Chapter 430: Sign-in at Alqualondë
Kael felt the sadness settle over him quietly.
One by one, the companions of his earlier years were gone. The circle of familiar faces had grown ever smaller.
He looked at Arwen, at Elthir, at Gandalf and Elrond standing nearby. At least he still had family and old friends. However long the years ahead might be, he would not face them alone.
"Where are they buried?" he asked. "I'd like to visit them sometime."
Legolas answered quietly. "On a beautiful hill on the eastern shore of Tol Eressëa. You can see the east from there."
Kael nodded and said nothing more.
[Hogwarts Sign-in System: Location detected — Alqualondë, Aman. Sign-in?]
The system prompt appeared after a long silence.
Kael blinked, slightly startled. It had been a while.
During his five hundred years wandering Middle-earth, he had visited every corner of the continent and completed quite a few Sign-ins along the way. Most of what he had received had been the usual Wizarding World fare—spell books, magical techniques, and the occasional curiosity, like an old wandmaker's craft, a self-producing cauldron that brewed potions automatically, or a Lucky Fountain that produced Felix Felicis without end. There had also been darker things: blood-curse Orc magic, werewolf and vampire curses, instructions for creating Dementors, and techniques for producing ghosts.
Some of it had been interesting. But very little had meant much to someone who had been operating at Maiar level for centuries.
He was curious what Valinor might offer.
Sign-in, he answered inwardly.
[Sign-in successful! Congratulations — you have received the crafting knowledge for a Time-Turner!]
A Time-Turner.
Kael's attention sharpened.
He had always been curious about Time-Turners. They had simply never come up in any of his previous Sign-ins, so he had put the thought aside. Now, of all places and moments, here it was.
Of everything in the Harry Potter world, Time-Turners were among the most remarkable. A magical device that could reverse time — that such a thing could be crafted by wizards at all, and used by students no less, had always struck him as quietly extraordinary.
In Arda, even the Valar could not command time. The power of the Three Elven Rings, remarkable as it was, had only ever reached as far as slowing time's erosion — preserving the beauty and vitality of places like Rivendell and Lothlórien. That was the limit. True authority over time, in Arda, belonged to Ilúvatar alone.
And yet the Harry Potter world had produced Time-Turners.
When the knowledge settled into him fully, his interest deepened further. The information he had received was not simply a set of crafting instructions. Woven through it was something more fundamental — an understanding of the underlying principles of time magic, the theory and essence behind it.
Even at his current level, fully comprehending that layer of it would take time. But once he had, it would open more than just the ability to make a Time-Turner. He would be able to use time magic directly — and from there, to go further, to keep studying, to grow stronger in a direction he had not yet explored.
It was a better result than he had hoped for.
He set the thought aside for later, brought his attention back to the present, and rejoined the group.
The greetings and conversation having run their natural course, Galadriel led the company away from the dockside and up through the city toward the palace at the highest point of Alqualondë, where they were to call upon its ruler — Olwë.
Olwë was the lord of the Telerin Elves in Valinor, one of the most ancient of the High Elves, who had led his people to Aman and settled them at Alqualondë. He was also Galadriel's maternal grandfather, and they were close. It was on that basis that she now brought the company to pay their respects.
Alqualondë was beautiful in the way particular to places that have had a very long time to become themselves. The buildings were predominantly white and blue, adorned with gemstones at every turn. The streets were broad and immaculate, paved with crushed diamonds that caught the sunlight and scattered it into something like a field of tiny, brilliant stars.
At the city's highest point, backed by the mountains, stood the palace—vast and serene, its white walls adorned with large pearls of every colour, along with iridescent mother-of-pearl and coral. Inside, the ceiling had been painted to evoke both the night sky and the deep ocean at once, with lines of gold tracing the paths of stars and the shapes of waves, and great gemstones set in place of the stars themselves. The furniture and fittings were carved from pale sea-wood, etched with images of swans and waves, and finished throughout with pearl and coral.
In the great hall, at the far end, a tall and imposing Elven lord sat upon a throne of red coral, a crown of pearls on his head, a soft light moving around him.
Galadriel led the group forward. Gandalf, Elrond, Kael, and the others came with her to stand before the High King of the Telerin Elves.
Olwë's gaze moved across the assembled company. His voice, when he spoke, was low and measured, like water moving over stone.
"Welcome — guests from Valimar, from Tirion, from Tol Eressëa, and from Middle-earth. Your coming honours Alqualondë."
He already knew Gandalf and Elrond and the others well enough. His eyes settled on Kael with open interest.
"I had thought no more ships would sail from Middle-earth. Yet here, on the last ship to make that crossing, comes a most unusual passenger."
Kael stepped forward and inclined his head with genuine respect.
"Your Majesty. It is an honour. I am Kael, a wizard from Middle-earth."
He could feel the power in Olwë—Maiar level, clearly, and well beyond where Kael himself currently stood. It was comparable to Gandalf's, perhaps even equal to it. As one of the most ancient of all the High Elves, Olwë had had immeasurable time to accumulate that depth of power. More than that, he had dwelt in Valinor and, in the Elder Days, walked beneath the light of the Two Trees. That kind of nourishment left a permanent mark.
"I have heard of your deeds from the Lady Galadriel," Olwë said, his tone carrying genuine appreciation. "The shadow over Middle-earth has passed. There is peace there now, after long ages of darkness. You had a part in that."
What went unspoken, yet was plain in Olwë's expression, was a deeper curiosity. This human wizard had reached Maiar-level power entirely through his own efforts, in a land as spiritually impoverished as Middle-earth had become. Those who had attained that level in ages past—Eärendil, Glorfindel, and others—had done so with the direct help or blessing of the Valar. Even Olwë himself, in becoming what he now was, had drawn upon centuries of Elven experience and the light of the Two Trees. This man had had none of that, and yet had still reached the same threshold.
It warranted a certain respect.
"You and your companions have only just arrived," Olwë said. "I expect you have not yet found a place to settle. Would you consider staying here? Alqualondë welcomes all true friends."