The carriage's interior was nothing short of breathtaking.
Its thick wooden floor gleamed with polish, and the space was neatly arranged with sofas, low tables, and even a small fireplace where flames burned steadily without smoke.
From the vaulted ceiling hung a grand crystal chandelier, its light reflecting like stars across the walls.
The ceiling and sides of the carriage were made of transparent glass, offering an unobstructed view of the world beyond.
Most of the guests stood or leaned against the windows, peering outside in awe—except Bilbo and Gandalf, who had ridden in the carriage once before and sat with serene familiarity.
At the head seat sat Sylas, dressed for this day of days.
Upon his brow gleamed the Crown of Wisdom; he wore a fitted Elven robe of pure white, bound at the waist by a dragon-skin belt studded with azure gemstones.
His boots were cut from scaled dragon hide, his silver cuffs traced with faint runes that shimmered with light.
The ensemble, chosen by Gandalf and Bilbo themselves, was meant to make him the unmistakable protagonist of the day, the Lord of Weathertop and the bridegroom of the Evenstar.
Sylas sat upright, expression calm yet distant. His gaze drifted toward the open horizon beyond the crystal walls, his thoughts already far ahead in Rivendell.
Sensing his quiet mood, the others respectfully refrained from speaking.
When everyone was settled, Gandalf leaned toward the open doorway and called out with booming cheer, "Depart!"
The next instant, the carriage began to move—smoothly, silently.
Not even the drinks in their goblets trembled.
The twelve winged horses pulled forward in perfect unison. Then, spreading their snowy wings wide, they rose from the ground.
The wheels lifted effortlessly; the golden carriage glided into the air, clearing the high walls of Hogwarts Castle on Weathertop and ascending toward the heavens.
Gasps and shouts of amazement filled the carriage as the castle grounds dropped away below.
"Look!" cried Kíli, pressing his face to the window. "Behind us!"
Everyone turned—and their eyes widened.
Two rows of armored riders followed close behind, mounted upon twelve majestic Hippogriffs, each with wings of bronze and talons like forged steel.
"Those are our Hippogriff Guard!" said Brog, the Dunlending chieftain, his chest swelling with pride. "Gifts from our Lord Sylas! Since he flies to Rivendell for his engagement, we naturally must show our strength and loyalty!"
The Dwarves whistled in admiration.
The Hippogriffs soared in formation, their wingbeats thundering rhythmically through the clouds.
Sylas himself was taken by surprise. He hadn't known of any escort.
But when he glanced toward Gandalf—and caught the wizard's unmistakably smug grin—he understood.
"This was your idea, wasn't it?" Sylas said dryly.
Gandalf chuckled. "Naturally. Today you go to claim the heart of the Evenstar herself! Rivendell will be full of Elves, so we must make a proper impression, my boy. A lord should arrive as a lord."
He leaned back, eyes twinkling. "At first, Bilbo and I considered waking Smaug to fly alongside Thorondor for an even grander entrance—but after some thought, we feared that might, well… alarm your future father-in-law."
Bilbo coughed into his hand, his face half-sheepish, half-amused.
Sylas could only stare at them both, a twitch forming at the corner of his mouth.
"I'm going to get engaged, not invade Rivendell," he muttered.
Gandalf only laughed, the sound echoing warmly through the carriage.
Far below, in Hogsmeade and Bree City, the citizens craned their necks to watch as the golden carriage streaked across the morning sky, followed by twelve gleaming Hippogriffs.
Cheers erupted in the streets.
They knew, their Lord was traveling to Rivendell to wed the Evenstar.
Though they regretted not witnessing the engagement ceremony themselves, hope filled their hearts, for custom decreed that the wedding would take place at the groom's home.
Then, next year, they would celebrate in Weathertop's great courtyard beneath banners of gold and silver.
Travelers and merchants on the East-West Road halted in wonder.
Some knelt; others simply watched with open mouths as the carriage blazed through the clouds like a comet.
A wandering painter, overcome by the sight, snatched up his easel and captured the moment, the golden carriage soaring from Weathertop, flanked by Hippogriffs, sunlight catching on its wings.
The carriage sped eastward, gliding effortlessly above the clouds.
Inside, laughter and awe filled the air as the guests gazed out at the cotton-white sea below, where the world looked tiny and dreamlike.
Balin, brave lord of Moria though he was, leaned out once, went pale, and promptly lay flat on the carpet.
"My heart… can't take it," he groaned.
The others roared with laughter.
They crossed the East-West Road, sailed over the empty wilds of Eriador, skimmed the shining Clearspring River, and passed above the Trollshaws, where the ruins of ancient stone giants still stood.
By noon, the golden carriage had reached the skies over the River Bruinen.
"We're almost at Rivendell. Everyone, tidy up your appearance, we must be presentable and not bring shame!"
Gandalf glanced down at the valley below, his sharp eyes sweeping across the company before he spoke.
At once, the Dwarves, who had been lounging in all sorts of undignified poses, scrambled to straighten themselves up.
"Bombur! Stop eating! You've got crumbs all over your beard!"
"Bofur, watch your step! You've just stomped on my new boots with your donkey hooves!"
The group erupted into chaotic motion, buttons were fastened, braids were re-tied, and cloaks were hastily brushed clean.
Fíli cast a teasing glance at his younger brother. Kíli was grinning at the commotion, unaware of the mischief brewing in Fíli's eyes.
"Kíli," Fíli called out loudly, "I remember the last time we passed through Rivendell, you seemed rather taken with an Elf. Got any thoughts about going back this time?"
Kíli froze. His eyes darted immediately to Tauriel, his wife.
"Tauriel! Believe me, I didn't! Fíli's talking nonsense!" he stammered, his face reddening.
The other Dwarves burst into laughter.
"Oh, we remember! He said that Elf was quite the looker, and even winked at him!" someone shouted from the back.
Tauriel's lips curved into a dangerous smile.
Kíli blanched. "Tauriel! The Elf they're talking about was a man! I swear!"
That earned him a raised eyebrow and a look of pure disbelief. The poor Dwarf's face went crimson, his mouth opening and closing helplessly.
The company's laughter rang through the air, echoing down the mountain path. Even Gandalf's lips twitched beneath his beard. The mood grew lighthearted and cheerful as they approached their destination.
Beyond the rushing waters of the Bruinen River lay the valley of Rivendell.
Under the coachman's steady hand, the twelve white winged horses guiding the carriage began to descend, their feathers glinting in the fading sunlight. The wheels skimmed the mist over the river as they swept into the valley.
At the sight of the approaching carriage, the Elven sentries stationed along the cliffs sounded their silver horns.
Rivendell itself was alive with song and celebration. Elves from Lothlórien, Lindon, the Woodland Realm, and even Dorwinion in the Far East had gathered here.
For this was no ordinary day. Lord Elrond, master of Rivendell and one of the wisest among the Eldar, was hosting the engagement of his daughter. Among all Elves of Middle-earth, Elrond's lineage, blending the noble blood of the Noldor, Vanyar, and Sindar, made him a unifying figure of immense prestige.
The air shimmered with music. Voices sang the ancient ballad of Lúthien and Beren, the immortal tale of love between Elf and Man.Elves moved gracefully through the courtyards, weaving garlands of flowers and trailing vines around lanterns that glowed with starlight.
Even before dusk, Rivendell glittered as if beneath a thousand stars. Lanterns hung along the cliffs and bridges, each one glowing with soft silver fire. The waterfalls and streams below shimmered with enchantment; each drop of water seemed to carry its own melody, creating a harmony that filled the valley with serene beauty.
From above, twelve white winged horses drew a golden carriage that seemed almost to walk upon the surface of the river, while twelve proud Hippogriffs followed close behind, wings folded in perfect formation.
The horses touched down gracefully, hooves striking the cobblestone path in rhythm. The carriage rolled to a stop before the stone bridge leading to the Last Homely House.
The coachman leapt down and set a polished wooden ladder in place. Another attendant opened the door and stepped back respectfully.
Across the bridge, Lindir, Elrond's trusted aide, stood waiting with a group of Elven attendants.
As the golden carriage came to a gentle stop before the bridge, Lindir and the Elven attendants stepped forward to welcome their guests.
Under countless watching eyes, Gandalf descended first. His staff gleamed faintly in the lantern light as he smiled.
One by one, the others followed: Bard, Lord of Dale; Balin, Lord of Moria; the company of Dwarves; Tauriel of the Woodland Realm; Legolas of the Greenwood. Finally, the last to emerge from the carriage was Sylas, his expression calm but eyes shining with anticipation.
"Lindir, you've waited long enough," Sylas said with a friendly grin.
Lindir bowed slightly, his expression courteous yet familiar. "Welcome, my lords and friends. Please, follow me."
Behind them, the winged horses pawed lightly at the ground, folding their white feathers close. The Hippogriffs stood in disciplined formation, and the Barbarian warriors, Sylas's sworn guards, remained on watch.
Led by Lindir, the procession crossed the stone bridge toward the glittering heart of Rivendell.
The banquet hall of the Last Homely House shone with a radiance that seemed woven from moonlight itself. The air was fragrant with the scent of lilies and mountain herbs, and soft Elven melodies drifted through the vaulted chamber.
At the head of the hall stood Lord Elrond, dignified and serene, with Galadriel and Celeborn beside him, their presence lending an almost sacred light to the gathering. Even the usually reclusive Glorfindel had come forth from his solitude to attend.
And then there was Arwen.
She wore a delicate crown shaped like butterfly wings, forged from mithril and adorned with tiny diamonds and pale gemstones that shimmered like morning dew. From her Elven ears hung three layers of fine white-bead tassels that swayed like drops of moonlight.
Her gown, woven from silver-threaded silk, flowed around her like the surface of a still lake. She leaned lightly against her grandmother Galadriel, radiant and serene.
When her eyes found Sylas among the guests, her face blossomed into a smile, soft, luminous, filled with quiet joy.
And at that instant, Sylas's heart stilled.
He could no longer look away.
That night, beneath the new moon, the gardens of the Last Homely House glowed with silver lanterns and the faint music of waterfalls.High above, the Star of Eärendil shone brighter than ever, as though blessing the union from the heavens.
Guests lined the flower-strewn path. Elven maidens sang of Lúthien and Beren, while harps and flutes wove their melodies through the night air. The tale of immortal love seemed to come alive once more in Rivendell.
Before them all, surrounded by petals and starlight, Sylas reached into his cloak and drew forth a silver ring that he had forged with his own hands. Gently, he placed it upon Arwen's slender finger.In turn, Arwen lifted a shining ring of her own and slipped it onto Sylas's hand, her touch trembling only slightly.
Then Gandalf stepped forward, his voice carrying through the still air.
"Before the eyes of Elves and Men, let it be known that Sylas of the North and Arwen Undómiel are now betrothed, bound in promise and in light."
Sylas, overwhelmed with emotion, drew Arwen into his arms and kissed her, heedless of Elven restraint.
Applause erupted like thunder. The Dwarves, having tried valiantly to behave with dignity, finally gave up entirely and broke into wild cheers.
Their booming voices and impromptu Dwarven drinking songs easily drowned out the delicate Elven harps, but none took offense. The Elves only smiled, amused and touched by their sincerity.
Under the silver glow of the stars, Rivendell rang with laughter, song, and blessing. The celebration lasted long into the night, and for once, joy united Elf, Man, and Dwarf alike.
...
STONES PLZZz
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