The Green Sacred Tree of Calencair rose proudly atop the summit of the Divine Tree Peak, deep within the shadowed range of the Mirkwood mountains. Its shimmering light spread like a living veil across the vast expanse of Middle-earth's greatest woodland, gifting new life to lands once steeped in shadow and sorrow.
The Woodland Realm now held that peak as hallowed ground, guarded year-round by the three hundred mightiest warriors of Thranduil's kingdom. Under the Sacred Tree's blessing, all trace of darkness was cleansed away,and with it, the heart of the Elvenking himself was transformed.
Where once Thranduil had sealed his borders, now the gates of the Woodland Realm stood open to friendship and trade. The elves, once reclusive as the deep woods themselves, began to wander anew through the lands of Men and Dwarves, bearing the song of renewal to the far corners of the world.
...
Across Middle-earth, the ancient kinships of the Elves grew strong once more. Save for the proud Noldor, all other kindreds traced their lineage back to the long-forgotten Teleri—splintered branches of a once-united people. The Caladhîn who followed Kaen Eowenríel were themselves of mixed descent, born of the Avari, the Nandor, and the Sindar alike.
So, when Thranduil's new decrees took root, many among his folk set out from their woodland halls. They did not flee; they journeyed. To Tusgar, to Lothlórien, to distant lands they went—to seek the kin who had been lost through long ages of shadow.
In the years when Sauron's shadow lay heavy upon the land, such a reunion would have been no more than a dream. But now, it was destiny, inevitable as dawn.
The Elves were rising anew, and as in the Elder Days of the First Age, the kingdoms of their people would walk among each other once again, as once they did in Beleriand of old.
Kaen and his companions remained in the Woodland Realm through the summer, leaving behind them a legacy of wisdom and honor. When the leaves turned to gold and the cool breath of autumn swept through the trees, they took up their packs once more, bound for the next chapter of their journey, Erebor and the Dale.
In the days to come, they would forge works of such wonder that even the Dwarves and the Northmen would revere them for millennia.
...
When Kaen, Arwen, and Saruman rode into the realm of Dale with the King's Guard at their side, they found waiting for them a young man, seventeen, perhaps eighteen, fair of face and bright of eye. He was flanked by a thousand cavalrymen, arrayed in polished mail, awaiting their honored guests.
When his gaze fell upon Kaen's radiant countenance, the youth's eyes shone with awe. Dismounting swiftly, he bowed deeply.
"Glory to the great King Eowenríel," he declared. "I am Bain, son of Bard, King of Dale."
"Rise," Kaen said, smiling. His voice was gentle, but it carried the power of mountains. "I remember you, Bain.I crowned your father. Indeed, I recall every member of Bard's house."
At this, Bain's composure faltered; his excitement was plain. "You are the light of the North, my lord. My father often spoke of you. He named you his ideal—his hero."
Kaen inclined his head, his tone both noble and warm. "The honor is mine, young prince." His gaze turned northward, eyes filled with the weight of time. "Three years have passed since I last walked this land. Lead on, Bain. I wish to see the prosperity that now blesses Dale."
"It shall be my greatest honor, Your Majesty," Bain said, and guided them toward the rebuilt town of Esgaroth—Lake-town.
...
Lake-town, once laid to ruin in the battle against the dragon, now rose anew upon the waters—its timbers gleaming in the sunlight, its streets alive with trade and laughter.
As the heart of commerce between the North and the Far East, it had become vital to Dale's prosperity. Thus, Bard had appointed his eldest son to oversee it year-round. Bain had been forewarned of Kaen's arrival by none other than Thranduil himself, for such a guest was not one to be received lightly.
For Kaen was no ordinary king. He was a living bridge between Elves, Dwarves, and Men. the bearer of the titles of many lands, and the great unifier of the North.
And now he came not alone, but with Saruman the White and Lady Arwen of Lothlórien and Rivendell. a company fit to make bards sing for centuries.
Bain spoke with pride of his city's rebirth. Lake-town now held thirty thousand residents, and with merchants and travelers passing through, its numbers often swelled to fifty thousand.
When word spread of Kaen's arrival, the entire town gathered along the lakeshore. They came to behold the king who once stood against the dragon, and they were not disappointed.
For Kaen was as the legends promised, beautiful as an Elf, tall as a god of war, wreathed in a sacred aura that shone even in daylight. At his side walked Arwen, fairest of the Eldar, and together they seemed like Eru's own creations, light and majesty entwined.
Some whispered in wonder that Kaen had grown yet greater than he was in the days of old, more radiant, more divine.
The people bowed as he passed, and Kaen greeted them with a smile both regal and kind, though he spoke little.
After a day's rest within Lake-town's newly built halls, the company departed northward along the River Running. Thousands lined the banks to see them off—citizens, merchants, and soldiers alike—led by Bain himself.
There upon the riverbank stood two towering statues: one of Bard, bow drawn; and the other of Kaen, sword held high. Both monuments commemorated the slaying of the dragon and the alliance that saved the North.
Bain bowed deeply. "Your Majesty, though my heart longs to follow you and stand once more in your light, my father has commanded me to remain and safeguard the town. I trust he already knows of your coming, and when you reach the mountain, he and Lord Thorin will surely greet you together."
Kaen studied the youth, and in his bearing he saw the reflection of Bard, the same steadfast courage, the same noble spirit. It was not difficult to imagine Bain someday ascending the throne of Dale, guiding his people with that same unwavering flame.
He laid a hand upon Bain's shoulder. "Each generation must carve its own honor," Kaen said. "Your father rebuilt this realm from ashes. You must carry it to greatness. Never forget—that is your burden, and your glory."
Bain straightened, his eyes shining with resolve. "Your words, my lord, I will remember all my life."
...
As they journeyed north along the River Running, Kaen and his companions beheld the rebirth of a land once scarred by dragonfire. Where once ash and ruin lay, now green fields swayed beneath the wind. Trees grew thick where once only stone had stood, and the air was heavy with life.
The Grey Mountains loomed in the distance, their snowy crowns gleaming like ancient guardians. Beneath them spread the vast plains and hills of the North—wild, beautiful, and free.
At last they came to Erebor. The gate of the Kingdom Under the Mountain rose vast and proud, with the river flowing out from beneath its roots to nourish the valley below.
The city of Dale itself had risen anew from ruin. The shattered walls and fallen towers now stood strong once more. Golden fields surrounded the city, their rippling wheat whispering beneath the autumn wind.
Within the heart of Dale, a great memorial stood—stone effigies of the heroes of the Battles of the Five Armies: Kaen, Thorin, Bard, Thranduil... and among them, Gandalf and Saruman, their visages carved in eternal honor.
Dwarves, Men, and even Elves from the Woodland Realm came to pay tribute, their voices mingling in song and remembrance.
Upon a high ridge, Kaen halted his steed beside Arwen. Hand in hand, they gazed down upon the land below.
"Here," Kaen said softly, "our warriors once charged,the men of Eowenríel, of Rivendell, of Lothlórien. From this very slope they stormed against the Orcs of Mount Gundabad."
He pointed toward the tall spire rising within Dale. "And there. there was where I fought my bloodiest battle. Most of my King's Guard fell there, ten for every one that lived."
His eyes darkened, the memories of smoke and steel rising unbidden. "Once this place was a graveyard of heroes. Evil perished here, but so did the righteous. Yet if war ever held meaning... it is here, in the peace that now thrives, in the kingdoms reborn upon this soil."
Arwen's fingers entwined gently with his. "I am proud of you," she whispered, her voice a melody upon the wind.
Then the horns sounded.
High and clear, the call of Dale and Erebor rang across the valley. From the city and the mountain rode two companies of horsemen—banners unfurled, steel glinting in the sun.
Kaen smiled as he saw who led them: Bard the King, and Thorin Oakenshield.
Turning to his companions, he said, "Come. Let us go greet two kings of the North, my brothers in arms, and the allies who forged destiny beside me."
And with that, the King of Eowenría spurred his steed forward, the sound of the horns echoing across the valley like the heartbeat of a reborn age.