Whether in the Undying Lands of Aman or upon the wide fields of Middle-earth, both were but parts of the same great world — Arda, the realm shaped by the will of Eru Ilúvatar, the One, Creator of all.
It was Ilúvatar who formed this world for His Children, the Elves, who would awaken first, and Men, who would come after.
The Valar and the Maiar, though mighty beyond reckoning, were but His servants — architects and wardens of the world, not its masters.
Long before the Two Trees shone in Aman, there had been an elder age — the Age of the Great Lamps.
In that time, the Valar, together with their lesser kin the Maiar, shaped the lands and seas of Middle-earth. At each end of the world, they raised two mighty Lamps, whose light bathed all Arda in undying day.
But among the Valar was Melkor, greatest in power yet most proud of heart — he whom the ages would name Morgoth. Desiring to rule all creation, he corrupted many Maiar to his cause, and in his malice, he cast down the Lamps and shattered the peace of the world.
Thus darkness fell again. The Valar, in sorrow, withdrew across the Sea to the far West and raised a new continent — Aman, the Blessed Realm. There they built their shining kingdom, Valinor, and their people were the immortal Ainur who had not fallen.
In Valinor they brought forth two living Lights to replace the Lamps: the Two Trees, Telperion and Laurelin, whose mingled glow filled the world with gold and silver radiance. But that light could not cross the Sea. Middle-earth lay dim and twilight-bound.
Fearing that the Children of Ilúvatar, when they awoke, would be lost in darkness, the Queen of Stars, Varda Elentári, set her hands to the heavens and kindled the stars — firstborn lights of the firmament.
In the far East, where the ruins of the fallen Lamps had scorched the earth, there arose a vast inland sea — the Helcar Sea. Beside its western shores lay a tranquil lake, Cuiviénen, the Waters of Awakening. There, beneath the new stars, the Elves awoke.
Before the Valar knew of it, Morgoth discovered them first. Cloaked in shadow, he captured many of the newly awakened, torturing and twisting them until they became the first Orcs and Trolls — creatures of ruin, born of torment. Thus their kind forever feared the light.
Among the Valar, Oromë, the Great Huntsman, alone remained fond of Middle-earth. In his wanderings, he found the Elves and learned of Morgoth's cruelty. Swiftly he returned to Valinor and told his brethren what had befallen.
The Valar were enraged. They gathered their hosts and waged war upon Morgoth, overthrowing his strongholds and casting him in chains.
When the war was done, Manwë Súlimo, King of Arda, sent Oromë again to Middle-earth — this time to summon the Elves to Valinor, where they might dwell in the light.
That journey — the Great March — lasted centuries. Along the way, the Elves divided into kindreds:
the Vanyar, the Noldor, and the Teleri — the three High Clans. Yet of the Teleri, some lingered by the rivers and forests, and from them came the Nandor, Sindar, and Silvan Elves. Those who never joined the great march were called the Avari, the Unwilling.
Those who reached the Blessed Realm bathed in the Light of the Trees and became the Calaquendi, the Light-elves — most noble, most wise, and most powerful of all their race.
The Sindar, who stayed in Beleriand under the rule of Elu Thingol and his Maia-queen Melian, became known as the Twilight Elves — not as radiant as their kin of Aman, yet still of great power and grace, for the Girdle of Melian filled their realm with divine enchantment.
Thus the First Age dawned.
For years the Elves flourished — countless realms, unnumbered songs. At their height they numbered in hundreds of thousands, and their glory nearly equaled that of the Valar themselves.
But pride bred ruin.
Morgoth slew the High King Finwë, stole the Silmarils, and poisoned the Trees. In wrath and grief, Finwë's son Fëanor swore his dreadful Oath and led the Noldor from Aman, chasing Morgoth across the sea. For four hundred years they waged war in Middle-earth and in those years, the curses of pride and kin-slaying fell upon them.
Their kingdoms rose and fell, their cities burned. When at last the First Age ended, the Valar took pity and lifted their ban. Many of the Noldor returned west across the sea; thousands departed forever.
Only those born in Middle-earth remained , the Sindar, the Silvan, the Avari and some of the Noldor,those who could not abandon their forests and rivers.
Then came the Second Age.
Deprived of the Trees' light, bereft of Valinor's grace, the Elves of Middle-earth began to fade. Their bodies, though fair, aged slowly; their spirits remained deathless, but time gnawed upon them.
"The immortality of the Elves," said Galadriel, her voice soft but filled with sorrow, "is of the spirit, not the flesh. Our souls endure, yet our forms bear the touch of time. Morgoth's darkness lingers still, hastening the weariness of our kind."
In those darkening days, Sauron came wearing the guise of Annatar, the Lord of Gifts. He offered wisdom, counsel, and the promise of restored splendor. Many were deceived.
Under his guile, the Elves forged the Rings of Power: nineteen in all.
Nine he ensnared to Men , who became the Nazgûl.
Seven he gave to the Dwarves , whose kingdoms crumbled in flame and greed.
Three the Elves kept, untainted by Sauron's direct touch, yet still bound to the One Ring he forged in secret.
When the One Ring was cut from Sauron's hand in the War of the Last Alliance, his shadow waned yet the Elves did not recover their strength.
The Third Age came, and with it, the final fading. The ships of the Grey Havens bore their kin West, one by one, leaving only scattered realms in Middle-earth.
Galadriel spoke quietly, her words echoing in the silence:
"Once, the Elves were as numerous as the stars. Now, all that remains may not exceed a few hundred thousand souls in all of Middle-earth."
She began to count, her tone as calm as a falling leaf:
"Lothlórien,my own realm,perhaps forty thousand.
The Woodland Realm,the greatest of our hosts, may still hold a hundred thousand.
Rivendell, the last homely house,but a few thousand.
Lindon in the West,where the Greyhavens lie perhaps another thirty thousand.
And the scattered enclaves—those who follow you, Kaen—another small host.
We can no longer wage war as we once did. In the Second Age, we fought beside Men and won, though it cost us dearly. But now, after three ages of decline, we could not even stand alone."
Her gaze rose to meet his.
"If you had not come, if your light had not been born in this age, within a century we would have departed these shores and sailed for Aman, abandoning all that remains."
She stepped closer, her golden hair shimmering like sunlight through water.
"But you came, Kaen Eowenríel. With you came the Light of the Trees reborn. The birth of the Caladhîn Elves — your kin, radiant with your blessing — is proof enough. Your light restores what time and shadow have stolen. It heals the weariness that has bound us for ages."
Her voice trembled, not with fear, but with hope — a hope ancient and perilous.
"Therefore," said Galadriel, bowing her head slightly, "I ask this of you, King of Eowenría, Lord of the Caladhîn:
Save the Elves of Middle-earth.
Let your light renew us, that we may yet remain in this land until the world's end."
Her words fell upon the golden air like a prayer.
And as Kaen sat beneath the vast branches of the mallorn, the voices of ages seemed to whisper through the leaves—of Aman's light, of Valinor's glory, of the first songs of the world.
All now looked to him, as once the world had looked to the Trees.