Beneath the White Sacred Tree, the two great sides finally sat down to talk.
Kaen spoke first.
"Gil-galad's return has brought starlight back to Lindon," he said calmly, "but your voyage from the West has only just begun."
"As for the terms I laid out before… what do you intend? You may speak openly here before everyone."
At his words, the Middle-earth delegation fell silent.
Thorin, representing the Dwarves; Denethor for the Dúnedain of Gondor; Galadriel of Lothlórien; Legolas of the Woodland Realm; Théoden for the Riddermark; and Aragorn standing just behind Kaen—all of them held their peace.
They were waiting for the answer of the Elves from across the Sea.
Anrod was the first to step forward.
He bowed low to all present; the silver links at his cuffs caught and scattered the soft white light beneath the tree.
"My lords and ladies," he began, voice clear, "first of all, on behalf of the Elves who have sailed from Aman, I wish to offer our thanks, for the generosity with which your realms have offered land, and for the breadth of heart with which you have chosen to receive us.
"For this, the Vanyar, the Noldor, the Teleri… all Elves of the Westward Fleet are willing to accept every one of the conditions you set."
He looked toward Kaen.
"First, for the fifty thousand pure-blooded Noldor who have come under my banner—we have decided to trade our crafts and skill for the realm of Hollin, under the crown of King Kaen of Eorwenria, and there restore the kingdom my father Finrod once ruled—
—Nargothrond."
Kaen inclined his head.
"I am very much pleased with your proposition."
Ingwion nodded in turn and stepped forward.
"Enedwaith," he said, "shall be entrusted to us of the Vanyar. In return we will pass on to Gondor's Dúnedain what the Valar themselves once taught us: the lore of the stars and their omens, the arts of healing, the secrets of spinning and weaving, the deeper ways of the earth and of the growing of crops…
"We swear by our blood: so long as you are willing to learn, we will hold nothing back."
Denethor bowed his head.
"On behalf of Gondor, if you truly do as you say," he replied gravely, "then I will grant what you ask."
The twin brothers Elurín and Eluréd exchanged a glance.
At last, the elder, Elurín, gave a small nod and turned to the circle.
"We have chosen to dwell in Minhiriath," he said. "As recompense, we will pass on the knowledge of our first-age homeland Doriath: methods of fighting Morgoth's corruption, old herb-lore for cleansing bodies and spirits tainted by darkness, and all that we have learned of the forests and the hidden language of nature…"
"These things we shall teach to the Northern Dúnedain. We swear to stand as allies to them, and in the hour of their need, to aid them in restoring their kingdom."
Kaen listened in silence, fingertips unconsciously brushing the hilt of the sword at his hip.
These promises went further than he had expected.
Gil-galad's return, and Glorfindel's sharp words, had clearly shaken these proud Elves awake at last to the truth of Middle-earth.
This was no Blessed Realm where one might rest upon old glory.
This was a battlefield, a land that must be defended with steel and binding oaths.
He dipped his head slightly, accepting their answers. Then his gaze slid toward Aragorn, and there was open encouragement in his eyes.
Aragorn drew a deep breath. He knew this was his best chance to step fully into the light.
So he did not hesitate.
He strode forward a pace, under the astonished stares of the assembled lords of Middle-earth, and said aloud to Elurín and Eluréd:
"On behalf of the Dúnedain of the North, I accept your terms."
For a heartbeat, it was as though a thunderclap had exploded across the mountainside.
To the world, Aragorn had always been Estel, foster-son of Lord Elrond, once Kaen's first commander of the King's Guard, later a wandering ranger in the wild.
All knew that much.
But now, from his own mouth, he claimed the right to speak for the Northern Dúnedain.
The one most shocked of all was Denethor.
As the only son of Gondor's Steward and Regent, no one understood the weight of that declaration better than he.
He stared at Aragorn, eyes wide, as if he could strip away every mask with his gaze and see the bloodline beneath.
But no one was watching him.
All eyes were on Kaen and the lords of the West.
Kaen regarded the leaders of the Aman host and gave a small nod.
"I have seen your sincerity," he said.
Morning light slid down the branches of the White Tree, pouring like molten gold along the bark before spilling upon his shoulders, gilding the edges of his dark hair.
He lifted his eyes eastward, as if he could see straight through leagues of air and stone to the ashen skies of Mordor, where once darkness had gathered, and where, in days yet to come, greater storms might again rise.
"But I have one last demand."
His voice dropped, each word heavy as a hammer striking stone.
"The peace of Middle-earth has never belonged to any single race," Kaen said quietly. "You must stand with us on the same line."
Confusion flickered across the faces of the elven lords. Ingwion frowned.
"Your implication…?"
"Join the Free Alliance," Kaen answered.
His gaze sharpened like a hawk stooping upon prey, sweeping once across every pair of eyes before him.
"Whether the Elves Gil-galad brings home, or the host you lead from Aman, all who dwell in Middle-earth must become part of the Alliance.
"The Alliance will not meddle in the growth of your kingdoms. But when darkness moves, every realm will be subject to joint command and must answer the call.
"When shadow spreads again, we will stand as in the Last Alliance of Elves and Men, shoulder to shoulder. Not as some lofty 'High Elves' looking down from afar, but as guardians of Middle-earth."
He paused, and in that pause something like thunder gathered.
"This land fed your forefathers," he said at last. "Now it opens its arms to take you in. But it has no warmth for bystanders."
The hillside fell utterly quiet.
Only the wind moved, hissing softly through the leaves above.
"Either you take up arms and defend this world with us," Kaen went on, "or you remain in Aman forever, singing of the stars on safe green meadows.
"There is no third path."
"War here is not an accident to be avoided, it is a storm we know is coming. Peace is a flower nourished by blood; those who flee the fight are delaying the manner of their own death.
"Craven souls," he finished, "have no place in a world reborn."
Under the White Tree, silence deepened.
The only sound was the whisper of the sea-wind through the shining leaves.
Anrod met Ingwion's gaze. In the first there burned a sudden, hard clarity; in the second, the last dregs of pride were slowly drowned beneath something heavier and more sober.
Elurín lifted his hand and laid it gently against the rough bark of the Tree.
He turned then and bowed deeply to Kaen.
"On behalf of the Sindar and the Falmari," he said, "I agree to join the Alliance."
"The Noldor as well," Anrod added, stepping forward at once. He and his sister Anariel rose together; their eyes were steady now, their voices clear.
"Our father Finrod died to defend the Edain," Anrod said. "The Noldor shed rivers of blood in the First Age against the darkness. We have no right to let their honor be buried in dust."
Ingwion looked up toward the halo of light at the crown of the Tree. Its pallor reminded him of the mornings of Valinor.
Yet he knew that this earth beneath his feet, not distant Aman, was now the homeland that needed his people's protection.
He straightened slowly, the gold of his hair streaming in the wind like a banner.
"The Vanyar," he proclaimed, voice ringing, "will raise their songs as battle-horns, and stand with all Free Peoples against the Shadow."
Kaen studied these elven lords who had finally laid down their hauteur. The tight set of his jaw eased a fraction.
Proud they might still be, but their loyalty ran deep, and that loyalty could be trusted.
At least, he thought wryly, the Valar had not sent a shipload of fools across the sea.
If it had been Fëanor's seven sons standing here today, this council would likely have ended in blood.
He lifted his hand, palm up, toward the White Tree.
"Then let the White Tree of Lindon be our witness," he called. "All of you. speak with me now the Oath of Freedom!"
His voice rose, and the very air seemed to tremble.
"I will bear helm and spear," he cried, "and stand upon the foremost line against the dark, keeping watch over the will of the Free."
"I will kindle my own life," the others thundered after him, "and burn like a flame to light the Shadow, that those who come after may see the road before them."
"I will become a monument," Kaen's voice rolled on, "that even my grave shall bear the oath of freedom carved upon the stone, so that by my bones the way of the valiant is made plain."
"We are fireflies in the night," the gathered voices answered, "gathering our lights into a sky of stars. And when the dawn at last breaks, the red within that light shall be the last burning of our lives."
"We take the freedom of the weak," Kaen finished, each word a weight laid upon the world,
"as the boundary the darkness shall never cross."