"Let Alanil go first," said Anlomir, stepping back with a friendly grin.
After spending the morning together, Anlomir and Alanil had already become fast friends. Thanks to Aragorn's gentle guidance, the human boy and the young elf found it easy to talk, their differences quickly turning into curiosity rather than distance.
Though Alanil was technically far older, older even than Aragorn himself, her childlike appearance and gentle nature made Anlomir feel oddly protective. To him, she seemed like a younger sister, and he couldn't help but take on the role of the older brother.
Bill Olivendine, however, gave the elf no time to protest.
"Excellent! Then our young friend of the elves shall be first!"
He leaned forward, his vivid green eyes studying Alanil with such intensity that she shifted uncomfortably. Then, with a flick of his wand, a silver-marked measuring tape flew from the counter and began its meticulous work.
It darted and danced around the elf, measuring from shoulder to fingertip, wrist to elbow, knee to armpit, even the distance between her nostrils.
Anlomir stared, half amused and half bewildered.
Bill chuckled as he worked, clearly in his element.
"Every Olivendine wand has its own nature," he explained. "That's what makes them special. We craft them with the finest cores, dragon heartstrings, thunderbird feathers, eagle feathers, and sometimes even elven hair. No two wands are ever the same, not even when made from the same source. It's as impossible as finding two identical leaves on the same branch. That's why borrowing another wizard's wand never works quite right."
Once finished, the tape snapped back to the counter.
"Alanil, yes? Which is your wand hand?"
The elf hesitated, then raised her right hand.
"Either is fine," she admitted shyly, "but I usually use my right."
"Right then." Bill nodded and turned toward the shelves. He rummaged for a moment before returning with a slim rectangular box. Opening it, he revealed a pale yellow wand, elegant and faintly luminous.
"Elves," Bill said with a knowing smile, "often favor wands with an elven hair core. This one's white oak, infused with a strand from a Sindar elf. Give it a try."
Alanil's amber eyes widened slightly, she was herself a Sindar elf from Rivendell.
Carefully, she took the wand. It felt warm, alive, and strangely familiar.
"Now, just wave it," Bill instructed, stepping back with a grin.
Alanil raised her hand, and with a hesitant flick, the wand burst to life.
A blinding white beam shot upward, striking the ceiling with a thunderous crack. A neat circular hole opened instantly, dust sprinkling down like snow.
Alanil gasped, her face turning pale.
"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to...!"
Her parents rushed forward, startled. Aragorn instinctively stepped between her and the falling plaster.
Anlomir, however, was staring in awe, eyes wide with admiration.
Bill merely waved a hand, utterly calm.
"No need to apologize. Happens all the time," he said cheerfully.
He picked up a wand from the counter, gave it a short wave, and the hole in the ceiling sealed itself perfectly, leaving no trace.
The elves looked on in astonishment, while Anlomir leaned forward, his excitement growing.
Bill took the pale wand back, shaking his head.
"Not that one," he said thoughtfully. "Too much raw power, not enough harmony. Let's find another."
He disappeared into the maze of shelves, his red hair flickering like a flame between the stacks.
Minutes passed. Then came the sounds of clattering boxes, small explosions, and gusts of wind. Every so often, a flash of light burst from the back room, followed by a muffled curse or laugh from Bill.
The chaos continued. Each wand Alanil tried produced spectacular but uncontrolled results, streams of water, bursts of wind, a miniature thunderstorm, and once even a sudden flurry of flower petals that filled the shop with the scent of spring.
By now, the group on the bench had stopped flinching. They simply watched, half in awe and half amusement, while the shop window drew curious glances from passing wizards outside.
At last, Bill returned to the counter, a satisfied smile on his face. In his hand was a two-toned wand, its shaft alternating between red and white wood, shimmering faintly in the light.
"Ah, this one," he said with quiet pride. "Fourteen inches. A rare hybrid wood from a tree spirit's spring branch. I traded an entire bottle of Plant Growth Potion just to obtain it."
"The core," Bill Olivendine said proudly, "is a strand of hair from a Sindar high elf who once passed through here. He purchased a wand from me on his way west, to the Grey Havens, where he meant to sail across the sea to the Blessed Lands."
A reverent hush fell over the shop.
Alanil accepted the wand reverently, holding it with both hands. The instant her fingers closed around the polished wood, she felt a gentle current rush through her arm, as if the wand had melted into her very being.
A soft, silvery light blossomed around her. Her hair glowed like starlight, her eyes reflecting faint waves of gold and green. And faintly, so faintly it might have been imagination, there came the sound of elven song, lilting and ethereal, weaving through the air like the wind through leaves.
The entire room went silent in awe.
Anlomir's mouth hung open. The elven couple stood transfixed, pride and wonder shining in their eyes. Even Aragorn, who had seen many wonders in his life, could not help but smile.
Bill clapped his hands together, his face alight with joy.
"Marvelous! Truly marvelous!" he exclaimed. "Ms. Alanil, you will become an extraordinary elf indeed. That wand was meant for you!"
Alanil's cheeks flushed crimson under the praise, and though she ducked her head shyly, she held the wand close to her chest, unwilling to part with it even for a second.
Her parents exchanged a knowing look, part pride, part relief.
Then Bill turned toward Anlomir, whose excitement could hardly be contained. The boy's eyes were wide, his hands twitching with anticipation.
"Alright, little sir," Bill said warmly, "your turn."
What followed could only be described as controlled chaos.
Boxes flew, ribbons of colored magic danced through the air, and several times Aragorn had to duck to avoid a stray burst of wind or light. Anlomir tried wand after wand, each one producing an impressive but unpredictable reaction, gusts of fire, sparks of light, and once even a miniature thunderclap that rattled the shelves.
Bill was delighted. The others were less so.
At last, after what felt like hours, Bill presented a wand made from turtlewood, a rare and sturdy tree known for its deep connection to endurance and balance.
"Try this one," he said, eyes glinting. "Twelve and a quarter inches, turtlewood shaft, giant eagle feather core."
The moment Anlomir grasped it, the chaos stilled.
The wand glowed faintly, warm and solid in his hand. A deep, rhythmic hum pulsed through his fingers, steady, grounded, strong.
His face lit up with wonder.
"Alanil, look!" he said breathlessly, holding it out for her to see. "This is my wand! It's incredible! It feels like it's part of me, I can feel power flowing through it!"
Alanil smiled softly, still cradling her own wand, the glow in her eyes matching his enthusiasm even if her nature was quieter.
The two children stood side by side, their wands gleaming faintly in the shop's gentle light, one bright and ethereal, the other solid and enduring. For a moment, they looked every bit the future that Sylas's world had dreamed of: harmony between races, joined by the same magic.
Watching them, Aragorn and the elven couple shared a smile.
Aragorn then approached the counter.
"Mr. Olivendine," he asked, "how much for the children's wands?"
Bill wiped his hands on his apron and replied matter-of-factly,
"Seven Galleons each. That's the new student rate set by our Lord and the Ministry of Magic. Normally, replacement or specialty wands cost more."
Aragorn nodded approvingly.
"Lord Sylas's generosity never ceases to impress me," he said. "He not only teaches magic freely but even ensures his students can afford their wands."
Aragorn himself carried a wand forged by Sylas personally, a gift from years past, and had no need to buy one. But he knew well how costly wands could be. Among wizarding folk, especially those outside Sylas's lands, the price of an Olivendine wand was astronomical.
Even a single wand could cost hundreds of Galleons, and in Gringotts currency, five Galleons could buy a Rohan warhorse. To own a wand, then, was no small fortune.
Hearing Aragorn's praise, Bill's chest swelled with pride.
Bill, having been personally trained by Lord Sylas in the ancient craft of wandmaking and granted the honor of bearing the Ollivander name, held his mentor in the highest reverence. To him, Sylas was not merely a teacher, he was a visionary, the architect of an age where magic united every race under a single banner.
So when Aragorn's words of praise reached his ears, Bill's heart swelled with pride greater than if the compliment had been for himself.
"To hear others speak well of the Lord," Bill thought, "is the greatest reward for those of us who follow him."
Aragorn reached into his cloak and drew out fourteen Galleons, their golden gleam bright under the lamplight.
"Here, seven for each wand," he said, placing them on the counter.
But before Bill could take them, Alantar, the elven father, raised a graceful hand in protest.
"Estel," he said softly, using Aragorn's elvish name, "you needn't trouble yourself. We've already exchanged enough currency at Gringotts. You don't need to pay for us."
Aragorn smiled, shaking his head with gentle insistence.
"No, my friend. You know me too well to think I'd let that pass. Consider it a gift, a token of friendship, and of fate bringing us together again after so long. I haven't set foot in Rivendell for many years. Let this be my way of honoring our reunion… and Alanil's first step into her own story."
The elves exchanged a glance, clearly touched, yet still hesitant to accept.
Before they could speak again, Bill cleared his throat politely.
"If I might interrupt for a moment," he said with a warm smile that crinkled his green eyes, "perhaps we can solve this another way."
Both men turned to him, curious.
"My two elven friends," Bill continued, "I have a favor to ask of you. As you may know, wand wood and cores are rare and precious, but what is rarer still is elven essence, the harmony your kind holds with the living forces of nature. I've spent years perfecting the art of blending these elements, and I'd be deeply honored if…"
He paused, then said more plainly,
"…if you would each allow me to have one strand of your hair, to craft new wands. In return, these two wands today will be my gift to your children."
The elven couple blinked in surprise, momentarily speechless. Then Alantar smiled faintly, his wife nodding beside him.
...
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