In LOTR with Harry Potter system

Sylas got along remarkably well with Bard and his family.

Bard was warm and hospitable, and his two children were bright, curious, and kind-hearted. Sylas, always generous, took out a few dazzling pieces of jewelry from his enchanted pouch and gifted them to the children. Their eyes sparkled with delight as they clutched the colorful gems.

Three days had passed since Thorin, the company of Dwarves, and Gandalf had departed Lake-town.

Now, standing proudly outside Bard's house, Sylas welcomed a new creation into the world: the very first flying broomstick of his life.

Crafted from the sturdy heartwood of an ancient willow, the broomstick had a sleek, white finish, its contours flowing smoothly like a polished river stone. Along its shaft were etched runes, faintly glowing. The tail end flared into neatly cut thin branches, arranged to ensure both balance and aerodynamic stability.

With the final enchantment in place, Sylas could hardly contain his excitement.

He set the broom beside his foot, stretched out his hand, and commanded, "Up!"

The broom rolled lazily on the ground.

His brow twitched.

"Up!" he repeated, this time with confidence and authority.

With a sharp whoosh, the broom sprang into the air and landed squarely in his hand.

Sylas grinned.

Holding it tightly, he stepped outside, followed by Bard and the children, who were curious about the strange contraption.

Sylas swung his leg over the broom and gently pushed off the ground.

The moment his feet left the cobblestones, a soft cushion of wind lifted him upward. He hovered effortlessly, just above the ground, feeling as if the broom were reading his movements and adjusting in real time.

Bard's family stood frozen in awe.

His young son let out a loud gasp of excitement, eyes gleaming as he tugged at Bard's sleeve, pleading to ride it too.

But Sylas was already lost in the thrill.

Tilting forward, he shot off like a comet, the broom responding with almost wild enthusiasm. One moment he was soaring above rooftops, the next he dipped too low, nearly crashing into a chimney. He zipped past narrow alleys, circled over the lake, and darted through wooden piers like a wayward firecracker.

"Ahhh!" he shouted, not entirely from fear, but from exhilaration. The wind tore through his hair, and his cloak flapped behind him like wings.

Down below, the townsfolk of Lake-town had gathered, their mouths open in disbelief. Children pointed skyward, while adults rubbed their eyes, wondering if they were witnessing a wizard or a new kind of dragon.

At that moment, Sylas accidentally swooped near the town mayor's house. The mayor, nearly struck as he leaned out his window, recoiled in a flustered panic.

He recognized the airborne figure as the strange guest staying with Bard. And as he watched the magical broom zip past again, he cursed under his breath, frustrated that such a remarkable person hadn't been staying under his roof.

Meanwhile, Sylas was completely unaware of the commotion he had caused in Lake-town. After a few wobbly loops and some near-crashes, he finally managed to control the broom well enough to land steadily in front of Bard's house.

Seeing the excitement and longing in Bard's children's eyes, Sylas smiled warmly and promised that one day, he would take them flying.

With a few final words of gratitude and a proper farewell, Sylas mounted his broom once more and rose into the sky, soaring in the direction of the Lonely Mountain.

As for the legendary black arrow hanging in Bard's home, Sylas had considered borrowing it to confront Smaug. After all, it was said to be the only known weapon in Middle-earth capable of piercing a dragon's scale armor.

But in the end, he decided against it.

That arrow belonged to Bard. It was his legacy and destiny.

Sylas had something far more powerful in his possession.

The divine spear, Aeglos, once wielded by the Elven High King Gil-galad, was capable of piercing even Sauron's enchanted armor during the last alliance of Elves and Men. If it could wound the Dark Lord himself, then surely it could match or even surpass the power of Bard's black arrow.

So he left the arrow behind.

The speed of a flying broom depended heavily on the quality of craftsmanship. In the magical world, brooms came in various series: the Sweep Series, Comet Series, Nimbus Series, and the famed Firebolt, the fastest of them all.

Although Sylas had managed to recreate the enchantments and structure of a functional broom, he was still a novice craftsman. His creation was, frankly, slower than even the most outdated model in the wizarding world.

But even so, with magic propelling him forward and wind guiding his way, he managed to cover the distance Thorin and the others had taken three days to walk in just half a day.

By the time Sylas appeared as a distant black speck in the sky, Gandalf was the first to spot him.

A grin broke across the old wizard's face.

"Aha! Our last companion has finally arrived."

At Gandalf's voice, the rest of the group turned their heads skyward, squinting into the sunlit blue.

There, growing larger by the second, was a figure racing across the clouds.

Bofur rubbed his eyes, dumbfounded. "By Aulë, am I still dreaming, or is that Sylas flying through the air on a broomstick?"

The others stared in stunned silence.

Soon, Sylas came clearly into view, descending gracefully from the sky. With a slight lean forward, he slowed his flight and landed gently in the grass ahead of them.

"Everyone, I'm not too late, am I?" he said with a grin, brushing windblown strands of hair from his face.

"Welcome back, Sylas," Gandalf said, stepping forward and pulling him into a warm embrace. His eyes gleamed with excitement as they dropped to the broom in Sylas's hand.

"You made it much faster than I expected. What was it like, flying?"

Sylas laughed and held out the broom for him to try. "Why don't you find out for yourself?"

Gandalf's eyes lit up at once. Without a shred of hesitation, he snatched the broom from Sylas with the glee of a child given a new toy.

"Then I won't be polite about it!"

As Gandalf began examining the broom with great interest, turning it over in his hands and muttering to himself, Sylas turned to greet the others.

The first person to approach him was Bilbo.

The Hobbit looked as if he had found his courage again, yet at the same time, he avoided Sylas's eyes, shifting from foot to foot with a sheepish expression.

Sylas noticed it immediately.

Bilbo, honest to a fault, was struggling with guilt.

He hadn't meant to leave Lake-town so suddenly without saying goodbye, but Thorin had threatened him with the signed contract. And even though the dragon had already awakened, Bilbo had reluctantly agreed to sneak into the Lonely Mountain to steal the Arkenstone. He hadn't wanted to go, but he also didn't know how to say no.

And in truth, there was another reason.

Bilbo had faith in the magical ring he carried in his pocket.

As long as he wore it, he believed he could move invisibly through the mountain, even under the nose of a dragon. It was the only reason he dared agree to Thorin's plan at all.

Still, the way he had left, abruptly, without warning Gandalf or Sylas, left him with a knot of guilt in his stomach.

But Sylas didn't seem angry at all.

He placed a reassuring hand on Bilbo's shoulder, offering a warm, understanding smile.

Bilbo blinked in surprise. Relief visibly washed over him.

Sylas didn't see Bilbo as a subordinate. He was a friend, and friends didn't need permission to make their own choices.

Turning from Bilbo, Sylas stepped forward to greet the Dwarves.

To be fair, he had come to admire most of them over the course of their long journey together. Each had their strengths and quirks.

Balin, the eldest among them, was wise and level-headed, the closest thing the group had to a strategist.

Fíli and Kíli, Thorin's nephews, were youthful, quick-witted, and easy to like.

Bofur, with his round belly and jovial nature, was the heart of the group. Always quick with a joke or a cheerful word, he made even the coldest nights bearable.

The rest each had something to respect. Courage, loyalty, stubborn pride.

All except one.

Thorin Oakenshield.

Sylas still couldn't decide how he felt about Thorin.

When Thorin finally spoke, his voice was low and guarded. His eyes were sharp and unreadable.

"Welcome back, Sylas," he said. "I hope you're here to help reclaim the Lonely Mountain, not to talk me out of it like Gandalf."