guldur. But in less than a year, the two had found each other.
"What will you do now, my lady?" he asked.
"Until we are certain we can contain him, we cannot act," Elrond said gravely. "Orthanc's defenses are formidable, his fortress is near impossible to breach. Should we fail, Saruman would cast his lot fully with Sauron. From Isengard, he could choke the road between North and South and, with Mordor pressing from the east, the realms of Gondor and Rohan would be caught in a deadly vice."
"Thus," Elrond continued, "we must keep him unaware, strengthen Gondor and Rohan, and prepare the White Council for a coordinated strike when the time is right."
"Why not lure him out and take him together?" Sylas suggested.
Galadriel shook her head. "The last time I drew him from Orthanc, his suspicion grew. Do not underestimate him, Sylas, in Saruman's eyes, the smallest spark of oddity blazes like a beacon in the dark. And above all, we are not certain we could hold him."
"Even if you, Elrond, and Gandalf join forces?"
"Saruman is the mightiest of the Istari," she replied. "His staff alone holds great power. If he wishes to leave, none of us could bar his path."
Sylas nodded slowly. Indeed, Saruman was a Maia, a being of near-divine origin. It would have been strange if he could be overcome easily.
Galadriel turned back to him, her eyes searching his. "Now, to the heart of the matter. Will you join the White Council and stand with us against the darkness?"
Elrond's gaze held the same question.
Sylas smiled faintly. "I can't think of a single reason to refuse."
The White Council was a secret alliance of Middle-earth's greatest minds, leaders, sages, and masters of their craft. Each member was a figure of influence and power, shaping the course of history in their own right.
For Sylas, joining such a company brought clear advantages. Declining would have been unthinkable.
Upon hearing his acceptance, Galadriel's face lit with a smile so radiant that for a moment it seemed to outshine the moonlight itself. Elrond's expression softened into genuine warmth.
"Welcome, Sylas," he said.
Once the formalities were complete, Elrond began to describe the composition of the Council. To Sylas's surprise, its membership extended beyond the names he had expected, Gandalf, Galadriel, Elrond, and Saruman, to include Celeborn of Lórien and Círdan, Lord of the Grey Havens. With Sylas, they now numbered seven… though with Saruman's secret expulsion, the count stood at six.
The Council's purpose was clear: to stand against Sauron, check the spread of his shadow, and preserve peace in Middle-earth.
Membership also came with privileges. Sylas would now have access to critical intelligence from across the lands, gain deeper insight into Middle-earth's political and military currents, and, perhaps most enticing of all, enjoy unrestricted access to Rivendell's legendary library. Ancient lore, the history of the world's making, the power and laws of the Valar, and long-lost arts of magic would all be his to study.
After extending the invitation, Galadriel and Elrond did not linger. They departed through the Floo network, returning to Lothlórien and Rivendell. Arwen, Elrohir, and Elladan, however, chose to remain, eager to study magic under Sylas's guidance.
The banquet continued until midnight. The villagers of Hogsmeade eventually descended the mountain, chattering with excitement about the elegance of the visiting elves and the starlit crown upon their lord's brow.
The dwarves, meanwhile, showed no signs of sleep. They remained in the hall, drinking heavily and exchanging bawdy jokes that set their companions roaring with laughter.
Mayor Graeme and Buttercup were shown to guest chambers by Edward, the castle's butler. Sylas retired to the tower with Bilbo, the three elven siblings, Legolas, and Beorn. Bard, concerned for his children, returned home via the fireplace.
The next morning, it was time for the dwarves to depart.
Before they left, Sylas stood before the thousand craftsmen who had toiled for months to raise the great fortress. His voice was calm but carried effortlessly across the courtyard.
"Thank you," he said, "for building this castle for me. Your work over these past months has been nothing short of masterful. Before you go, I wish to give you a gift as tokens of my gratitude."
The dwarves exchanged glances, surprised. They had come on orders to build the fortress, and none had expected a personal reward.
Curiosity stirred among them as they waited.
Sylas drew his wand, and with a flick, a thousand gold coins burst from a pouch at his side. They jingled through the air, each one dropping neatly into a waiting hand.
The dwarves looked down at the coins, then at each other, expressions puzzled.
A single gold coin? Was that all?
Before the dwarves could grow suspicious, Sylas quickly explained.
"I've placed a spell on the gold coins you hold. If someone with ill intent comes near, the coin will heat in warning.
"It's just a small token, but I hope it will prove useful to you."
The dwarves blinked in surprise, turning the coins over in their hands with a mix of curiosity and doubt.
One quick-witted dwarf narrowed his eyes, glanced at the bald-headed companion beside him, and crept closer with a mischievous grin.
The bald dwarf suddenly yelped, jerking upright. "Oi! It's heating up!"
He spun around sharply, just in time to catch his grinning companion closing in.
"Harper! And what exactly were you about to do?"
Harper chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. "Nothing… just thought I'd pull out a hair or two from that shiny head of yours to see if the coin worked."
"Well, it works!"
The bald dwarf hastily retreated, both hands flying protectively to the few precious hairs that still crowned his head.
Laughter rippled through the ranks, and soon more dwarves began testing the enchantment on their companions. Without fail, each attempt triggered a warm surge from the coin, proving its reliability.
Balin, watching the scene, weighed the coin in his palm as though it had gained substance. Looking up, he met Sylas's gaze. "This is no mere trinket, Sylas. In the right moment, it could be a life-saver."
Sylas smiled and waved the thought aside. "A small thing. You worked hard to build my castle, I can hardly send you away without thanks."
In truth, enchanting the coins had taken little effort. It was a simple application of alchemy.
"Now," he continued, "for your second gift. This one is for you, Master Balin, to keep in trust."
From within his robes, Sylas produced a silver wine jug, polished to a gleam, and placed it in Balin's hands.
Balin raised an eyebrow. At first glance, it was simple vessel, but after the coins, he doubted it was ordinary.
"What's so special about this, Sylas?"
"It's another of my alchemical works," Sylas said without ceremony. "Pour water into it, and it will become fine wine."
Balin's eyes lit as though he had just been handed the Arkenstone itself. "Truly?"
Sylas nodded.
Without a second's hesitation, Balin hurried to the nearby fountain and filled the jug. The moment the water touched its enchanted interior, a rich, heady fragrance began to rise, the unmistakable aroma of masterfully brewed wine.