Since the High Pass fortress was taken, it had been garrisoned and guarded by the Noldor warriors of Rivendell. After descending from the snowy summit, the company paused there to part ways.
King Elrond would take the seed of the White Tree and find a route across the wide Western Lands to Lindon, delivering it to the Shipwright Círdan. They could have chosen a seaborne route—down the Anduin into the sea and by ship to Lindon—but because Gondor and Mordor lay only a river away and there was worry that Sauron might notice, they resolved instead to travel the East–West Road and avoid drawing attention.
Gandalf would bear the seed of the Golden Tree back to Eowenríel's capital, Elarothiel, and wait there until Kaen returned to plant it in due time.
Kaen's women all stayed behind here—Cathril among them. They understood this next leg of the journey was a rare private passage for Kaen and Arwen and did not choose to follow.
So it was. Kaen, Arwen, Saruman, Thranduil, Two hundred King's guards, and a hundred elven bodyguards rested briefly in Tusgar and then set out for the Woodland Realm.
A month later they reached the old Greenwood that had once been draped in Sauron's shadow. Now it blossomed anew. The forest was no longer a realm of gloom; sunlight filtered into its depths. Green grass carpeted the ground, birds sang, flowers opened; game recognized no danger. The old elven trails had been widened into the Woodland Road, and sentinels stood at the grand elven portico every few paces.
When Thranduil arrived with Kaen, trumpets sounded and the gates were flung wide. With the forest's restoration the Silvan elves no longer clustered only within their ancient holdings, the northern reaches of the woods now echoed with their hunts and patrols. The Woodland Realm had grown tenfold in effective range; it was a land of wide spaces and renewed life.
They followed the Woodland Road for half a month before reaching the underground palace of the Woodland realm, where they stayed awhile. Thranduil busied himself making preparations. Prince Legolas led the elves in leveling a high place on the Greenwood range and named it Treepeak.
Only when Treepeak was ready did Thranduil send for Kaen and Arwen.
On a Midsummer night the entire Woodland people gathered at the foot of the peak. They knew this was a day of consequence; it might cleave their history into "before" and "after." Elven messengers guided Kaen and Arwen to the summit; nearby ridges swarmed with watching elves. The sight was unrivaled across the Eastlands: an audience of tens of thousands gathered beneath the stars, poised to sing the old elemental songs and witness a miracle.
Thranduil, Legolas, and a host of noble elves welcomed Kaen and Arwen as they ascended. "We entrust this to you, King Kaen and Lady Arwen," they said.
The two nodded and went together to the prepared hollow at the summit. There they planted the seed of the Green Tree and met each other's eyes. Then they began to chant.
Kaen's voice rolled like the heartbeat of the earth; Arwen's song was clear as a spring in the wood. Their tones braided into a living music that drew in the forest's elements. At first nothing seemed to stir, then wind rose, circling and gathering into a visible green vortex whose center swirled above the planted seed.
The ground trembled. A tender green shoot burst through the soil, dew beading upon it, and then, faster than thought, the shoot lengthened and branched. Leaves unfurled at a speed one could almost watch, each new blade shimmering with life, exuding a crystalline sap that rained like tiny jewels across the hillside. Where those droplets fell, grasses and shrubs leapt to life; the assembled elves felt vitality surge through them.
In moments the trunk thickened until a dozen could not have embraced it. Limbs rolled out like the arms of a dragon; a broad, sheltering crown spread overhead, blotting the sun into a soft green glow. The leaves were no ordinary green but semi-translucent crystal, their edges gleaming with inner light.
Kaen and Arwen raised their voices: gold-and-silver light from Kaen braided with Arwen's moon-white radiance, and the tree's own halo braided into the glow, forming a pillar of living light. From the valley below, a million subtle currents of natural power — the ong of the forest — rose in answer and fed into the roots.
"Look at the roots!" Legolas shouted, pointing.
Beneath the stone the Tree's roots had pierced and woven into a great web that spread outward. Pale green energy crawled along those roots; where it touched stony fissures new green flashed; parched clefts exuded water; dried springs filled again. Thranduil closed his eyes and felt the mountain itself heal beneath his feet. "It is renewing the range," he murmured.
When the chanting ceased, Kaen and Arwen stepped together and watched the finished miracle. The Tree had fully grown: a towering living umbrella whose crown filtered sunlight into green rain. Its leaves' subtle tremor set the forest's breath to a gentler rhythm — each leaf a small bell that tuned the woodland's life.
Kaen laid his palm to the bark. Warmth answered him, as if the tree returned his touch. "Calencair," he said — the name given — "you will cleanse the soil and nurture all flesh. Let the Mirkwood finally be freed of Sauron's shadow and become a cradle of life."
Arwen added, "Your fruit will salve wounds; your branches will guide lost spirits home. Stand here as an eternal promise." Her voice was steady; every word seemed to make the tree more certain.
At that instant a single golden-edged leaf drifted down and landed in Thranduil's hand. As he touched it the leaf dissolved into a warm tide that flowed through him, sweeping away the fatigue and scars of years caring for the forest. Colors returned to his cheeks; his old weariness burned away.
"A wonder… a true wonder!" nobles cried, dropping to one knee. The forest below erupted in cheers that rolled far and wide. In hushed, reverent tones, the people began to chant a new name for the two who had made the miracle: Kaen and Arwen, the ones who had brought the trees to being.
The green light washed over woods; leaves brightened and sapfulness thrummed through bough and blade. Thranduil pronounced in the gathering's thunder: "From this day forth, this festival shall be our holiest , the Tree-Birth Day. King Kaen and Lady Arwen shall be the realm's most honored guests; their requests will have our total support, even to the last drop of sacrifice."
And so the Woodland Realm crowned a new era — green, warm, and alive — watched over by the living rootwork of a Tree that would nurse the land back to vigor.