Representatives from every free people of Middle-earth were gathered in Rivendell.
Elrond, Lord of Rivendell, Glorfindel, Captain of the House of the Golden Flower, Lady Galadriel of Lothlórien, Galdor, envoy from the Grey Havens, Legolas, prince of the Woodland Realm.
Boromir, son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor. Éomer, nephew of King Théoden of Rohan. Bain, son of Bard of Dale, Grimbeorn, son of Beorn, representing the Anduin Vale.
Aragorn, Chieftain of the Dúnedain.
Glóin of Erebor, Gimli, his son, Dáin Stonehelm of the Iron Hills, Balin's kin from Moria.
Bilbo Baggins, Frodo Baggins.
Gandalf the Grey, Radagast the Brown, The Blue Wizards.
Sylas, the Wizard and Guardian of Hogwarts
Thanks to Sylas and the Department of Magical Communications, every realm was now connected by an expanded Floo Network, allowing representatives to reach Rivendell quickly through enchanted fireplaces.
The chamber buzzed with greetings and reunions as old friends met again.
The moment Glóin spotted Bilbo and Sylas, he roared happily and threw his thick arms around both.
"By Durin's beard, Bilbo! Sylas! I never thought I'd meet you both again!"
Bilbo laughed warmly. Sylas smiled, eyeing the dwarf's barrel-like belly.
"It seems life has treated you well, Glóin, you've only grown rounder."
Glóin slapped his own stomach, beard quivering with laughter."I'm getting old! But you two, still looking exactly the same as decades ago. Wizardry, now that's magic!"
He turned and hauled forward a younger dwarf with a broad helm and a beard just beginning to braid.
"Come, let me introduce my son, Gimli. One of the finest young dwarves of Erebor!"
Gimli winced as Glóin smacked him on the back of the helmet, nearly knocking it askew.
"Father, please..." he muttered, rolling his eyes, though clearly used to this treatment.
He straightened, bowed politely, and said,
"Greetings. I am Gimli son of Glóin. An honor to meet you both."
Sylas studied him with interest and a faint smile.
'This is the dwarf who will one day walk beside Legolas… fight in the Battle of Pelennor… and even sail west to Valinor with his elven friend.A rare soul indeed.'
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Gimli," Sylas said warmly.
He summoned a small brooch into his hand, a beautiful piece of enchanted metalwork.
"This is a protective charm. It can shield you from three mortal blows. A small gift to commemorate our first meeting."
Gimli's eyes lit up instantly.
"Truly? Thank you, Master Sylas!"
He pinned it proudly to his chest.
Glóin beamed, his beard trembling with joy.
"You lucky boy! Sylas's gifts are never ordinary, mind you treasure it!"
He gave his son another hearty whack on the shoulder, nearly knocking him over in delight.
Glóin, knowing Sylas well from their past together, immediately recognized how precious such a brooch was. A charm that could block three fatal blows was no small trinket. He could not refuse a gift of such value, only remember the kindness closely.
Soon after, the others approached Sylas as well.
Boromir, heir to the Steward of Gondor, Éomer, prince of Rohan, Bain, son of Bard of Dale, Grimbeorn, son of Beorn, representing the Anduin Vale.
One after another, they greeted Sylas warmly.
Their fathers, and in some cases, grandfathers, had known Sylas in years past. To them, Sylas was half-mentor, half-legend.Boromir and Grimbeorn in particular addressed him with familiar affection:
"Headmaster Sylas!" "Professor Sylas!"
And it was no exaggeration.
As Dúnedain and Beornings, both Boromir and Grimbeorn possessed latent magical affinity. They had each received letters from Hogwarts in youth, completing seven years of magical study alongside traditional combat training.
Thus, in addition to their swords and axes, both carried wizard's staffs strapped to their backs.
Sylas welcomed them like old friends, gifting each a protective charm just as he had done with Gimli.
The enchanted brooch could block three ordinary spells, or, when needed, turn a deadly arrow or blade. On the battlefield, such trinkets meant the difference between life and death.
When greetings concluded, everyone took their seats around the great round table. Murmurs quieted, cloaks settled, and the mood shifted.
The Council was about to begin.
Elrond, as host, should have been the one to speak first.But because he was bound by magical secrecy wards, protective curses placed decades ago to contain knowledge of the One Ring, he was unable to reveal certain truths.
Only Sylas, the caster of those wards, remained exempt.
Thus, Elrond stepped aside and inclined his head.
"Sylas,"
A ripple of surprise passed among those who did not yet know the purpose of the Council.
Sylas rose slowly, his expression solemn.
"There are some among you," he began, "who do not yet understand why this Council was summoned. Because of ancient magical oaths, Lord Elrond and many others have been unable to speak of it. Therefore, I will explain."
He let the silence settle.
"You have all heard legends of the One Ring, the Ruling Ring forged by Sauron."
Several around the table shifted uneasily.
"In the great Battle of the Last Alliance," Sylas continued, "Isildur cut the Ring from Sauron's hand. The Dark Lord was defeated… yet not destroyed."
His voice darkened.
"Isildur kept the Ring. It betrayed him, and he died. The Ring vanished… its whereabouts unknown."
He paused, letting ancient history sink in.
"But the One Ring has resurfaced."
Murmurs.
"It was found, by chance, decades ago by Bilbo Baggins."
Many heads turned sharply toward the unassuming hobbit, who swallowed nervously.
"For safety, we entrusted it to one of the oldest and most ancient beings in Middle-earth," Sylas continued, "the guardian known as Tom Bombadil, who kept the Ring untouched for many years."
"But in recent times, the Ring's power has grown restless. Its influence has awakened."
Sylas continued speaking, his tone calm but carrying the full weight of the truth.
Bit by bit, he laid out everything.
...
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