Inside the grand banquet hall, the most distinguished guests of Middle-earth had gathered.
Among them were Sylas's closest companions, Gandalf and Bilbo, alongside Legolas, who had come as King Thranduil's envoy with a company of Elves bearing exquisite gifts from Mirkwood.
From the Lonely Mountain, King Thorin Oakenshield had sent his nephew Fili and several Dwarves to represent the Kingdom under the Mountain, while Lord Balin of Moria had personally journeyed to attend.
Lord Bard of Dale and the mighty Beorn from the Anduin River Valley also arrived in person, their presence drawing murmurs of awe and respect from all.
The Shire was well represented as well. Besides Bilbo, there was his cousin Drogo Baggins, Frodo's father, the Brandybuck chieftain of Buckland, the Took family's head, and the Mayor of the Shire himself. For Hobbits, who seldom ventured beyond their borders, it was an event spoken of with pride for generations.
From the distant East, the Blue Wizard Morinehtar had traveled to join the celebration, carrying both his own gift and that of his companion Rómestámo, who remained in the East to hold back Sauron's forces. Alongside him came the Elven lord of Dorwinion, whose vineyards by the Sea of Rhûn were famed across the lands.
King Fengel of Rohan attended in person, his regal bearing commanding attention, and Ecthelion, the Steward of Gondor, had come as Gondor's representative.
The hall itself radiated festivity.
At one table, Gandalf the Grey, Radagast the Brown, and Morinehtar the Blue, a rare reunion of three of the five Istari, sat together, pipes in hand, quietly discussing the balance of power in Middle-earth while the fragrant smoke from their pipes curled lazily upward.
The Dwarves, naturally, had gathered in their own loud cluster, clanking mugs and challenging one another to drinking contests. Their boisterous laughter rolled through the hall like thunder, prompting amused glances from neighboring tables.
The Hobbits, in contrast, were shy and wide-eyed, whispering among themselves and marveling at the grand décor and the mingling of so many races in one place. Bilbo, however, was perfectly at ease. Cheerful and sociable, he led his fellow Hobbits around, introducing them to Elves, Dwarves, and Men alike, and even helped the attendants manage the flow of guests.
Sylas, as the groom, made his way from guest to guest, greeting every visitor with warmth and courtesy.
Ecthelion, attending such a gathering for the first time, could scarcely conceal his astonishment. His keen eyes wandered constantly, taking in the portraits that moved and spoke, the enchanted chandeliers floating overhead, and the ethereal music echoing from unseen corners.
The portraits on the walls joined the celebration, their painted inhabitants clinking spectral mugs with the guests below. One particularly rowdy group of painted revelers challenged a band of Dwarves to a drinking contest, only to end up slumped in their frames, thoroughly "drunk," much to the Dwarves' triumphant laughter.
Above, the ceiling had vanished entirely, replaced by a vista of soft pink clouds raining down golden light and red petals that drifted gently through the air.
From the carved reliefs along the walls, cherubic winged children emerged, miniature angels playing horns, harps, and trumpets. Their tender voices filled the hall with celestial music. But when a few mischievous Dwarves heckled them, declaring their music dreadful, the little winged ones dove from the air and gave chase, thumping the Dwarves on their heads with tiny instruments.
The laughter that followed was infectious. Even Ecthelion, solemn by nature, found himself laughing aloud for the first time that evening.
Everything around him felt like a dream: the grandeur, the magic, the joy.
And then came the feast.
Before Ecthelion lay a plate of perfectly seared steak, its aroma unlike anything he had ever known. When he asked about it, the attendant beside him explained matter-of-factly, "Dragon meat, my lord. Ten dragons were used for this banquet, enough for every guest and citizen to enjoy."
Ecthelion nearly dropped his fork. He had once seen an evil dragon with his own eyes, vast, winged terror that could melt stone with its fire. To think that such a creature could be slain and served on a plate was staggering.
Gathering his composure, he cut a piece and tasted it. The flavor was rich, potent, and invigorating, each bite felt like drinking pure vitality. His face flushed, his mind cleared, and his body warmed with strength.
As the golden light of the setting sun bathed the sky, the guests gathered in the courtyard grew restless with excitement.
Then, from the eastern horizon, a gleam appeared ,bright, majestic, and drawing ever closer.
A cry rang out above the clouds. Thunderbird Thorondor descended first, his feathers shimmering with electric blue light. He soared in graceful circles, leading a magnificent procession that took everyone's breath away.
Behind him came a flying carriage, drawn by twelve winged horses with silver-white manes that glistened like starlight. Their hooves left trails of brilliance in the air as they glided toward the Castle.
Flanking both sides of the carriage were Elven knights mounted on matching winged steeds, each bearing a silver banner of Rivendell embroidered with moonlit thread. Their armor shone like flowing water, and their formation was so precise it looked choreographed by song itself.
Behind the procession, twelve Barbarians rode majestic Hippogriffs, the guardians Sylas had sent to escort the bride from afar.
A hush fell over the guests in the courtyard as they craned their necks to watch. The citizens of Hogsmeade and Bree gasped in awe at the beauty of the scene above, an entire host of Elves in the evening sky, escorting their Lord's bride.
For many of them, this was the first time they had ever seen Elves at all, and they could hardly believe their eyes.
Thorondor circled the Castle once more, then released a resounding cry that rolled like thunder. The skies erupted in a dazzling display, he released spheres of lightning that burst into radiant blue fireworks, scattering into streams of electric light that illuminated the heavens.
Cheers rose from below as the Thunderbird, having completed his task, soared away to his nest atop the golden tree.
The carriage began its descent, the winged horses' hooves gliding gracefully through the air before touching down at the Castle gates. The grand white avenue leading up to the main hall was lined with citizens waving, cheering, and tossing flowers into the air.
Petals rained like snow upon the knights and the carriage as it passed, the air filled with laughter and the sweet fragrance of blooms.
The procession halted before the main hall. Two Elven knights dismounted first, their silver crowns glinting, their bearing noble and composed.
They were Elladan and Elrohir, Arwen's elder brothers.
Sylas stepped forward, a wide smile breaking across his face. "Elladan! Elrohir! I'm truly glad to see you both again!"
The twins clasped his shoulders and returned his embrace warmly.
"Of course," Elladan replied with a hint of amusement, "how could we let anyone else escort our sister on her wedding day?"
Then, the carriage door opened.
The first to emerge were Celeborn and Galadriel.
The moment Galadriel stepped out, silence fell over the crowd. A soft golden radiance seemed to flow from her, serene yet overwhelming. Her very presence commanded reverence, majestic, timeless, and filled with a purity that made even the proudest Dwarves bow their heads in respect.
Celeborn followed, dignified and calm, his eyes filled with quiet wisdom.
Then came Lord Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower, his golden hair catching the last rays of the sun so that he seemed almost to glow. The guests whispered in amazement, recognizing one of the greatest heroes of the First Age.
One by one, more Elves descended, kinsmen of Arwen, radiant and graceful, from the noble houses of the Noldor, Sindar, and Teleri. Their beauty and poise turned the entire courtyard into a living legend.
And finally, the moment everyone had been waiting for, Elrond Half-elven, robed in deep blue silk embroidered with silver, stepped down, his bearing regal and gentle, the very image of Elven nobility.
Beside him, holding his arm, was Arwen Undómiel, the Evenstar of her people.
Gasps rippled through the gathered crowd.
Her gown was woven from threads of moonlight and starlight, its hem inlaid with jewels that shimmered like dew under the morning sun. Her dark hair cascaded like a river of night, and her eyes sparkled with a soft light that seemed to reflect the heavens themselves.
When her gaze met Sylas's across the courtyard, the world seemed to fall silent.
A smile bloomed on her lips, gentle, radiant, filled with the warmth of eternity, and in that moment, it was as if starlight itself had come down to earth.
...
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