Beneath the twin trees of Hogwarts Castle, the garden had been transformed into a realm of living light and magic.
Every inch of the vast garden bloomed in radiant color. Flowers of all kinds shimmered in hues of violet, scarlet, and gold, their petals glistening as if dusted with starlight. Enchanted vines climbed the marble arches, curling together in elegant spirals, from which blossoms continuously shed cascades of luminous pollen that sparkled in the air like tiny fireflies.
Soft music played from unseen instruments, and in rhythm with the melody, the flowers and grass swayed as if dancing.
Above, the twin trees themselves had awakened in splendor. Though they were not in their natural season of bloom, the golden tree and the white tree burst into radiant flowers. Golden sunlight and silvery moonlight mingled and poured down like woven silk, bathing the guests and the couple below in ethereal brilliance.
Petals drifted slowly through the air, lingering, spinning, and forming into delicate shapes of flower fairies, who fluttered among the guests, scattering fragrant blossoms upon Sylas and Arwen. The air was sweet with scent, refreshing the spirit; those who breathed it felt fatigue fade, as if healed by the garden itself.
Under the twin trees, two great branches extended outward, one gold, one silver, and intertwined at the top to form a living archway, from which soft silken curtains hung, glowing faintly with light.
Sylas stood beneath this arch, regal and calm, the Crown of Wisdom upon his brow gleaming faintly with runic light. His silver-white robe, trimmed with gold, reflected the twin trees' glow, and the Evenstar necklace rested upon his chest.
All eyes turned toward him as the music shifted to a slower, more solemn melody. From the path leading through the garden, Elrond appeared, walking with grace and dignity, his arm linked with that of his daughter.
The guests collectively held their breath.
As Elrond reached the arch, he turned toward Sylas. With a smile that held both pride and a trace of fatherly sorrow, he placed Arwen's hand into Sylas's. Then, after a quiet nod, he stepped aside.
At that moment, Gandalf, standing before the arch as the officiant, raised his staff slightly, the tip glowing like a star. His usually stern face was lit with joy, and his voice, warm and powerful, echoed through the garden.
"In the name of Varda, Queen of the Stars, and Manwë, King of the Valar, we bear witness to this union, of Elf and Wizard, of light and wisdom."
As his words carried through the air, the heavens seemed to respond. The stars above flared brighter, glittering like diamonds scattered across deep velvet.
Then, from the distant east, three giant eagles appeared, wings wide and gleaming in the starlight. They circled gracefully above the castle, their cries resounding like divine trumpets. Gasps of awe rippled through the crowd, and even Gandalf paused for a heartbeat, eyes twinkling. "Ah," he murmured with a smile, "it seems the Valar themselves send their blessing."
Under the arch, Sylas and Arwen turned toward one another.
With reverent care, they removed their silver engagement rings and exchanged golden wedding bands.
The ring Sylas had prepared for Arwen was a masterpiece, two slender gold bands interwoven as one: one engraved with tiny dewdrops, the other with starlit runes. It glowed softly as he slipped it onto her finger.
What none but he and Celebrimbor's spirit knew was that this ring was no ordinary gift. It was reforged from Saruman's ring of power, cleansed and reshaped under Celebrimbor's spectral guidance. It retained the power to amplify magic but carried a new blessing, a subtle enchantment of fortune.
Sylas had named it the Ring of Luck.
It would not ward off death nor bend fate entirely, but it would guide its wearer toward serendipity, moments of grace, avoided mishaps, and doors that opened just when they should.
As he placed the ring upon her hand, a golden blossom drifted from the tree above and landed perfectly in Arwen's dark hair, shimmering against it like sunlight on water.
Then, a single silver fruit dropped from the white tree and rolled gently into her palm. Its surface gleamed like moonlight frozen into crystal. Arwen smiled in astonishment and reverence, tucking the gift carefully away before lifting the gold band she had prepared.
The ring she gave Sylas was simple yet elegant, its craftsmanship unmistakably Elven. A black gem rested upon it, set in delicate filigree.
The moment it touched his skin, Sylas felt the pulse of power.
The gem was none other than the Resurrection Stone, his own betrothal gift to her, now reforged and enhanced by Elven enchantment. He felt it resonate within him, no longer limited by the constraints it once bore.
Before, he could summon only spirits tied to his own heart, those whose emotions he had inherited or shared. Summoning Celebrimbor had required Galadriel's aid and borrowed memories, a perilous act that threatened his very mind.
But now, the Resurrection Stone was transformed. Through the bond of marriage and the Elven craft that strengthened it, the ring no longer required emotional tethering.
Moreover, he could also see the Netherworld and its creatures, and enter the Netherworld through the ring.
Seeing Sylas's joyful expression, Arwen smiled, her voice as gentle as a breeze through starlit leaves.
"This ring was personally forged by my grandmother," she said, holding his hand. "She combined the Resurrection Stone with the band itself to amplify its power. I only helped with the design."
Sylas's eyes widened slightly in realization. Of course, Galadriel, princess of the Noldor, niece of Fëanor, the legendary creator of the Silmarils.
The Noldor were unmatched in their craftsmanship; if Galadriel had lent her hand, then the ring's beauty and power were both beyond compare.
After exchanging the rings and speaking their vows, Gandalf lifted his staff high, his face radiant with joy.
"By the blessing of Varda and Manwë," he declared, his voice echoing across the garden, "I pronounce this union complete!"
At once, a wave of applause and cheers swept through the crowd. The twin trees released a fresh flurry of blossoms, and the sky exploded with cascading magical fireworks, gold, silver, and violet lights painting the heavens.
Elrond, Galadriel, Celeborn, and Glorfindel all smiled warmly, their eyes filled with pride and blessing for the newlyweds.
Amid the roar of celebration, Sylas gently slipped an arm around Arwen's waist and drew her close. Their lips met in a deep, tender kiss, to the cheers and applause of all around.
"Arwen," Sylas whispered softly when they parted, his eyes bright with emotion, "you are finally mine."
Arwen's cheeks glowed as she smiled, her gaze filled with affection. "Yes," she murmured, "I am yours, and we shall be together for all eternity."
For a fleeting moment, desire stirred in Sylas's heart as he looked at her radiant face and the curve of her lips, but he mastered it, choosing instead to entwine his fingers with hers. Together, they turned to face the crowd, receiving the blessings and cheers of their people.
Hand in hand, they descended the platform, walking along the long red carpet that led toward the Castle. The citizens of Hogsmeade and Bree, gathered on both sides, bowed deeply, many even kneeling with devotion and admiration.
For them, this was more than a wedding, it was the dawn of a new chapter. Their lord now had a lady, and whispers of hope and prosperity filled the air. Some even prayed quietly for the day when their Lady Arwen would bless the Castle with new life.
Sylas and Arwen smiled warmly to the people, their hearts touched by such sincerity.
As they entered the Castle, the walls seemed to come alive. The portraits along the corridors bowed, raised their glasses, or waved handkerchiefs in celebration. Some even sang blessings as the couple passed, and the portraits of Sylas and Arwen themselves exchanged a fond nod and smile from their painted world.
The wedding banquet lasted for three days and three nights, filled with music, laughter, and endless toasts.
When at last the celebration ended, guests gradually departed. The citizens of Hogsmeade and Bree descended the mountain in groups, their faces glowing with joy, carrying stories they would retell for years, perhaps for generations.
Those who had traveled from afar, lords, kings, and wizards, returned via Floo Network fireplaces or the one-time Portkeys Sylas had crafted for their convenience.
Among them, Ecthelion II, Steward of Gondor, was especially impressed by the Floo Network's convenience. Before his departure, he clasped Sylas's hand earnestly.
"Lord Sylas," he said, "you must visit Minas Tirith one day. The White City would be honored to host such marvels of magic. Perhaps your network could serve the capital of Gondor as well."
Sylas, smiling, readily agreed. "I'll come when time permits, and perhaps check in on your archives while I'm there."
Finally, as the sun set on the third evening, the Elves of Rivendell and Lothlórien prepared to return home.
Elrond, Galadriel, and Celeborn politely declined Sylas's invitation to stay longer. With warm farewells, some took flight on their winged steeds, while others departed gracefully through the shimmering green flames of the floo network.