CHAPTER 126: WANDS

After having Smaug lie still on the ground, Sylas and Elrond approached the wound at the base of the dragon’s wing.

Elrond examined the injury, his expression thoughtful. "There’s a violent energy lingering in the wound. No wonder it’s resisted healing, even with a dragon’s natural resilience. But these marks look familiar... Was this caused by the spear Aeglos?"

Though phrased as a question, his tone held certainty.

Sylas nodded. "Lord Elrond’s insight is as sharp as ever."

Elrond shook his head lightly. "The weapon left a deep impression on all who witnessed its power."

From within his cloak, he drew a bundle of Kingsfoil, freshly picked from Galadriel’s gardens. He began chanting in soft, ancient Elvish, gently rubbing the leaves between his fingers until their healing scent filled the air. Then, with care, he pressed the crushed leaves into the wound.

Kingsfoil, also known as Athelas or King’s Weed, was brought to Middle-earth by the Númenóreans. It bore slender green leaves and a sweet fragrance, known for its healing virtues. It could ease pain, slow poison, and resist the corruption of dark forces.

During the War of the Ring, Aragorn had used Kingsfoil to heal Faramir, Éowyn, and Merry after their encounters with the Nazgûl. But in Smaug’s case, the damage had come from Aeglos, the famed spear of Gil-galad, and Kingsfoil alone would not suffice.

It was only a medium. The true healing came from Vilya, the Ring of Air, which rested on Elrond’s hand.

Vilya’s power was one of healing and preservation. While Narya, the Ring of Fire, inspired hope and resolve, Vilya made Elrond the most gifted healer in Middle-earth.

It was this same ring he had once used to mend Frodo’s wound from the Morgul blade. Now, its light flickered softly as he placed his hand over the injury and let the magic flow.

Under the combined effect of Kingsfoil and the Ring of Air, the ragged tear in Smaug’s wing began to knit together. The angry red of the wound faded, the skin and membrane repairing with astonishing speed.

When Elrond at last withdrew his hand, he said calmly, "It’s done. Try your wings."

Smaug shifted cautiously, then gave a tentative flap. When no pain followed, his eyes gleamed, and he lifted his wings fully, flapping them with joy and sending a roaring gust across the clearing.

"Haha! I can finally fly again!"

Sylas stumbled, his cloak flapping wildly in the wind. He raised a hand and summoned a magical barrier to shield himself and Elrond from the chaotic air.

Irritated, he cast a quick spell at Smaug.

Smaug flinched, blinking at the spell’s sudden impact. Realizing the mess he’d caused, he grinned sheepishly and quickly settled.

Now that he could fly, Sylas saw no need to restrict him. But before letting him go, he fixed the dragon with a stern look.

"No trouble. No treasure-hoarding. Don’t even think about it."

He knew all too well how Smaug’s eyes lit up at the sight of gold. Like a dog sniffing a bone, the dragon couldn’t resist. Sylas had no desire to wake up one day to a company of dwarves banging on his door because their heirlooms had suddenly gone missing.

Smaug heard the warning and visibly deflated, his tail drooping.

Seeing the effect, Sylas felt satisfied. Better to deal with it now than face a diplomatic disaster later.

With the dragon’s injury healed and the skies once again open to him, Sylas and Elrond turned and made their way back to Lórien.

After thanking Elrond sincerely, Sylas, not one to waste an opportunity, shamelessly brought up another matter.

"Since we’re already here... I was hoping you could take a look at my other pet as well."

Elrond, ever good-tempered, nodded and agreed without hesitation.

However, when he opened his spatial bag and saw the young eagle inside, a look of surprise appeared on his face.

"Is this a fledgling of the Great Eagles?" he asked, examining it closely.

Sylas nodded. "The Eagle King entrusted him to me. He was born weaker than his siblings and wouldn’t survive long if left in the mountains. The king asked me to raise him and give him a chance."

Elrond understood. He observed the young eagle, who was looking up from the bag and chirping at them, his eyes bright but his body clearly frail. After a moment, Elrond’s gaze softened with compassion.

"He truly is congenitally weak," Elrond said. "His condition is made worse by long-term malnutrition. If he doesn’t receive proper care, I fear he may never fly, even after he matures."

He paused, then offered a gentle smile. "But it’s fortunate he met you. I can already see some recovery in him. His spirit is strong."

"What’s his name?" Elrond asked.

"Thorondor," Sylas replied.

Elrond looked up in surprise. "The name of the Eagle King himself. You must have high hopes for him."

Sylas gently released Thorondor along with the eagle’s nest he had conjured for the fledgling. As the young eagle nuzzled against his hand, Sylas ran his fingers through the soft feathers on his head.

"I don’t expect him to live up to the name in power or greatness," Sylas said softly. "I only hope that the name might carry a blessing. I want him to fly free, to find his place in the skies, like his ancestors."

"Lord Elrond," he continued, "your healing arts are unmatched in Middle-earth. Can you cure Thorondor’s weakness?"

Elrond nodded. "I believe I can. But it will take time and care. He’ll need to stay in Rivendell for a while. You should be prepared for that."

Sylas brightened. "That’s the best news I could hope for. Once I finish my tasks here, I’ll bring him to Rivendell."

With the healing of Smaug complete and a plan set for Thorondor’s recovery, Sylas turned his attention back to the matter of the wands.

Once the wand shafts were finished, he carefully embedded the magical cores he had prepared, inserting them one by one into the small hollows at the base of each shaft. To bind core and wood together, he used resin taken from Laurelin’s tree, rare and golden, infused with ancient light.

When the fusing was done, he sanded and polished each wand until their surfaces gleamed. At last, five unique wands lay before him, each differing in length, wood grain, and hue.

As moonlight bathed the clearing, Sylas laid the wands beneath the silver glow. Raising his own wand, he began to chant a long and intricate incantation. The words were ancient and powerful.

Above them, the moonlight seemed to shimmer and gather, flowing toward the wands in silvery beams. Each wand absorbed the light like thirsty roots drinking from the earth. A pulse of energy stirred within them, like the first heartbeat of something newly born.

From nearby, Arwen, Elrohir, Elladan, and Legolas stood watching, anticipation glowing in their eyes. Gandalf, Galadriel, and a few others remained silent, observing the ceremony.

When the final spell had ended and the wands had been fully awakened, Sylas turned toward the waiting four.

"Come," he called. "It is time to meet your companions."

They stepped forward eagerly, their eyes fixed on the table where the five wands lay.

"Who wants to go first?" Sylas asked with a smile, watching their expressions.

But before anyone could answer, he turned to Arwen. "Ladies first. Princess Arwen, please."

Elrohir, Elladan, and Legolas exchanged glances. Since it was already decided, why bother asking them?

Arwen stepped forward first, her gaze falling on the five wands laid neatly before her. She hesitated and asked, "Which one is mine?"

Sylas gave a mysterious smile and shook his head. "You’ll only know after trying."

He handed her the first wand. "Fifteen inches. Laurelin wood. The core is a strand of Lady Galadriel’s hair."

Arwen accepted the wand, a little nervous. "What should I do?"

"Give it a wave and see what happens."

She did as instructed, and a brilliant white light burst forth from the wand’s tip.

Her eyes lit up in excitement, convinced it must be the one. But before she could speak, Sylas plucked it gently from her hand.

"It’s close," he said thoughtfully, "but the length isn’t quite right."

He offered her another. "Twelve and a quarter inches. Laurelin core. This one holds a feather from the crest of a Great Eagle."

Arwen gave it a wave, and a soft breeze stirred, lifting her dark hair and carrying it lightly around her face.

She glanced at Sylas with hopeful eyes, silently pleading.

But Sylas shook his head again. "Still not quite right."

He picked up the first wand once more, studying it. "Let’s try this one again. Fifteen inches, Galadriel’s hair... hmm, no, never mind."

Before Arwen could even reach for it, he withdrew it.

At last, he handed her the smallest wand of the five, the only one with a pale, snow-white sheen.

"This is the one. Nine and a half inches. Shaft carved from the wood of the White Tree. The core is a strand of Lady Galadriel’s hair."

The moment Arwen touched the wand, she felt a rush of harmony, as if the wand had always belonged to her. It rested in her grip like an extension of her own hand. A soft glow shimmered around her, and the moonlight seemed to respond, dancing upon her Evenstar pendant.

The others watched in awe at the sight.

Galadriel smiled brightly, her joy unhidden, seeing the wand choose Arwen so beautifully.

Arwen beamed and ran to show her father and grandmother her wand, filled with delight.

As for the remaining three elves, Sylas simply gestured for them to come forward.

To their confusion, he handed each of them a wand without hesitation.

"Prince Elrohir, Prince Elladan, both of yours are fifteen inches, Laurelin wood, with Galadriel’s hair as the core."

He then turned to Legolas. "Yours is twelve and a quarter inches, Laurelin core, with a Great Eagle feather."

The three of them stood there, a little stunned.

"Wait," Legolas said, puzzled. "Aren’t we supposed to test them like Arwen did?"

Sylas shrugged. "Test what? I already matched them in advance. I knew exactly which wand suited each of you."

Elladan narrowed his eyes. "Then why all the trial and ceremony for Arwen?"

Sylas gave a nonchalant smile. "She’s a lady. Girls like a bit of special attention and choice."

He didn’t dare admit he had just wanted to mimic Ollivander’s method for fun.

But the three elves didn’t seem convinced. Elrohir and Elladan immediately fixed Sylas with suspicious glares.

Their expressions darkened, as if they had just realized someone had taken too much interest in their sister.

Elves were known for their sharp senses, and not far off, Elrond narrowed his eyes, studying Sylas as if weighing every word and gesture.

Celeborn’s expression had grown serious as well, his gaze sharp.

Galadriel, however, said nothing. Her smile remained, though it was now tinged with subtle amusement, as if she had read far more than Sylas intended.

Feeling their eyes on him, Sylas instinctively stiffened.

’No. Wait. Don’t tell me you misunderstood something?’