To Sylas's surprise, Dorwinion was not only home to Men but also to Elves.
In the West, Elves tended to live apart, whether in Rivendell, Lothlórien, or the Woodland Realm, they maintained seclusion, keeping only measured contact with Men while avoiding close entanglement. Yet here in the East, in Dorwinion, he found a different sight entirely: Elves and Men living side by side.
As Sylas flew over the vineyards, he saw both races working in the fields together. They shared the same land but kept to their own quarters, separate yet interwoven.
Drawn by curiosity, Sylas guided his broom toward the largest Elven settlement.
The vineyards here were unlike anything he had seen. The vines were ancient and colossal, their roots thick as serpents and their trunks broad as pillars, each covering thousands of square meters and towering higher than ten men. Winding up their massive supports were grape-laden tendrils, some fashioned into dwellings.
Elves had shaped delicate homes high upon the vines, woven from living greenery like great hanging nests. Vine-ladders spiraled down to the ground, giving access to the "bird-nest" houses. They swayed lightly in the breeze, glimmering with lamps like stars caught in branches. Others lived in more familiar yet still elegant dwellings built on the forest floor, or within the caverns of ancient roots.
But Sylas's gaze was caught by one vine above all, a giant that dominated a small hill. Its trunk was so broad that several Elves together could not encircle it. Its bark was rough and cracked, patterned like the scales of some ancient dragon. The vine spread across the entire hilltop, casting a vast green canopy like an opened parasol.
Beneath its shade stretched a wide meadow, emerald and rolling. There, at the foot of the vine, stood a great Elven manor, proud and resplendent.
The moment Sylas approached, the Elven lord of the manor felt his presence. He raised his gaze sharply to the skies.
"Who goes there?" he called, and at once the guards of Dorwinion leapt into readiness, bows drawn and spears leveled toward the intruder.
Realizing he had been discovered, Sylas dispelled his Disillusionment Charm and angled his broom downward, descending slowly and openly.
The Elven lord's eyes narrowed with wariness as the stranger alighted before him. "Name yourself."
Sylas landed lightly upon the grass, bowed with the formal Elven greeting, and spoke in fluent Sindarin.
"Friends of Dorwinion, be at ease. I am Sylas, the Black-Robed Wizard, come from the West bearing goodwill."
"A Wizard? From the West?" The Elven lord studied him closely. Sylas's tongue and manners bore the weight of Elven lore, yet caution lingered.
"Yes," Sylas replied with calm assurance. "I hail from Eriador, west of the Misty Mountains. I count myself a friend to the Elves of Rivendell, Lothlórien, and the Woodland Realm."
The manor lord's brows lifted at that. Even in Dorwinion, far from those western havens, the names of Imladris, Caras Galadhon, and Thranduil's halls were well known, especially the Woodland Realm, whose wine trade bound it to Dorwinion for generations.
The Elven lord studied him again and sensed no deceit. Any mortal who held the friendship of three such Elven realms could not easily be false. His suspicion eased, though not entirely, and he inclined his head.
"Then, Wizard Sylas, be our guest."
Sylas accepted the invitation with a smile.
That evening he was welcomed into the open-air hall of the manor. Elven attendants brought out trays of fruits and finely wrought dishes, each seasoned with grapes in clever ways. Jars of Dorwinion's famed vintage were uncorked, filling the air with a sweet, heady perfume.
The table gleamed with color, deep wines, golden fruits, and gleaming silverware beneath the glow of lanterns strung along the vines.
Sylas raised his goblet, tasted the wine, and felt its fire spread through him. Stronger than anything brewed in Gondor or the Shire, Dorwinion's wines lived up to their fame: even Elves could be made drowsy with but a few cups. For a mortal, a single draught might be enough to send him into slumber.
The lord of the manor introduced himself as Calenmir, a Sinda Elf, one of the respected Elven lords of Dorwinion.
As he explained, Dorwinion had no king nor single ruler. Instead, it was a rare land of shared harmony, where Elves and Men lived side by side. Among the Elves dwelt Sindar, Nandor, and even Avari who had never sailed West. Among Men were descendants of the Houses of Bëor and Hador, who had wandered eastward after the Elder Days.
Each people kept their own tongues, customs, and settlements, and rarely interfered with one another's daily lives. Yet in times of peril, when Easterling raiders threatened or foreign armies encroached, they fought as one, standing shoulder to shoulder against invaders.
Their bond was strengthened by trade as well as battle. The Elves tended vast vineyards and brewed Dorwinion's renowned wines, while the Men carried the casks westward. They ferried them down the Running River to Esgaroth, whence they traveled onward to the Woodland Realm, Dale, and Erebor.
Through this cooperation, Dorwinion remained a bright and thriving haven, the only land in the far East of Middle-earth that darkness had not yet claimed.
During the banquet, as goblets were refilled and songs of harvest drifted through the vine-hung hall, Calenmir turned to Sylas with measured curiosity.
"Wizard of the West, Dorwinion lies many leagues from your home. Tell me, what purpose brings you so far into the East?"
Sylas did not feign excuses. Knowing the Elves of Dorwinion had dwelt in these lands for ages, he spoke plainly.
"Lord Calenmir, I seek knowledge of Hildórien, the place where the race of Men first awoke. Do you know of it?"
Calenmir's brows rose in surprise. "Hildórien? You search for the Awakening-place of Men?"
Sylas inclined his head, his voice tinged with hope. "Do you know where it lies?"
The Elf lord's expression softened into regret. "Alas, no. I only know the old tales: that Hildórien lies far east of the Sea of Rhûn, beyond even Cuiviénen where our people first stirred, near the Eastern Sea. But it is a land no Elf of Dorwinion has ever reached. To us, it remains only a name borne on ancient song."
Sylas had steeled himself for disappointment and did not show it outwardly. If the Elves could not tell him, then other paths must be sought.
He pressed on. "Then, Lord Calenmir, may I ask if you know of the Blue Wizards, Morinehtar and Rómestámo?"
Calenmir's face brightened, and admiration warmed his tone. "Indeed I know of them. Dorwinion owes much of its safety to their labors.
"When the hosts of the Easterlings and the Wainriders swelled, shadow fell heavily upon the East. Dorwinion too stood at the brink. Yet the two Blue Wizards wandered tirelessly, rallying Elves and Men alike. Time and again they turned back enemy hosts, kindled rebellion, and preserved this land from corruption. Without them, Dorwinion would long ago have fallen under the Dark Lord's dominion."
Sylas's eyes lit with eagerness. "Do you know where they are now? I would seek them out."
Calenmir shook his head, though not unkindly. "Their movements are veiled. They appear like shadows where they are most needed, even journeying deep into Easterling strongholds to strengthen the free peoples and confound the servants of the Enemy. Because of them, Sauron's armies are forever occupied in the East, and thus Dorwinion enjoys peace.
"But if you wish to find them, I would counsel you to travel to Dongyi, a great city south of the Sea of Rhûn. Of late, that place has been restless, uprisings flaring like sparks in dry grass. Many believe the Blue Wizards are the ones stoking the fire of rebellion there."
Sylas inclined his head, gratitude glimmering in his eyes. At last, he had a lead.
And in that instant, the familiar voice of the system stirred within him:
"Hogwarts Sign-in System: Dorwinion detected. Would you like to sign in?"
The system chimed at last.
Sylas's heart leapt. "Sign in."
"Sign-in successful. Congratulations on obtaining Occlumency!"
A slow smile spread across his face. Occlumency, the art of shielding the mind. In the wizarding world, it was known as the discipline that built walls within thought, a defense not only against Legilimency but, when perfected, even against the Imperius Curse itself.
But Sylas immediately saw more than simple defense. To him, Occlumency was a weapon. It was a fortress of the will.
Sauron's greatest power was not merely armies or sorcery, but corruption, the subtle ensnaring of hearts and minds, the way he bent kings into wraiths and whispered men into madness. If Occlumency could shield him from such influence, then perhaps he need not fear the Dark Lord's gaze. If his mastery became flawless, perhaps even the One Ring itself would hold no sway over him.
The thought made his pulse quicken.
'To bear the Ring without bowing to it… could that truly be possible?'
For now, the Blue Wizards could wait. Calenmir, lord of the Dorwinion manor, had extended an invitation, and Sylas chose to remain for a time. The vineyards were tranquil, the wine rich, and here he had the space to test his new gift.
The first step in Occlumency was silence. To empty the mind of thought and passion, to let stillness reign where noise and fear clamored.
For many, this discipline took years. But Sylas had long practiced meditation, a habit of clearing distractions until his thoughts were steady as still water. Moreover, the Crown of Wisdom he bore quickened his mind and sharpened his reason, so that within days he had already touched the threshold of mastery.
Each day, he sat in solitude among the vines, closing his eyes and shaping an inner shield. At first it was like a faint veil, thin but present. With effort, it thickened, becoming a wall, then a fortress, blocking the whispers of others from brushing against his thoughts.
To his astonishment, he discovered a new clarity. Where once Legilimency had left him drowning in the chaos of others' minds, now it obeyed his command. He could close the door, or open it with precision, like a lantern switched on in the dark, listening only when he willed it.
But Sylas was not content with walls. His imagination reached further.
He recalled Severus Snape, who in the stories of Hogwarts had hidden not only thoughts but woven falsehoods strong enough to deceive Lord Voldemort himself. Occlumency at its highest did not merely shield, it could shape.
Given this, Sylas wondered if he could also use mental power to construct a giant fortress in his mind, like Hogwarts Castle? In this way, he could hide his memories in the deepest part, preventing external prying, and even avoiding mental erosion and corruption of the mind like Sauron's.