Speaking of Pegasi, Sylas had originally gifted six of them to Elrond, Elladan, Elrohir, Galadriel, Celeborn, and Arwen as wedding gifts and tokens of friendship.
The Elves, utterly enchanted by these magnificent creatures, cast aside their usual restraint and immediately set about breeding them. They gathered the finest steeds from Rivendell and Lothlórien, forming carefully selected herds to serve as companions and mates for the Pegasi, an endeavor that even the most stoic among them approached with enthusiasm.
Their efforts were quickly rewarded. To their delight, the union between Pegasi and ordinary steeds yielded a fifty percent chance of producing genuine winged offspring. Within a few short years, the Elves had bred nearly fifty new Pegasi, and they were still eagerly working to expand their numbers.
So enthusiastic were they, in fact, that they even set their sights on the twelve hybrid Pegasi Sylas himself had raised. During the year following the engagement, these hybrids remained in Rivendell under Elven care, each one treated as a royal treasure, and each, to Sylas's quiet horror, developing its own "herd."
At times, he worried his poor Pegasi might end up completely exhausted before they could even pull another carriage.
After the last of the guests had departed, Elrond, Galadriel, Celeborn, and their retinues taking to the skies or vanishing through enchanted fireplaces, the Castle finally fell quiet.
Only Sylas and Arwen remained.
Freed at last from the formality of guests and elders, Sylas felt a weight lift from his shoulders. Without giving Arwen a moment to grow sentimental about her family's departure, he swept her into his arms amid her startled laughter and dashed straight toward their chambers, the doors closing firmly behind them.
For days during the celebrations, with her formidable family present, Elrond's watchful eyes, Galadriel's serene smile, Celeborn's calm dignity, and two overprotective brothers, Sylas hadn't dared to act freely.
Not to mention Legolas, Balin, and a few mischievous guests who had taken great pleasure in "initiating" him with endless rounds of Dorwinion wine, a potent vintage so strong that even King Thranduil was said to approach it with caution.
So, when the last farewell was said, Sylas's polite offers to make them stay were… mostly for appearance's sake. Inwardly, he was cheering for the first true moment of peace with his new bride.
The newlyweds disappeared from sight for a full month, spending their honeymoon in a blissful haze within the Castle walls. When they finally emerged, both wore unmistakably contented smiles, though Arwen's radiance and Sylas's slightly dazed expression made the staff exchange knowing looks.
Within the Castle, life found a new rhythm.
The servants, attendants, and stewards, all loyal to their lord, welcomed Arwen warmly. Her grace and kindness enchanted everyone she met, and she quickly earned their affection. They called her "Lady of the Manor," "Lady Arwen," or simply "Lady Evenstar."
Sylas officially entrusted her with the management of the Castle's affairs, a responsibility she accepted with gentle confidence. Together, they descended into the cellar treasury, where she was introduced to Smaug and the endless glittering hoard that lay within.
The great dragon, recognizing Arwen's status as his master's beloved, curbed his arrogance and actually attempted to appear courtly. From among the piles of treasure, Smaug carefully selected the largest and most flawless gemstone, an iridescent sapphire shot with gold veins, and presented it to her with an almost regal bow.
Sylas raised a brow in surprise. "Well, well," he remarked dryly, "I've never seen you this generous before."
Smaug only flicked his tail and snorted, pretending not to hear.
With Arwen comfortably settled as the mistress of the Castle, Sylas prepared their honeymoon journey.
At her request, he transfigured their grand golden flying carriage into something simpler, a modest, beautifully crafted wooden carriage, and chose a single Pegasus to draw it, concealing its wings with magic.
Thus, as dusk fell over the Weathertop hills, the Lord and Lady of Hogwarts Castle departed quietly for their first journey together.
They descended the mountain road toward Hogsmeade, but to avoid drawing attention, Sylas cast an Invisibility Charm over the carriage and themselves.
The streets of the bustling town were alive with life, vendors calling out, merchants haggling, children laughing, the scents of roasted nuts and fresh bread drifting through the air.
Among the crowd were adventurers, traders, and wandering bards, their conversations still revolving around the wedding that had taken place a month earlier. The townsfolk spoke with shining eyes, their pride obvious, as they recounted every dazzling moment to the curious travelers who had come from afar.
Inside the carriage, Arwen watched it all with quiet fascination.
This world of humans, so vibrant, noisy, and full of motion, was utterly unlike the tranquil beauty of Rivendell or the ethereal calm of Lothlórien.
It stirred something in her heart, a faint sense of belonging, a warmth she couldn't quite name.
She was, after all, half-human. Though she bore the timeless grace of the Elves, there was a spark of mortal warmth in her that made her smile at the laughter of children and feel at ease amidst the chaos of life.
Seeing Arwen's bright curiosity, Sylas smiled and extended his hand. "Come," he said softly. "Let's walk a while."
They stepped down from the carriage and wandered together through the streets of Hogsmeade, their figures cloaked by the invisibility spell. To any passerby, they were just another couple enjoying the afternoon, nothing more, nothing special.
The air was fragrant with baked bread, roasted nuts, and fresh fruit. Market stalls lined both sides of the street, vendors calling out cheerfully to advertise their goods.
Arwen's eyes sparkled with wonder. She examined the handmade trinkets, simple but full of heart, woven scarves dyed in bright colors, tiny carved animals, glass beads that caught the sunlight like little stars. To an Elf who had spent centuries surrounded by perfect, ethereal craftsmanship, there was something uniquely human about these imperfect creations that made them beautiful.
Sylas, walking beside her, played the part of a devoted husband. Every time she lingered on an item for more than a few seconds, he smiled and said, "We'll take it."
He had come well-prepared, carrying a purse of gold taken from Smaug's treasury, enough to keep even the most extravagant spree going for months. And thanks to his enchanted spatial bag, he didn't need to worry about space at all.
The vendors never knew who had just bought out half their stock. They only felt a light touch, the clink of gold coins, and an unshakable sense that something wonderful had just happened.
After a long stroll, the couple reached the lakeside, where the reflection of the mountains shimmered on the water. A painter sat nearby, carefully capturing the scene with swift, graceful strokes. Arwen stopped to watch, fascinated by how he used simple colors to bring the world to life. When he finished, Sylas quietly bought the fresh painting, tucking it into his bag.
From there, they wandered to the central square, where street performers were entertaining a growing crowd.
A fire-breather sent a plume of flame curling into the evening air, followed by a sword-swallower who earned gasps from onlookers. Arwen clapped in delight, whispering to Sylas, "These mortals… their courage and artistry feel like magic in another form."
Sylas chuckled. "I suppose it is."
When the performance ended, he tossed several gold coins toward the performers. The coins glittered as they fell, eliciting stunned cries of gratitude from the artists, who nearly broke the spell of invisibility with their excitement.
As twilight deepened, the couple made their way to the Leaping Horse Inn, a newly built branch of the famous Bree tavern. Its owner, the cheerful son of Buttercup, had inherited both his father's booming voice and his knack for hospitality.
Inside, the inn was bustling, adventurers, merchants, and locals filled the hall. The air was thick with laughter, smoke, and the scent of ale.
Sylas and Arwen took a quiet corner near the window. Two frothy mugs of ale arrived shortly after, and by the fireplace, a bard strummed a harp and began to sing.
It was a familiar tune, one that every tavern in the region seemed to know.
"The tale of Lord Sylas, the Dragon-Tamer!"
The bard's voice rose with passion, painting scenes of fire and thunder, of courage and victory. The crowd listened in awe, their faces lit by the flickering firelight, gasps of fear at the peril, cheers of joy at the triumph.
Sylas leaned back in his chair, shaking his head with a grin. The bard's version was so full of drama and embellishment that even he, the supposed hero, felt like a bystander in his own legend.
"No wonder these minstrels earn their living," he murmured with amusement. "They could make tying shoelaces sound like an epic battle."
Arwen giggled, her eyes dancing. "Perhaps you should hire him to sing at our next feast."
"Only if he cuts out the part where I supposedly wrestled the dragon bare-handed."
They shared a quiet laugh and stayed until the bard's final note faded into applause. Then, as the moon climbed over the rooftops and the crowd began to thin, they rose and slipped back into the night.
After spending a day exploring the lively town, Sylas and Arwen returned to their carriage. With the soft hum of magic, the Pegasus spread its wings, and the carriage lifted once more into the starlit sky.
They followed the Great East Road westward, leaving Hogsmeade behind.
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