Sylas looked the man over carefully, his expression thoughtful.
"You're a Dúnedain?"
A flicker of surprise crossed the man's face, but he nodded calmly. "I didn't expect anyone outside our circles to still recognize us."
"I heard stories," Sylas said. "That there's a Ranger company in the wilds of Eriador, guarding the peace of these lands from the shadows."
He wasn't just parroting rumors, Sylas knew well what the Dúnedain were. Descendants of the ancient Númenóreans, they retained the blood of kings: long-lived, wise, and hardened by centuries of exile and vigilance.
But if this Aldamir was here to see him, there had to be a reason. Sylas recalled that the Barrow-downs were once the resting grounds of fallen nobles from the Kingdom of Arnor, ancestors of these very Rangers.
And hadn't he just led a team to plunder those very tombs?
His gaze sharpened. "What do you want with me?"
Aldamir didn't waste time with pleasantries. "I heard that you acquired several ancient swords during your battle against the wights. If it's not too much trouble, may I see one?"
'So it wasn't about tomb-raiding. That was a relief.'
Without hesitation, Sylas reached into his pack and retrieved one of the swords recovered from the Barrow-downs. The blade was slightly curved, its metal dark but untarnished despite its age, and subtle markings shimmered along the fuller.
Aldamir accepted it reverently, studying every inch of the blade with practiced eyes. After a moment, he returned it to Sylas, reluctant to let it go.
"This was forged using the lost techniques of Númenor," Aldamir said softly. "Even after a thousand years, its edge remains unspoiled. And here" he tapped near the hilt, " the crest of an Arnorian noble house. This belonged to one of my ancestors."
He looked up. "We've long sought to recover such craftsmanship, but the knowledge is lost. Wizard Sylas… would you be willing to part with some of these blades? Name your terms, we will do everything in our power to honor them."
Sylas had been pondering just that over the past few days. Though the swords were powerful relics, he had no use for dozens of them. Letting them gather dust in his bag felt like a waste. If they could help the Dúnedain recover part of their heritage, all the better.
"I have dozens," he said. "You can take them all."
Aldamir's eyes widened. He had expected negotiation, perhaps to leave with one or two blades if he was lucky, but this? It felt like a miracle.
"You honor us," he said, bowing his head deeply. "Whatever you ask in return, if it lies within our ability, we will fulfill it."
Sylas nodded. "You Rangers travel across the lands. You're informed, resourceful, and discreet. What I need… is herbs. Magical herbs, rare plants, preferably still alive."
Aldamir hesitated, then nodded resolutely. "We'll do what we can. But such things take time, and they aren't easily found."
"I'm not in a hurry," Sylas said, waving a hand dismissively. "Just gather what you can, when you can. That's enough."
Aldamir let out a breath of relief and agreed without hesitation.
Thus, a trade was struck right there in the inn.
Both sides were pleased with the outcome. Aldamir received a substantial number of ancient wight-forged swords, keys to rediscovering the lost Númenórean forging arts and perhaps reclaiming a portion of the Dúnedain's ancient legacy.
Sylas, in turn, gained the support of the Dúnedain Rangers to help him gather rare herbs from across Middle-earth.
Herbs were the foundation of all Potions. Yet many of the magical ingredients familiar to Sylas from his world simply didn't exist in Middle-earth.
His plan was to first catalog and study native plants of this world. Once his understanding of Potion-making and Herbology had advanced far enough, he would begin experimenting with local substitutes, recreating the miraculous effects of Hogwarts Potions one by one.
After sealing the deal, Aldamir departed Bree under cover of night, taking the precious ancient blades with him.
The rest of the company stayed one more night at The Prancing Pony before continuing their journey the next morning.
To Sylas's dismay, however, nearly half of the supplies the Dwarves had restocked consisted of barrels of alcohol.
The moon rose high into a quiet sky.
That night, they camped once more in the wilderness. As usual, Sylas conjured tents and sleeping bags with Transfiguration, making the night more comfortable for all.
When most of the party had drifted off to sleep, Sylas stepped out from his tent and quietly poured out a bag of full moonstones under the open sky.
He arranged them carefully on a flat patch of grass, each stone shimmering faintly under the silver light.
Drawing his wand, he began tapping each moonstone in turn, imbuing it with controlled pulses of Magic.
One by one, the stones absorbed the power. They began to glow with a soft blue hue, reacting to both his spells and the surrounding moonlight.
Moonstone, or adularia, was an excellent medium for storing magical energy, especially when charged under the moon itself. It would take repeated exposure to moonlight over several nights to fully awaken their magical properties.
And it wouldn't be complete until the next full moon.
Sylas repeated this nightly. Each time, the stones soaked in more Magic and moonlight, slowly approaching the state he needed to craft Floo Powder.
His companions noticed, of course. But since Sylas never offered an explanation, no one pressed him. Out of respect, or perhaps simple unease, they chose to stay silent.
Their journey continued without any major incidents. After several more days on the road, they finally arrived at Weathertop.
Known to the Elves as Amon Sûl, Hill of Wind, it was the highest and southernmost peak in the Weather Hills. Its summit gave a clear view over vast distances of Eriador, including the Great East Road that lay nearby.
Long ago, during the height of Arnor's power, the Númenóreans had erected a mighty tower here. Within it was housed one of the greatest artifacts of the North, the Palantír of Amon Sûl, a Seeing-stone used to watch over the land and maintain contact with distant kingdoms.
However, as the Kingdom of Arnor fragmented and declined, tragedy struck in the year 1409 of the Third Age. The Witch-king of Angmar led a dark army southward and laid siege to Weathertop. The proud Tower of Amon Sûl was destroyed, torn down stone by stone, and the great Palantír it once housed was lost during a desperate attempt to move it to safety. Legend says it was cast into the sea and never recovered.
For over a thousand years, the tower was never rebuilt. Now only a weathered, circular stone foundation remained, whispering of former glories long gone.
Sylas proposed they camp there for the night, under the open stars. He hoped Weathertop might be a sign-in location for his mysterious system.
No one objected.
As the company reached the ruins, Gandalf stood silently before the crumbling stones, gazing up at the broken ring of wall that once formed the tower's base. His expression was heavy with memory.
"The majesty of the Tower of Amon Sûl is still clear in my mind," the old wizard murmured. "But time passes swiftly. Now, only ruins remain where greatness once stood."
Bilbo looked up curiously. "Gandalf... did you actually see the tower when it was still standing?"
Gandalf gave a slow nod. "Indeed. It soared over a thousand feet into the sky, tall enough to pierce the clouds. It was the tallest tower in all of Eriador. From its heights, the Palantír glowed with such brilliance that its light could be seen even from the distant wilds."
"A thousand feet?" Sylas blinked, stunned. That was over three hundred meters, about the height of a hundred-story skyscraper by modern standards. Even in his world, such a tower would be impressive. For the ancient Númenóreans to have constructed it here, without the aid of modern technology, was nothing short of astounding.
The Dwarves around him were likewise awestruck. Even with all their architectural prowess, such an edifice was almost beyond belief.
But Sylas's marveling was cut short. A familiar mechanical chime echoed in his consciousness.
[Hogwarts Sign-In System: Location – Weathertop detected. Would you like to sign in?]
Sylas's eyes lit up slightly. Without hesitation, he whispered in his mind, "Sign in."