When Sylas heard that Gandalf would be coming along, his confidence surged. In the original course of history, Gandalf had slain the Balrog, there was no reason to believe he couldn't do it again. And this time, he wouldn't be fighting alone. With Smaug beside him, Gandalf wouldn't have to pay the price of his life to see the battle through.

Still, Sylas couldn't help but wonder, would changing events like this rob Gandalf of the chance to rise as the White Wizard?

For now, the matter of the phoenix was on hold. They would need the Eternal Flame from the Balrog before they could complete its creation. Until then, Gandalf's presence in Fangorn Forest needed explaining.

Fangorn lay close to Isengard, separated only by a mountain range to the south. Ever since confirming that Saruman had turned to darkness and begun secret dealings with Sauron, Gandalf had kept a wary eye on him. He feared the two might unite their strength, bringing great peril to Gondor and Rohan.

To forestall this, Gandalf had travelled south to warn the Steward of Gondor and the King of Rohan, while also seeking a subtler solution. He turned to Treebeard, the ancient Ent, asking him to use the forest's gift of speaking to plants to keep constant watch over Isengard.

Though Treebeard and Saruman were neighbours, theirs was no friendship. With Gandalf, however, the Ent shared mutual trust, and he agreed without hesitation. The woods around the Tower of Orthanc would serve as countless silent sentinels, unnoticed even by Saruman. Not even the Palantír in Saruman's possession could easily detect these unmoving watchers.

Thus, every event in and around Isengard was recorded in leaf and root, passed quietly along to the Ents.

Before long, Treebeard brought troubling news. Saruman was secretly recruiting orcs from the Misty Mountains and rallying the wild men of Dunland to his cause. Worse still, the orcs he contacted were none other than those entrenched in Moria.

The coincidence was chilling. Sylas and Gandalf had only just resolved to join forces with the dwarves to confront the orcs and the Balrog within those dark halls, and now Saruman was courting the same enemy.

This changed everything. Whether for the sake of seizing the Balrog's fire or cutting off Saruman's reinforcements, Moria had become a far more urgent matter. If Saruman succeeded in allying with the orcs, his power would swell beyond imagining, rivaling even that of Mordor.

And Saruman was no ordinary foe. As a Maia of Aulë, the Vala of craft, he possessed not only formidable sorcery and cunning, but also a mastery of industry that could forge armies and war machines to dark perfection.

He could create various engineering marvels, forge weapons, and swiftly arm an entire army. Saruman's talents in engineering and smithing were unmatched in all Middle-earth, capable of granting immense military strength.

When Gandalf received word of this, a deep sense of urgency gripped him. To prevent Saruman from gaining command over the orcs, Gandalf resolved to go north to the Lonely Mountain and organize a second expedition to Moria. With the dwarves' strength, they could destroy the orcs entrenched there and sever Saruman's influence.

At the same time, Gandalf intended to join forces with Sylas and the dragon Smaug to eliminate the Balrog lurking in Moria's depths, thwarting any chance of alliance with Sauron and ensuring the safety of Middle-earth.

Leaving the Ents to continue their watch over Saruman and Isengard, Gandalf, Sylas, and Arwen departed Fangorn Forest and traveled north, stopping first in Lórien. There, Gandalf explained the situation to Galadriel and Celeborn. Both were gravely concerned and supported Gandalf's plan to help the dwarves reclaim Moria.

They pledged their aid when the time came, offering to send Lórien's warriors to block Moria's eastern gate in the Dimrill Dale, cutting off the orcs' escape and crushing their strength.

Moria, birthplace of Durin's folk, had once been the dwarves' greatest stronghold. They had delved deep through the Misty Mountains, with the main gate on the west and a rear gate in Dimrill Dale to the east, making it a vital passage connecting east and west.

In ancient days, before they dug too deep and awoke the Balrog, Moria was called Khazad-dûm, and travelers of many races, Elves of Lórien included, would pass through on their way to Rivendell or the distant Grey Havens.

But since the Balrog destroyed Khazad-dûm and claimed Moria, the passage had been lost. Now, anyone seeking to cross the Misty Mountains must brave the perilous High Pass far to the north, or take the long southern detour through the Gap of Rohan, a journey that consumed many times the distance and time.

With Galadriel and Celeborn's backing secured, Gandalf did not linger in Lórien for long.

He flew north on his broom, bound for the Lonely Mountain. Sylas, however, remained in Lórien for a few more days. Arwen took him walking beneath the golden canopy, their feet sinking into the soft carpet of fallen mallorn leaves. She spoke with a quiet fondness, telling him the age of each tree, pointing out those she had planted herself.

At times, they would lie together on the grassy hill of Cerin Amroth, where elanor and niphredil bloomed in gentle profusion, gazing up at the vast blue sky. Other times, they followed the winding course of the Nimrodel to its cascading waterfall, listening to the sound of the water, a song like the voice of an Elven maiden.

Sometimes, Sylas would accompany her to Caras Galadhon's heart, where the Elves gathered in greatest number, sharing verses of poetry and listening to legends of the Elder Days. Upon the hill of Cerin Amroth grew two rings of trees: an outer circle of white-trunked pillars, and an inner ring of golden-leaved mallorns. In the center stood a great mallorn bearing a white platform between its branches, from which the whole Golden Wood could be seen.

There, Sylas and Arwen sat together, the breeze brushing their faces as they gazed over the distant horizon. The wind stirred Arwen's long black hair, and the sunset bathed her in a holy, radiant light. The evening star shone in the sky above, mirroring the Evenstar jewel at her breast, as if she were the very incarnation of the stars upon the earth. Sylas could not take his eyes from her.

Arwen's gaze turned toward him, her eyes glimmering with soft starlight. "Sylas," she said gently, "perhaps you have heard the tale of my foremother Lúthien and her love for the mortal hero Beren?"

Sylas shook his head, his expression softening. "Not clearly. Will you tell it to me?"

Her eyes drifted westward toward the setting sun, her voice carrying a serene weight. "Lúthien was the daughter of Thingol, King of Doriath, and Melian the Maia. She was the fairest of all the Elves, her song could outshine the stars, and her dancing was like moonlight falling upon still water. She met and loved the mortal man Beren. Together they dared to take a Silmaril from Morgoth's crown, but on their return they were attacked by Carcharoth, the great wolf. Beren slew the beast to protect the jewel, but he was mortally wounded and died in Lúthien's arms.

"Her heart could not bear their parting. She surrendered her immortal life and went before Mandos, Lord of the Dead, and sang to him of her love. The Valar, moved by her grief, restored Beren to life, on the condition that Lúthien become mortal and share his fate. She accepted without hesitation. They lived together for a brief span, then passed beyond the circles of the world forever."

Arwen's eyes returned to Sylas, her voice soft yet steady. "If it were you, would you choose a short but happy life with the one you love?"

Sylas met her gaze and shook his head firmly.

"No, I will not accept someone giving up eternal life for me, just for a fleeting moment of happiness."

Arwen was stunned, and the starlight in her eyes dimmed for an instant.

"Because I am greedy," Sylas continued, his voice warm but resolute. "I hope to live with my beloved forever, until the end of the world, to see the sun, the moon, the stars, the seas and the mountains, until the end of all things!"

He reached out, clasping Arwen's hand with a bright, almost ostentatious smile. "So I will never allow my lover to pay the price of eternal life for my sake. That would leave me guilty for the rest of my days, never at peace. So, Arwen, will you spend every day of the future with me, forever, until the end of the world?"

Listening to Sylas's confession, Arwen's heart was caught between surprise and joy. Tears welled in her starry eyes, but hesitation lingered.

"Although I, too, long for eternal companionship," she said softly, "I can feel you are different from Gandalf. You have the fate of Men… so how can you live forever in this world?"

Sylas winked at her with quiet confidence. "Have you forgotten that I am also a wizard? Mortals cannot resist death, but wizards can."

"Truly?" Arwen asked, hope lighting her gaze.

"Of course," Sylas said, his tone certain. "Being with me does not require you to surrender your immortality." He held her hand a little tighter, reluctant to let go.

In truth, he felt no doubt about achieving immortality. Beyond the Phoenix Animagus path, he still had the Philosopher's Stone, and if all else failed, he could follow Voldemort's dark example and craft a Horcrux. Flawed though it might be, it remained an effective safeguard against death. So long as he did not divide his soul into fragments like Voldemort, the madness could be avoided. Creating such a thing would always be his last resort, never undertaken unless absolutely necessary.

Though she did not understand the details of his plan, Arwen felt the steady confidence radiating from him and chose to trust him. Her cheeks warmed as she looked down at their joined hands, but she made no effort to pull away.

The two sat together on the highest platform of Cerin Amroth, watching the distant sunset in peaceful silence, the air between them calm and warm.

When they returned to Caras Galadhon, it was Galadriel and Celeborn who first noticed the change in the bond between Sylas and Arwen. Galadriel glanced at him with a half-smile, saying nothing, while Celeborn's brow furrowed. He cast Sylas a sharp, disapproving look before turning to Arwen with concern.

"Arwen," he asked gravely, "have you truly thought this through?"

Arwen's gaze was steady, her voice unwavering. "Grandfather, I have made my choice. Sylas is my only and unchanging choice."

...

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