The Strongest Wand

Though Sylas inwardly cringed at the ridiculous title of "Tree-Feller," he held his tongue. Now wasn't the time to argue over semantics, especially when he was here to ask for a favor.

Forcing a polite smile, he exchanged cheerful pleasantries with Gorbadoc Brandybuck, the head of the Brandybuck family.

When Gorbadoc heard that Sylas had ventured into the Barrow-downs, fought wights, and even emerged with spoils of war, his eyes went wide with astonishment and admiration. His tone grew even more respectful, and his curiosity only deepened as their conversation went on.

Eventually, Sylas presented a list of materials and asked the Brandybucks to help collect them. He offered a portion of the jewelry he had recovered from the wights as payment.

Gorbadoc Brandybuck agreed immediately, not even glancing at the list at first.

But the moment his eyes landed on the parchment, he blinked hard, then leaned in for a second, closer look—just to make sure he hadn't misread it.

It wasn't that the items were particularly expensive. Rather, they were... strange.

Mixed among relatively common herbs like mugwort, lavender, daisy root, and fig bark were far more questionable ingredients: crushed beetle eyes, rat spleens, caterpillars, slugs, dried snake skin and fangs, and even leech juice.

"Er... Master Sylas, are you certain this is the right list?" Gorbadoc asked with some hesitation, holding the parchment as if unsure what to make of it.

"Why? Are they difficult to find?" Sylas looked confused. "I know some of these are rare, so I don't expect all of them. But even a few would be useful."

"No, it's not that," Gorbadoc replied quickly. "If you need them, we'll do what we can to help. It's just, well, what exactly are they for? Of course, you don't have to say if it's a wizarding secret!"

Sylas laughed. "There's no secret. They're for Potions. These are ingredients I'll need for brewing them."

"Potions?" Gorbadoc echoed, still eyeing the list as if it might start wriggling. "With beetle eyes and rat tails?"

"I know it sounds odd," Sylas said, "but many powerful brews use ingredients you'd never expect."

Gorbadoc recalled something then. "Ah... that healing draught you gave Drogo. My daughter Primula cut her hand while out walking, and he used it. She told me the wound sealed up in moments. I saw it myself, it left no scar. Remarkable stuff."

The memory seemed to reassure him, and his expression softened with new understanding.

But Gorbadoc never expected that such a miraculous potion could be brewed from those strange and unsightly ingredients. The very idea shattered his understanding of how healing worked. To think that something so refined and effective could stem from beetle eyes and rat spleens, it upended everything he thought he knew.

Still, whatever his personal feelings, Gorbadoc was more than willing to help Sylas gather the needed supplies. In fact, he was more than a little curious about what kind of potion such a bizarre collection of components might ultimately produce.

Sylas was genuinely grateful for his support and quietly made a note to repay the favor in the future. However, he firmly declined Gorbadoc's offer to help for free. With a small hoard of treasure now in his possession, Sylas had no shortage of coin.

After saying his farewells and leaving Brandy Hall, Sylas visited the local blacksmith's shop. There, he presented a custom sketch and commissioned a crucible to be crafted from silver, a material known for its excellent magical conductivity. The crucible would be essential for his future potion-making endeavors.

Once that was underway, Sylas returned to Drogo's home in Bucklebury. There, he took out a small segment of heartwood, one Tom Bombadil had cut for him earlier. It was just the right size for a wand.

Drawing one of his enchanted Dúnedain daggers, Sylas began the careful task of carving the wand. The heartwood, typically as tough as iron, gave way beneath the dagger as easily as soft wax. Even though he had expected this outcome, Sylas still couldn't help but grin in delight. The craftsmanship of the northern Dúnedain was truly peerless, and he had four of these daggers in his possession.

Sylas's wand-carving skills were already refined, and with steady hands, he gradually shaped the wood, smoothing and sculpting it with great care.

A week passed in the blink of an eye. The new wand's form was now complete. For the wand core cavity, which required precise drilling, Sylas enlisted the help of a skilled Hobbit craftsman who used a diamond-tipped tool to bore the channel to exact specifications.

Once everything was prepared, he broke his first wand in half, carefully extracting the magical core from within.

Then, with utmost delicacy, he placed the core into the hollow of the new heartwood wand. Using sap he had collected earlier, he sealed the core inside, fusing wand and core into one harmonious whole.

After a meticulous final polish, Sylas chose the night of the full moon to perform the wand's awakening ritual.

Standing beneath the silver light, he raised the wand skyward and began to wave it in a slow, deliberate pattern. With each motion, he channeled his magic into the wood, murmuring the ancient incantation under his breath:

"Runix-Inscri-Berry, Spiritus-Orare-Resonantia..."

The chant, long and flowing like a sacred melody, echoed softly through the night. As he spoke, the moonlight seemed to shimmer and gather, forming a silvery mist that danced down from the sky and spiraled into the wand.

The once-silent wand pulsed with life. A gentle rhythm began to resonate from within it, like the quiet thrum of a heartbeat. Magic surged through Sylas, flowing naturally from his core and out through the wand, as if it were a living extension of his own arm.

Then, with a sudden burst, golden musical notes erupted from the wand's tip like sparks of joy. The notes floated through the air like little glowing spirits, their sound harmonizing into a bright, cheerful tune that shimmered with energy and light.

The music, carried on the wind, drifted across the whole of Bucklebury. Wherever it passed, Hobbits paused in wonder. Faces lit up with pure delight. Laughter rang out from windows and gardens, and sleepy-eyed children woke to twirl beneath their quilts, dreaming of dancing stars and singing flowers.

Sylas, too, was swept up in the moment, his heart light and joyful, partly from the enchantment, and partly from the sheer triumph of the wand's success.

The combination of the two most powerful wand materials, the ancient heartwood of the Old Willow Tree and the enchanted hairs of Goldberry and Tom Bombadil, had granted Sylas's new wand a deeply mysterious and formidable magic.

It resonated with him completely, amplifying his spells far beyond their original strength. The difference was staggering.

With the same effort and magical output, a spell cast through this wand unleashed power several times greater than when cast with his old willow wand. Where once his musical charm might have reached a garden or two, now its joyful notes had swept through the entire Bucklebury countryside like a midsummer festival.

The gap in strength was like night and day.

Sylas gently ran his fingers along the wand's smooth surface, his heart swelling with satisfaction. With this wand at his side, his magical capabilities had grown exponentially.

Enthralled, he began experimenting with it like a child with a brand-new toy, casting spell after spell with glee, levitating flowers, lighting candles in mid-air, summoning sparkles that danced like fireflies. Each spell came easier, faster, and stronger.

Only after fully familiarizing himself with the wand's rhythm and response did Sylas finally settle down.

...

Bonus @700 PS

Read advance chapters ahead @ p/treon.c-om/Keepsmiling818