[300 powerstones bonus chapter]
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Long ago — long before the glory of Dol Guldur's fall or the union of the Free Peoples , Lord Elrond had already glimpsed the strange light that dwelt within Kaen Eowenríel.
It was during the Battle of Azure Spring, when Kaen had still been little more than a wandering knight, his strength untested, his destiny unspoken. In those days, the radiance that clung to him was faint , a silver shimmer easily mistaken for chance. Elrond had taken note, but not yet wonder.
But as the years passed, Kaen's strength deepened, and his understanding of magic grew vast beyond the ken of ordinary Elves. His communion with the elements became something holy — the air and water seemed to know him. The light within him no longer merely glimmered; it flourished.
By the time he stood among kings, all who looked upon him could sense it: a sanctity that transcended race and time.
It was then, during the Dwarves' great expedition and Kaen's first appearance before the White Council, that Elrond began to see the truth. He confided in Galadriel, whose foresight stirred like a flame in still air. From that moment onward, the Lady of Light began to watch.
While Kaen rode with warriors and kings, Galadriel followed him through the mirror of her mind, her thought like a pale thread stretching across mountains. Even Glorfindel, unseen and silent, shadowed Kaen's path, warding him from unseen perils.
And when at last the Caladhîn Elves were born , when the lands of Eowenría shone beneath Kaen's light, and miracles unfurled like dawn upon the forests , their faith was made certain.
Here, at last, was the sign they had awaited since the fading of the Two Trees.
Thus, when the shadow of Dol Guldur was lifted, Galadriel summoned him to Lothlórien , not merely as guest, but as herald of hope and there laid bare the truth of their designs.
Elrond spoke first, his tone grave and kind.
"We have walked this world for uncounted ages, Kaen. Our roots are deep in its soil. No one loves Middle-earth as the Eldar do. We have seen its beauty, its ruin, and its endless becoming.
We do not command you. We cannot. Hope cannot be demanded , only given. Whether you aid us or not, that choice must come from your heart."
Silence fell upon the hall. All eyes turned to Kaen.
He lifted his cup, sipped the tea ,calm as still water , and then set it down. For a long while, he pondered in quiet thought.
At last he said, softly, "Once, when Thorin Oakenshield still wandered in exile, I told him this: 'Middle-earth does not belong to Men alone. It belongs to every free people — to Elves, Dwarves, and Men alike.'
And now, if Middle-earth stands to lose its Elves, and I possess the power to stay that loss… tell me, why should I refuse?"
A hush swept over the gathering and then, smiles.
Galadriel rose, her eyes alight like twin stars. She and Celeborn bowed deeply, followed by Elrond, Arwen, and all the assembled lords and captains.
"Thank you, Kaen," Galadriel said. "No matter what comes, henceforth you shall be counted Friend of the Elves and Prince of Lothlórien among Men.
If our endeavor fails and our people must depart these shores, all that remains of Lothlórien ,its lands, its treasures, its light — shall pass to your realm. Such is our oath."
Kaen bowed in return. "Then I will do all I can. The Elves are woven into the soul of Middle-earth. Though this world is flawed and dark, it is still your first home , and no shadow shall take that from you while my light endures."
His words were met with quiet reverence. Yet one question remained: how could such salvation be wrought?
Thus began Kaen's work in the heart of the Golden Wood. He took residence in Caras Galadhon and turned his radiance toward experiment.
The first thought was simple: to forge gems of light, vessels that could bear a fraction of his power. It seemed promising ,at first. Yet soon they saw the flaw.
The darkness of Middle-earth was cunning. It could consume false light as easily as night swallows flame. Even the finest of the stones, from which the Stars of Eowenría ,the stars of watch,had been crafted,contained but a fragment of Kaen's true radiance.
The great Watchtowers of Elarothiel had needed eight such stars merely to outshine a single beam of his light. So the idea was set aside.
Kaen, Elrond, and Gandalf delved into tomes older than the Second Age , scrolls of quenya runes and fading ink, fragments of forgotten prayer. They sought every art of the Elder Days that could ward off decay.
But those spells were pale remnants. If they had truly worked, the Elves would never have waned.
Then, in the stillness of a night beneath the mallorns, Kaen's mind caught fire.
He looked up to the stars and whispered, "The Trees…"
If one could create a new Tree ,not to outshine the sun, but to radiate within a single realm , a living vessel that purifies darkness and nourishes light — would that not be enough?
He shared his thought with the others.
Elrond's brow furrowed, but his eyes glimmered. "If such a thing could be made, Kaen… yes, it might indeed restore us."
Gandalf, however, shook his head gravely. "The Two Trees were not mere flora. They were born from the Song of Yavanna, the Earth-Queen herself, and watered by the tears of Nienna, Lady of Compassion. They were acts of divine harmony, not mortal craft. We are neither Valar nor Ainur , how can we hope to shape such a marvel?"
But Kaen only smiled.
"No," he said softly. "We do not seek to recreate the Two Trees. We will make a Tree of the Elves. Not a beacon to light all Middle-earth , only enough to guard the lands that yet remain.
We do not need perfection. We need life. A seed that grows in time, nourished by hope and light ,not a relic of the past, but the beginning of something new."
Gandalf studied him, then laughed quietly. "You always find the narrow path where others see none."
Elrond, after long thought, murmured, "Perhaps… someone might know how such a creation could begin. One who has studied the craft of matter and spirit alike."
All turned toward him. Elrond's voice was low. "The White Wizard , Saruman the Wise."
Of all the Maiar in Middle-earth, Saruman was once the most skilled in the arts of craft and knowledge. He was a pupil of Aulë the Smith, the very Vala who had shaped the bones of the world. His mind was a forge of invention, unmatched even by Sauron in breadth of learning.
"Send word to Isengard," Elrond said. "If anyone can advise us in this endeavor, it is he."
Kaen nodded and turned to Artemis. "Summon your white birds. Let them bear our invitation."
So it was done. Across the skies they flew, winged messengers of light, until they vanished beyond the peaks of the Misty Mountains.
Half a month later, a reply arrived. Saruman wrote that he had received their message and was already on his way.
And so they waited.
In those quiet days, Kaen and his companions set aside their books and burdens to savor the peace of the Golden Wood. Cathril spent her hours with Arwen Undómiel, and the two grew close as sisters, their laughter soft among the leaves.
The sunlight fell warm through the silver branches, and for a time, the world seemed healed.
Galadriel, watching from her high talan, smiled faintly. "Arwen," she said, "take our guest and show him the heart of our realm. Let him see why this land is worth saving."
Thus did Arwen, the Evenstar of her people, take Kaen's hand and lead him deeper into Caras Galadhon — where the golden light never faded, and the fate of the Elves waited to be rewritten.