In LOTR with Harry Potter system-Chapter 451 - 450

"The Gardens of Lórien also welcome you." A cool, dreamlike voice drifted down, it belonged to Irmo, the Vala of dreams and visions.

The other Valar likewise extended their invitations, each eager to welcome the one who had claimed dominion over time.

"It is my honor!" Sylas replied, accepting each invitation with genuine respect.

Then, once the last of the Valar withdrew their gazes, Sylas quietly let out a long breath of relief. Even now, possessing the power of time and standing among the Ainur as a peer, facing so many Valar at once exerted an immense pressure. The sheer weight of their collective attention had been almost suffocating.

Still, things were better than before. His mastery of supreme Transfiguration allowed him to reshape his form at will, and the power of time lent him a confidence he hadn't previously possessed. More importantly, their attitude toward him seemed genuinely friendly, and that was excellent news. If he could leverage these relationships wisely, the knowledge he stood to gain from visiting the Valar would be invaluable for his future.

Sylas had no intention of breaking his promises. He began carefully considering the order of his visits. His first call would naturally be upon Manwë, King of the Valar. Manwë held the highest position among all the Ainur, and it would be a grave breach of etiquette to visit any other Vala before him.

When visiting, it was best to bring gifts, a point Sylas had been advised on previously by Ulmo and Ossë. Drawing upon both bio-alchemy and supreme Transfiguration, Sylas crafted a pair of phoenixes and a pair of thunderbirds as offerings for Manwë and Varda.

Gandalf himself came to the city to escort Sylas on the journey to the summit.

Manwë's great hall, Ilmarin, along with Varda's palace, stood upon the peak of Taniquetil, the highest mountain of the Pelóri range and the tallest point in all of Arda. It was the place closest to the heavens, from which one could gaze out across the whole of Middle-earth.

Out of reverence for the Elder King, it was naturally unthinkable to simply fly up the mountain. And the soaring, untouchable heights of Taniquetil offered no visible path that could be climbed on foot. Yet that did not mean there was no way to reach the summit.

When Gandalf and Sylas arrived at the foot of the mountain, a brilliant arc of light shot from the peak to the base, forming an enormous and breathtakingly beautiful bridge. Sylas focused his gaze and realized that the structure was actually a bridge of gold, but the cold mountain mist and rainwater had condensed into countless droplets of dew along its surface, which refracted the sunlight into a shimmering spectrum of seven colors. From a distance, it appeared to be a rainbow.

Seeing the wonder on Sylas's face, Gandalf smiled.

"This is the Ilmavelë, the 'Skybridge.' It was woven by Oromë, the Huntsman of the Valar, from a single strand of Vána's golden hair, and one end is fastened to a pillar within the halls of Ilmarin." He gestured upward along the gleaming arc. "Whenever a guest is willing to accept the invitation of the Elder King, the Ilmavelë carries them to the summit."

With that, Gandalf stepped onto the golden bridge and beckoned for Sylas to follow.

Sylas regarded the magnificent structure for a moment, admiration stirring within him. It truly was a breathtaking creation. He set foot upon the bridge, its surface faintly ethereal, as though woven from solidified light, and ascended the steps one by one.

The bridge, though it spanned tens of thousands of feet in height, seemed to possess the power to compress distance. In what felt like mere moments, it carried them both to the mountaintop.

The summit of Taniquetil was pristine and white, blanketed in eternal snow. A vast and majestic temple crowned the peak, Ilmarin, the halls of the Elder King. Above them stretched the stars of Varda's making, brilliant and close enough to touch. Below, an endless sea of clouds rolled outward in every direction, suffused with a sacred radiance.

Sylas and Gandalf crossed the golden bridge and came to stand before the temple's great azure gates. The sheer scale of it was staggering, the doors alone towered so high above them that Sylas felt as though he had entered the land of giants.

The halls of Ilmarin were attended by spirits of wind and cloud, and also by Sorontar, the great eagle-spirit, who bore tidings from every corner of Arda, carrying the secrets of distant lands to the Elder King's ear. The Wind Spirits and Cloud Spirits drifted about the throne and the vaulted halls, their wings carrying the gentle breeze of Valinor's flower-fields, or weaving wondrous shapes among the clouds that wreathed the summit.

The Spirits of Light served Varda, tending the celestial dome above and guiding starlight down to envelop the temple in a luminous mantle.

The great blue gates of Ilmarin swung open, and out strode a tall, powerfully built figure.

He was clad in silver-blue armor beneath a sweeping cloak. A silver ornament etched with wind-patterns adorned his brow. At his side hung a longsword of white steel and a pair of silver horns. His hair was golden, his eyes a sharp, penetrating sapphire, and his bearing radiated calm authority, at once courageous and majestic, suffused with an aura of immense power.

Upon seeing him, Gandalf's expression shifted to one of deep respect.

"Your Highness, Eönwë."

Eönwë inclined his head toward Gandalf. "Olórin." Then his gaze turned to Sylas, his blue eyes flashing with keen interest.

"Greetings, Sylas. I am Eönwë, herald and banner-bearer of Manwë Súlimo. My lord, and the Lady Varda, await you within the hall. Please, follow me."

Meeting this legendary figure for the first time, Sylas felt the weight of a reputation well earned. The power radiating from Eönwë was staggering, a strength unmatched by any Maia beneath the Valar themselves, forged and proven in the War of Wrath, where this very commander had shattered Morgoth's armies and driven the Dark Enemy to defeat.

Even now, with the power of time at his command, Sylas lacked the confidence to best Eönwë in battle.

The herald, true to his reputation as a figure of few words, said nothing more. He turned and led the two visitors into the palace.

The interior of Ilmarin was vaster than its exterior suggested, a world unto itself.

The space seemed boundless. Beneath their feet stretched a colossal carpet woven from living white cloud. High above, the dome was fashioned from the azure substance of the ilma, the upper atmosphere that enveloped Arda, and it resembled the sky of Middle-earth, yet infinitely more transparent and pure. Countless stars were set within the ceiling, their light twinkling and shimmering, so that even without torches or lanterns, the entire palace glowed with a sacred, divine radiance.

Graceful falcons soared and glided through the vast interior spaces, and ethereal attendants, handmaidens of Varda, moved among the pillars in quiet service.

Sylas followed closely behind Gandalf and Eönwë, proceeding deeper into the great hall. Through veils of drifting cloud, a colossal throne of sapphire emerged, immense, its edges stretching outward like the horizon itself.

Upon it sat Manwë and Varda, hand in hand.

Manwë was tall and powerfully built, his face calm and dignified, his white hair flowing like swirling clouds across the sky. His eyes were the deep, fathomless blue of the heavens on a clear day. He wore a flowing robe of azure, the fabric stirring gently with the air around him as though he and the wind were one. In his hand he held a scepter of blue gemstone, its tip alive with a light like captured lightning, still and silent, yet containing the full fury of the storm.

He did not appear overwhelmingly large in physical stature. But his presence, his aura, enveloped the heavens and the earth. The entire sky seemed to be his embodiment. Standing before him, Sylas felt a profound, awe-inspiring pressure, as though at any moment the vast dome of the firmament might simply descend and crush him where he stood, leaving nowhere to flee.

And yet, this supreme ruler possessed a nature of perpetual calm and compassion. He rarely displayed anger. So few beings in Arda had ever truly felt the weight of his divine wrath. Whether Ainur or Elf, the feeling he inspired was reverence rather than fear.

Now, facing Sylas, Manwë's countenance held that same quality, clear and warm as an open sky, gentle as a summer breeze.

"Welcome to Ilmarin, Sylas."