In LOTR with Harry Potter system

"Wizards?"

The young Elf's sharp gaze swept over the two figures before him, lingering briefly on the shimmering magical bubbles floating above their heads.

He turned and spoke a swift command in Elvish to the others.

At once, the archers relaxed their bows.

"I am Legolas, son of Thranduil," he said clearly. "Gandalf the Grey, your name is known to me. My father speaks of you as a man of great wisdom."

Gandalf offered a slight bow, the hem of his grey robe brushing the mossy forest floor. A kind smile lit his face.

"I am honored to be held in such esteem by the King of the Woodland Realm."

Then, meeting Legolas's eyes, he added warmly, "Thranduil's son, you are as keen-eyed as the forest itself. It seems the winds of Mirkwood carry more than leaves. They bring forth talent as well."

Legolas looked faintly bashful beneath the praise, though he quickly composed himself and turned his attention to Sylas, curiosity flickering in his gaze.

"Not long ago, we captured some Orcs fleeing the Misty Mountains. They spoke of Azog the Defiler being slain by a wizard in black robes. Would that have been you?"

Sylas chuckled softly. "If there aren't any other black-robed wizards roaming about, I suppose it must have been me."

Legolas's suspicion eased, though a trace of caution remained in his voice. "Then may I ask, what brings two wizards into the heart of Mirkwood?"

Knowing the strained history between Elves and Dwarves, Gandalf saw no wisdom in revealing their true errand.

He cleared his throat and answered diplomatically, "We intended to pass through the forest on our way to Lake-town, but were ambushed by Giant Spiders before you found us."

Legolas nodded in understanding. "Then follow me. My father wants to speak with you."

Gandalf and Sylas exchanged a quick glance, silently agreeing. If Bilbo and the Dwarves had indeed been captured by the Elves, this might be the best way to find out.

And so, they began their journey north, escorted by the Elves through the deepening green.

As they moved further into the forest, the oppressive gloom of southern Mirkwood slowly gave way to fresher air and clearer skies. The corruption of the dark power faded, and the forest seemed to breathe again, its leaves gleaming and birdsong returning.

Seeing this, Sylas dispelled the Bubble-Head Charm. The air was finally clean enough to breathe freely.

Most of the Elves in Thranduil's realm were Silvan Elves, Wood-elves with hair of chestnut, raven, or dark mahogany. These Elves were deeply attuned to nature. They could whisper to the trees, track the movement of beasts through scent and sound, and vanish amidst riverbanks and branches with uncanny ease.

Yet their realm was not ruled by their own. It was the Sindar, the Grey Elves of nobler blood, who held the throne. Thranduil, and his son Legolas, were both of this lineage. Their golden hair marked them as different, as did their speech and bearing.

The Woodland Realm lay in the northeastern edge of Mirkwood, not far from its borders. A broad river, the Forest River, wound past the southern entrance to their hidden home.

Unlike the elegant open structures of Rivendell, Thranduil's halls were carved into the earth itself, a vast underground palace built beneath a hill draped in maple trees.

Its main entrance was a pair of towering stone doors etched with Elvish runes that shimmered faintly with enchantment. Once shut, they were nearly impossible to open without leave.

The two followed Legolas through the great stone gates and into the winding tunnels of the Woodland Realm. The path twisted through guarded checkpoints and narrow passageways, finally opening into a spacious and glittering hall.

At the center, high above the chamber floor, stood a throne carved from ancient stone, framed by a magnificent display of elk antlers.

Seated upon it was Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm.

He was tall and elegant, wearing a crown woven from red leaves and winter berries. His robe shimmered like moonlight on water, and though his face was handsome and still, there was a commanding pride in his eyes that few dared challenge.

"It has been some time, Mithrandir," Thranduil said, rising from his throne. He stepped gracefully down the stone steps, a polite smile gracing his lips.

"Your Majesty Thranduil," Gandalf greeted him with a respectful bow.

Sylas did the same, standing a step behind.

At once, Thranduil's keen eyes fixed on him.

"A rare sight, a young wizard such as yourself. You must be the Black Robed Wizard Sylas, the one who slew Azog the Defiler. Word of your deeds has reached me through distant kin. Wight-bane, Troll-slayer, Orc-breaker… quite the reputation you've earned."

"The rumors are somewhat exaggerated, Your Majesty," Sylas replied, shaking his head with a modest smile.

"I can judge that for myself," Thranduil said, waving the comment aside. "My scouts reported a thunderous blast deep in the forest not long ago. The trees in that region were flattened for nearly a hundred meters, and over a hundred Giant Spiders were left charred and lifeless."

He studied Sylas with interest. "That power far exceeds what the stories claim."

Then, with a trace of fatherly pride, he gestured toward Legolas. "Of course, you've already met my son. Legolas is the finest archer in all of Mirkwood. His arrows never miss their mark, and he has slain countless spiders that dared trespass into our woods."

Gandalf smiled and began to offer compliments with ease, praising Legolas's precision, courage, and noble bearing. He compared the young prince's skill to the great archers of old, weaving in just the right touch of poetic admiration.

Sylas watched as the corners of Thranduil's mouth slowly curved upward in satisfaction. Inwardly, he gave Gandalf a silent thumbs-up.

Clearly, the Grey Wizard had struck the king's favorite chord.

For Thranduil, there was no greater joy than hearing his son praised.

As for Legolas, he flushed with embarrassment under his father's praise and Gandalf's relentless stream of compliments, shifting slightly where he stood.

Pleased and in high spirits, Thranduil clapped his hands and declared a feast would be held in honor of their distinguished guests.

That evening, the halls of the Woodland Realm sparkled with firelight and music.

Thranduil sat at the head of a long, carved wooden table. Gandalf and Sylas were seated to his right, with Legolas nearby, acting both as a host and companion.

Elvish musicians played soft melodies, and the table was laden with crystal goblets of wine, fruits harvested from the hidden groves, roasted meats, and golden pastries infused with forest herbs and honey.

Throughout the meal, the air was light with laughter and song.

At a pause between courses, Thranduil turned to Gandalf, his tone shifting slightly with curiosity.

"So, Mithrandir, what brings you and your young companion through the heart of my forest?"

Gandalf answered somewhat vaguely, "We are making our way to Lake-town."

"Lake-town?" Thranduil paused, his hand halfway to his lips with a goblet of deep red wine. His eyes narrowed as he studied Gandalf and Sylas. "What enchantment could Lake-town possibly hold to draw two wizards to its wooden piers?"

He tapped a finger thoughtfully against the base of the goblet.

"I recall that the people of Lake-town are descended from the survivors of Dale. When the dragon first descended upon the Lonely Mountain, Dale too was caught in the flames. Its people fled across the waters and built the floating town that stands today."

His gaze sharpened. "Are you headed there because of the dragon that sleeps within the mountain?"

Realizing there was little point in denying it, Gandalf gave a small nod.

"Yes. We intend to investigate the Lonely Mountain. That creature's slumber is uneasy. If it awakens, the danger to the entire region would be catastrophic."

Thranduil's expression grew colder.

"So, you are working with Thorin Oakenshield. You mean to help him reclaim Erebor."

It was not a question, but a bitter conclusion.

The king's displeasure darkened the air in the hall like the thickening of a storm cloud. His voice, once smooth, took on a sharper edge.

Gandalf sighed inwardly. He had hoped to avoid this part of the conversation, but now that it had come, he pressed gently.

"Your Majesty Thranduil, then… you have encountered Thorin and his company already?"

There was no hesitation in Thranduil's answer.

"They trespassed into my realm and were captured. They now reside in my dungeons."

He set his goblet down with a quiet but final sound.

"You and Sylas are honored guests. The Woodland Realm welcomes you, and you may enjoy our hospitality freely. But if you intend to plead on behalf of the Dwarves, I advise you to save your breath."

He did not raise his voice, but the words held the firm weight of stone.

Gandalf opened his mouth to speak but stopped himself. There was no point. The line had been drawn.

Thranduil's position was clear. As long as their visit had nothing to do with the Dwarves, they were welcome.

...

Stones plzzz