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Chapter 66 - Making Wands for Elves

Sylas was escorted by Lindir, Elrond's loyal steward, through the ivy-wrapped corridors of Rivendell to the heart of Elrond's palace. At his side walked Elrohir and Elladan.

Inside the high-ceilinged hall, bathed in golden light from the cascading waterfall beyond, Gandalf stood calmly, as if expecting him.

"Father," the elven brothers greeted, bowing gracefully before Elrond.

Elrond acknowledged them with a warm nod. Though ever serene in bearing, his gaze softened at the sight of his sons.

He had once shared these halls with his wife, Celebrían, and their three children. But years ago, Celebrían had been ambushed by Orcs in the Redhorn Pass on her way to Lothlórien. Though Elladan and Elrohir had bravely rescued her from the orc dens of the Misty Mountains, the trauma had wounded her spirit deeply. Unable to find peace, she had sailed West to Valinor, the Undying Lands, leaving her sons with Elrond.

Their daughter, Arwen, lived with her grandparents, Galadriel and Celeborn, in Lothlórien. And so, only the twins remained in Rivendell to stand at their father's side.

After greetings were exchanged, Elrond turned his attention to their guest.

"Sylas, may I see your wand?" Elrond asked, his tone calm yet curious.

Sylas blinked, slightly caught off guard by the request. He glanced toward Gandalf.

Gandalf gave him a small, reassuring nod and a knowing smile.

Without hesitation, Sylas offered the wand.

Elrond took it with reverent care. His fingers ran along its length, tracing the subtle runes etched into the wood. His eyes slowly widened in quiet astonishment.

"A remarkable creation," he murmured. "A fusion of enchanted craftsmanship and wild magic. The materials are simple, yet the harmony between them produces unique effects. If I'm not mistaken… this is Huorn willow?"

Sylas nodded. "And the core is… unusual. A single hair from Goldberry, the River-daughter, and a whisker from Tom Bombadil himself."

Elrond's brows lifted in understanding, and a rare flicker of delight crossed his face.

With a graceful sweep of the wand, Elrond turned toward the balcony overlooking Rivendell's majestic falls. A sudden breeze stirred, gathering mist from the rushing waters. Before their eyes, the spray twisted and shaped into a brilliant, galloping horse of liquid light. It charged through the hall with a burst of refreshing wind, circled the room, then leapt through the open archway, plunging back into the valley below with a splash.

"Excellent work," Elrond said with measured satisfaction. "Your wand may not greatly amplify one's raw magical power, but it is a superb channeling medium. Even a young Elf, with modest experience, could cast magic with surprising stability using it."

He handed the wand back to Sylas with reverent care.

"Wizard Sylas, would you be willing to craft wands for us?"

There was a soft murmur of wind through the pillars as Elrond continued, his voice calm but expectant. "Naturally, we will offer a reward worthy of your skill."

Sylas hesitated, caught off guard. He turned to Gandalf, who merely offered a neutral expression and said nothing.

After a pause, Sylas replied honestly, "Lord Elrond, I would be honored to craft wands for the Elves. However, it is a demanding and time-consuming craft. At the moment, I'm on an expedition with my companions, and I fear I lack the time to devote to it."

He wasn't trying to dodge the request—truthfully, he hadn't even completed the wand he'd promised to Gandalf yet. While he had carved the shaft from vine-entwined oak, the magical core still eluded him. He had once experimented with troll sinew in the Trollshaws, but the result was volatile and utterly unsuited to Gandalf's nature.

Hearing Sylas's explanation, Elrond lifted a hand gently. "Time holds no dominion over us. Whether it takes years, decades, or centuries, we can wait."

Sylas blinked, then let out a faint laugh. He had momentarily forgotten that Elves were, for all intents and purposes, immortal.

"No need to wait centuries," Sylas said with a smile. "Once this journey concludes, I'll be glad to accept the commission."

"But I must be clear," he added. "Crafting such staves is a delicate art. How many do you require? If it's too many, I may not be able to keep up."

Elrond gave a rare smile, serene and understanding. "You need only craft wands for my sons."

Sylas released a small breath of relief. "That's manageable."

"However," he added, "you'll need to provide the magical wood and other core materials yourselves. I will handle the craftsmanship, but not the gathering."

"That is fair," Elrond nodded in agreement. "Now, Wizard Sylas, having offered us this generosity, what is it that you desire in return?"

Before Sylas could speak, Gandalf cleared his throat and stepped in with a knowing twinkle in his eye.

"Lord Elrond," Gandalf began smoothly, "Sylas has been seeking a suitable magical gemstone for his own wand, but has had little success so far. Would Rivendell happen to possess any knowledge—or perhaps even such a gem itself?"

Sylas parted his lips to object, clearly not expecting Gandalf to make such an extravagant request on his behalf.

His cheeks flushed in embarrassment. Magical gemstones were unimaginably rare and precious, more valuable than even a thousand wands, let alone just two. He feared Lord Elrond might mistake this bold request as his own idea.

To Sylas's relief, Elrond showed no sign of displeasure or surprise. Instead, the Elven lord offered a gentle shake of the head.

"Alas," Elrond said, "Rivendell has never been a place for hoarding gemstones, magical or otherwise. We do not possess what you seek."

But then his eyes grew thoughtful.

"However," he continued, "I believe Lady Galadriel of Lothlórien does hold several gemstones of great power in her keeping. I shall send word to her, and relay your request. Whether she chooses to grant it… that will depend on her judgment."

Elrond's gaze drifted toward Gandalf, a quiet smile playing on his lips.

"Given your long-standing rapport with Lady Galadriel, Mithrandir, I trust she will give your words considerable weight."

Gandalf nodded solemnly, signaling his agreement to lend support to the request.

With the matter of the wands and gemstones settled, Elrond shifted the topic.

"We must now speak of your Dwarven companions," he said.

Despite their efforts to conceal the true purpose of their journey, Elrond, having lived through ages, saw through their silence with ease. Gandalf, too, had no intent to keep secrets from the Elf-lord.

A servant was sent to summon Thorin Oakenshield.

Once present, Thorin stood tall, his chin lifted, his gaze proud and guarded. When Elrond extended a hand toward him in greeting, Thorin made no move to offer the map.

"Our quest is no business of the Elves," Thorin said stiffly, his voice cold.

Gandalf's brows furrowed. "By the stars, Thorin," he snapped, "put aside your Dwarvish pride. Show the map to Lord Elrond."

"This is an heirloom of my house," Thorin replied curtly. "It is my responsibility to protect its secrets."

Gandalf took a step forward, his eyes flaring with stern light.

"Stubbornness is not always strength, Oakenshield. Your pride may be the very thing that dooms this quest. The one standing before you is among the few in all of Middle-earth who can decipher the runes and moon-letters on that map. Let him read it."

Thorin's jaw tightened. He stood unmoving for a long moment, the air between them charged with tension.

Sylas, standing beside Elrond, remained quiet, watching the silent battle of wills unfold.

At last, Thorin exhaled, shoulders sinking slightly. With a heavy hand, he pulled the map from his coat and passed it to Elrond.

The Elf-lord took it calmly, unbothered by Thorin's reluctance, and began to study the ancient parchment with sharp, discerning eyes.

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