Upon entering the Ancarim Tribe, Kaen was greeted with joyous cheers. The hillfolk welcomed him like a hero long lost to legend, now returned in glory.
As the crowd gathered, Thorin drew close to Kaen and, casting a cautious glance toward Ankharan, whispered,
"The people here rejoice at your coming. But that chieftain — I sense he bears no goodwill toward you."
Kaen smiled outwardly, his composure undisturbed. Yet through the bond they had forged, he sent Thorin a silent thought:
"When among equals there suddenly rises one of unmatched strength, the others are bound to tremble — not in awe, but in fear. They dread being overshadowed… or worse, made obsolete."
"I was once of their kind — not a lord, but a battle-mad hunter. Now, I return wielding power beyond their ken. They will not welcome it. They will resist it."
"But worry not. They cannot stir more than dust in the wind. Tonight, I shall show them what it means to stand before the King of Men."
Thorin's eyes shimmered faintly — with awe, perhaps… or expectation.
…
Once within the village, Kaen dispatched messengers to the homes of Caden, Mundar, and Zakri, bringing word of their impending return. Gifts were sent as well — signs of honor and remembrance.
Kaen then took his rest in the lodgings Ankharan had prepared, waiting for twilight.
By evening, the chiefs of tribes had arrived — most of them known to Kaen from the days of monster-hunting and battle. The sun had only just kissed the edge of the sky, and already moonlight and stars began to glimmer above, painting the heavens in sacred hues.
On the grassy field, a towering bonfire — three meters tall — was lit. Skins were stretched across drums, bone flutes sang out like ghostly birds, and the hillfolk formed circles, dancing with primal joy, singing songs older than memory.
Ankharan stood and raised his goblet.
"Chiefs and kinsfolk of the Anduin Valley! We gather tonight to honor the return of Kaen — the Monster-Hunter, now King! Let us drink to him!"
"Hail Lord Kaen!"
"The Valley is not whole without Kaen — as the Elves are not whole without their forests!"
"To Kaen Eoweníel!"
Cups clinked. Wine was raised. Kaen joined them in their cheer, though his mind remained ever watchful.
The chieftains came forth one by one, offering flattery and drink. Kaen accepted each toast, replying with courtesy — but never letting his guard fall.
Andric, surprisingly, did not appear at his side with goblets in hand as he had promised. Instead, he had found company among the Dwarves. Cheers and roars erupted from their corner — they had turned drinking into a contest of arm-wrestling and laughter.
Even amidst the revelry, Kaen's Golden clad Guard remained vigilant. Two-thirds stood watch in rotating shifts, allowing only a third to join the feast at any given time.
…
As the toasts continued, Kaen drank cup after cup — yet not once did his face redden nor his limbs slacken. He stood as steady as ever.
Some of the chieftains, however, began to falter. Their cheeks flushed with drink, their gazes blurred. Even Ankharan, who had downed several goblets already, stared at Kaen with veiled alarm.
The wine was no common vintage — it hailed from Dorwinion, along the inner sea of Rhûn, famed for its strength. Elves themselves grew light-headed from it. A man could lose his wits to a single cup.
And yet Kaen drank like he consumed water from a mountain spring.
This was not how it was supposed to go, Ankharan thought.
Kaen, of course, had noticed. He had discerned their ploy from the first cup. The warm welcome, the excessive drinking — it had all been orchestrated.
They sought to loosen my tongue, he mused. To draw secrets, or perhaps see my judgment falter.
He smiled inwardly.
Crude. Naive. But I shall play along.
He continued to drink, glass after glass, never once showing signs of wear.
Eventually, the chiefs could take no more. Their bellies sloshing, heads spinning, they finally relented and slumped into their seats. The air grew tense.
At last, Ankharan exhaled heavily, pushed his goblet aside, and leaned forward.
"Lord Kaen," he said, slurring ever so slightly, "you have founded your own kingdom — that much is known. But tell us truthfully… why have you returned to the Anduin Valley?"
At that, every drunken chief straightened. The firelight caught their eyes like wolves in the dark. Silence fell.
Kaen smiled — calm, unshaken.
"There are three reasons," he said.
"First: I have brought my men home. My commanders long to see their kin. Soon, they will return to my kingdom with their families, so they may live in peace and prosperity."
"Second: I ride to slay Smaug, the dragon of the Lonely Mountain. I stand beside Thorin Oakenshield, rightful prince of Erebor. He shall reclaim the kingdom of his fathers, and restore its former glory."
"Third: A host of 5,800 warriors marches behind me — from Rivendell, from Lothlórien, and from Eowenria. These Elves and Men shall unite here in the Valley… and from here, we ride to slay the beast."
A stunned silence.
Then an eruption:
"You're going to kill the dragon?!"
"I knew the Dwarves weren't here by chance — they vanished for a hundred years and now they return… to slay Smaug?!"
"Are they mad?! That dragon breathes fire that can turn stone to ash! To wake it is to bring death upon us all!"
"Kaen has lost his mind!"
"This is unacceptable! We cannot allow foreign armies into the Valley!"
"Aye! We forbid it!"
Panic gripped the chieftains like ice.
Ankharan slammed his goblet down.
"Kaen — we do not oppose your aid to the Dwarves. But you lived here once. You know the Valley does not permit foreign armies. Their presence disrupts the balance. It invites war."
Kaen's smile vanished.
"Is that so?" he said softly.
A storm stirred behind his voice.
His aura surged — like thunder rolling across distant mountains. Light — pure, elemental — rose from his form and wrapped around him in threads of power.
His gaze burned like flame as he looked upon them all.
"You speak of peace in the Valley. But who forged that peace?"
"I did. Kaen. A year ago, with blade and blood, I swept this land clean."
"It was I who drove out the Orcs, the Trolls, the Goblins, the Wargs. I led the hunters who cleansed this valley of evil. And now, when I call upon your aid, you speak of rules?"
"Are you fools? Or cowards?"
His words fell like hammer-blows.
It was true. The Valley had given Kaen shelter once — but he had repaid them tenfold with battle and blood. His efforts had bought their peace.
And now, they dared cast him aside.
So be it, Kaen thought. They think me a gentle king? Let them learn the truth.
His sudden flare of power struck the chieftains dumb. They sat frozen, wide-eyed, faces pale.
The magic in Kaen's voice echoed — like a chant whispered by gods in the ears of mortals.
"My army shall unite here in the Valley. That decision is final."
"Cooperate - and I swear upon my crown, I shall not interfere with your tribes or your lands."
"But if any of you dare to hinder me — then I need not summon my army. I shall deal with you myself… tonight."
"You think to pressure me? To conspire in secret?" His voice darkened. "Then ask your hunters, your warriors, how many among them would dare raise blade against me?"
The silence that followed was heavy… and absolute.
The bonfire crackled like distant thunder.
And Kaen, King of Eowenría, stood before them, cloaked in light, unchallenged.