Chapter 420: Biological Alchemy
Even having ascended to Maiar level, Kael was still some considerable distance from what Gandalf truly was — a Maia in the fullest sense, unbound and undiminished. The gap was real, and Kael was clear-eyed enough to know it.
"Farewell, Gandalf," he said, with a warmth that carried some genuine reluctance. "I wonder when we'll next see each other."
Gandalf's eyes were bright, his smile easy and unhurried.
"Oh, don't be mournful about it, Kael. We're only going on ahead. And time means little to us — a few decades, a few centuries, they pass like a breath. When you've had your fill of Middle-earth and finally board your own ship, I will be waiting for you at the harbour of Avallónë. You have my word on it."
He gave a small, pleased nod, as though the thought genuinely delighted him. "You've never been to Valinor. You can't yet imagine what it is — a whole continent, no smaller than Middle-earth, and full of sacred wonders that don't translate well into words. When you arrive, I'll take you to see all of it, one place at a time."
Kael laughed. "You're making it sound rather appealing. If I didn't have so many things still holding me here, I'd be tempted to sail with you today." He paused, letting a lighter note into his voice. "And speaking of losses — losing you as our flying instructor is going to be a real problem for Hogwarts. Finding someone with half your skill on a broomstick is not going to be easy."
Gandalf made a sound of theatrical regret. "What a shame to miss the first Quidditch match of the term. They don't play that sort of game in Valinor, I'm afraid."
"That's easily solved," Kael said. "Organise a tournament there. Set the Vanyar against the Noldor, the Sindar against the Teleri — with Elven agility, the matches would put Hogwarts' Quidditch to shame."
The two of them laughed, and the lightness of it made the parting easier. They both knew this was not a final farewell — only a temporary one, measured in years or decades rather than eternity. The sadness was real but not heavy.
One by one, the farewells were made. Kael and the others watched as Gandalf and the rest made their way up the gangplank.
Frodo and Bilbo were aboard the same ship. At the quayside, they embraced Sam, Merry, and Pippin — slowly, as people do when they know an embrace needs to last.
Kael said his own goodbye to Bilbo, and pressed a spatial pouch into the old Hobbit's hands before letting him go. Inside it were enough vials of the Elixir of Life to sustain both Bilbo and Frodo until the day Kael and Arwen made their own crossing to Valinor.
Valinor was the dwelling of the Valar — a blessed land, but not one that would grant Bilbo immortality on its own. Kael had prepared for that well in advance, using the Philosopher's Stone to produce more than enough. They would live to see him again.
The great steam whistle sounded. The last of the passengers had boarded. The ship began to move, pulling slowly away from the quay and turning its bow toward the west, toward the open sea, into the dying light of the setting sun.
On the shore, Arwen stood close against Kael's side. Their hands found their children's. The four of them watched together as the ship grew smaller against the horizon.
There was sadness in it — but also a quiet certainty that the parting was not permanent. It made the grief easier to carry.
For Sam, Merry, and Pippin, there was no such comfort. They stood together with tears running freely, watching until there was nothing left to see. They understood, as Kael and Arwen did not need to, what it truly meant for a mortal being to watch a friend sail into the West. For them, this farewell had every chance of being the last.
The ship's departure was not the only departure of that day. The Grey Havens, which had always held a quiet, dignified sort of life, grew noticeably emptier. The Elves boarding the ship were not only from Rivendell and Lothlórien — Elves from Lindon and the Grey Havens themselves had chosen to sail as well. When the ship had gone, the harbour felt hollow.
There were a few Elves remaining, for various reasons of their own. But they were few, and with each passing year, there would be fewer still. The day would come when the last Elf departed from these shores, and the harbour would simply stand empty, its purpose outlasted.
With the farewells given, Kael's company did not linger. They returned to Hogwarts through the Floo Network.
Sam, Merry, and Pippin made their separate ways back to the Shire, carrying their grief home with them and taking up their lives again.
Sam had not only received Frodo's generous gift of wealth — Bag End itself had been left to him, for him and his wife and whatever family came after them.
Back at Hogwarts, Kael and Arwen turned their attention to taking proper charge of Rivendell and Lothlórien.
Rivendell's Elves had mostly gone. Only a handful remained: Arwen's brothers, Elladan and Elrohir, and Elrond's secretary Lindir, along with a few others. They had not sailed with Elrond — not yet. They meant to stay in Middle-earth a while longer, for reasons of their own. Lindir took up the role of secretary to Arwen in her capacity as Queen, and Elladan and Elrohir intended to spend the remaining time before their own departure helping their sister manage the affairs of Rivendell.
In Lothlórien, the Noldor and Sindar had all departed with Galadriel. Only the Silvan Elves remained — those who loved their home too much to leave it for an unknown shore. They lived on in the forest as they always had, loyal to their Queen of the Evenstar, keeping watch over the Golden Wood and its peace.
Hogwarts, Rivendell, and Lothlórien were all now held within the reach of Cemya's power, protected from the slow erosion of time. Kael and Arwen made a habit of spending time in each of the three places over the course of every year, in part so that Cemya's connection to each could be regularly renewed and maintained. Under that protection, none of the three would fade. Flowers would not wither. Trees would not die back. The beauty of each would remain exactly as it was, season after season, for however long Kael chose to sustain it.
——
In the Hogwarts laboratory, Kael was engaged in a deeply unusual alchemical experiment — one that had no common name, but which he had come to think of as biological alchemy.
Biological alchemy was in a different category from anything as straightforward as producing the Philosopher's Stone. It was far older, far more complex, and it reached into territories that ordinary alchemy did not touch: life itself, and the soul. He had received the knowledge during his time at Mount Doom — an ancient form of biological alchemy drawn from the Harry Potter world, obtained through the system.
In a certain sense, it was not so different from creating life.
On the workbench before him, a fleshy mass floated in midair, slowly writhing, emanating a faint pulse of living energy — and it was, in fact, alive.
Kael had extracted the vital essence from the body of a Uruk-hai and used alchemical methods to preserve it in a living state. In every meaningful sense, the thing on the bench was not dead matter. It breathed, in its own fashion. It moved.
He continued his work. He positioned the mass within an alchemical array, then raised his wand and began carefully stripping out the traits he had no use for — the aggression, the defiance, the bloodlust that ran through Orc-kind — while leaving intact the traits that suited his purposes: loyalty and obedience. The genetic markers, as it were, of a creature that would follow rather than rebel.
Then he drew out a separate quantity of blood — a pale reddish substance, clearly Elven — and directed it into the mass. The blood threaded through the flesh like fine capillaries, forming red filaments spreading through the whole until the material was laced with them.
At this stage, the mass was not only alive but touched with magical affinity. It had become, in some nascent way, naturally receptive to magic.
Kael paused the work on the mass itself. He turned and, with a gesture, summoned an iron cage that had been waiting in the corner. Inside it was a half-Orc.
"Avada Kedavra."
The green light struck cleanly. The half-Orc dropped where it stood, the fear on its face going still.
Kael raised his wand again and spoke a low, complex incantation. A faint, translucent shape rose from the body — the half-Orc's soul, twisting and dark, visibly incomplete, thrashing in the air with desperate, directionless panic. It had no strength to resist.
He bound it within the alchemical array.
And then the deeper work began.