When the three thousand great ships, after a month upon the sea, at last drew near to Lond Daer, all who stood on the decks beheld the great harbour of old. Once it had been a place of splendour and life, but now even the quays were more than half buried beneath silt and sand.
The breakwater had fallen in many places, the waves smote upon shattered stone, and the few jetties that remained were held up by only a handful of blackened timbers. Where once a thousand white sails had been moored, there now hung only torn nets and the carcasses of sea-birds from the weathered mooring-posts.
"This was raised by our forefathers," Denethor said quietly, as if speaking to the wind. "Once it was the greatest harbour in the West save only the Grey Havens. To see it now in such a state..." His voice was heavy with the memory of Númenor's vanished glory.
"We shall make it flourish again," said Eluréd , and his eyes shone with steady confidence.
The Sindar were never famed as mariners, yet among the Elves that he and his elder brother Elurín had brought, a full third were Falmari. These were masters of ship and sea, to be counted the equals of the mariners of the Grey Havens of the Falathrim.
Lond Daer lay at the mouth of the Gwathló. Far inland that river wound its way toward Swanfleet, and its upper waters were fed by the joining of the Mitheithel River and the Bruinen.
On the western bank lay Minhiriath, once the land of Cardolan. This was to be the home of Elurín and Eluréd and their people. There they would raise again an ancient Elven realm, and they named it after the kingdom of old, Doriath re-founded.
On the eastern bank spread the lands of Enedhwaith, a country of hill and forest. This was appointed as the dwelling-place of the Vanyar, where Ingwion would lead hundred thousand of his people to found their own realm, which they named Laurenandë.
The young nobles of Gondor who had followed Denethor would remain for a time with the Vanyar, learning their arts of reading the stars and many other deep lore, that they might bear those gifts back to Minas Tirith, the White City.
Of the three thousand ships, two thousand two hundred and fifty were left at Lond Daer. Kaen Eowenríel and his followers, however, continued upriver with the remaining, steering north along the Gwathló toward Swanfleet.
As the fleets parted, the Vanyar, Sindar and Falmari all bowed low before Kaen Eowenríel and Arwen Dawnglow, for the Elves now looked upon those two as lights of hope.
Ingwion spoke first. "Your Majesty Kaen Eowenríel," he said, "from generation to generation we will hold to the covenant sworn beneath the White Sacred Tree. We shall ever stand opposed to the Shadow. If you are in need, send us word, and we will give all that lies in our power."
Elurín said also, "We shall clothe this long-desolate land once more with trees, till the forests return to Eriador and life and green song fill it again."
Kaen inclined his head a little and answered them. "From this day on you also are kings, though no crown or ceremony has yet been laid upon you. Arwen and I will send you gifts in time, and those gifts shall guard your realms against the encroaching dark.
"Moreover, I will send craftsmen of Eowentría down the river to aid you in the building of your kingdoms.
"I have a foreboding that, once the Shadow fully discovers you, it will move in great strength. The true testing of these lands has only just begun, and in that trial many Elves will fall.
"If the need is dire, you may go north to Swanfleet. There in that region of Eowenría stands a garrison of ten thousand warriors, and my captains will come to your aid.
"And do not forget Isengard. The White Wizard, Master Saruman, dwells in that tower..."
Only when he had spoken of all these things and set every charge plainly before them did Kaen finally take his leave. Then with the last host of the Eastward-sailing Elves he turned upstream, more than fifteen hundred great ships driving their way north along the Gwathló.
...
Swanfleet was a key pass upon the great North-South Road. There the Glanduin, which rose from the doors of Khazad-dûm in Moria, poured its waters into the Gwathló.
Many years before, Kaen had commanded that quays and a town be built upon that meeting of roads and rivers, and there he had placed a garrison of twenty thousand warriors of Eowenría, of whom ten thousand were mounted.
Through the passing of more than ten years the place had grown into a fair-sized town with a busy harbour. It could be foreseen that before long Swanfleet would become a great crossroads of the western lands, a heart of trade and travel that the turning of the age would render even more prosperous.
But as the great ships drew near, and their prows pointed toward the quays, there was sudden movement upon the riverbank before the walls of Swanhold, the fortress-city of that place.
The sound of great horns rang up into the sky.
From the open gates poured ranks of soldiers. The lines of their silver armour lay along the shore like a bank of frozen storm-clouds.
In the foremost line stood the heavy infantry phalanx. The warriors were clad head to foot in plate, the joints of their armour glinting coldly where steel met steel.
In their left hands they raised shields that locked together in an unbroken wall. In their right they held long spears slanting upward, spearpoints aimed at the heavens, each tip flashing with harsh, white light in the sun. The forest of steel they made seemed to split the river wind itself into tatters.
Behind them were three staggered ranks of bowmen. The archers knelt in half-step, bows already bent, strings drawn back to the ear, waiting only for the word.
Farther up the slope the cavalry were massed, horses stamping, riders poised, like a wave of iron on the verge of breaking.
"This is the land of Eowenría," came a ringing shout from behind the lines. "Fleet ahead, halt and submit yourselves to inspection!" The commander of the southern garrison, Zachriel, had reined in his horse, the banner at his back snapping in the wind.
"What... what is happening?" cried some of the Noldor on the ships, suddenly pale.
"Your Majesty Kaen!"
Anrod turned quickly toward Kaen Eowenríel.
But Kaen only said calmly, "We came too suddenly, with no word sent before us. The garrison has taken alarm. Raise my royal banner. When Zachriel sees it, he will call his men back."
The King's Guard brought forth the standard embroidered with the Golden Sacred Tree and held it high at the ship's prow, so that it streamed out proudly in the wind.
On the shore, when the troops beheld that emblem, an officer cried aloud to Zachriel, "Lord, it is the banner of our liege!"
At that, Zachriel urged his horse forward. He too saw the royal standard snapping in the breeze, and beneath it the tall, commanding figure that stood upon the ship's prow.
He did not hesitate. He swung himself from the saddle and went to one knee, striking the earth with his other foot so that the mud splashed. "We welcome the coming of the High King," he cried, and the captains behind him knelt in like manner.
Upon the prow Kaen Eowenríel lifted his voice. "Warriors, lower your blades. There are no enemies here, only our friends."
"Stand down!" Zachriel's roar rolled like thunder through the ranks.
The line of silver armour drew back like the sea in ebb. The heavy armored footmen let their spearpoints fall, the archers eased their bowstrings, and the horsemen wheeled their mounts.
The knife-edge of dread that had filled the air a heartbeat before vanished at once. Only the ordered rasp of mail and plate remained, and the sight of the soldiers along the southern bank, heads bowed in salute.
With the call of the retreating horn the warriors turned and marched back into Swanhold. Then from the gates poured a great crowd of townsfolk, running to the riverbank and lifting up their voices in loud acclaim at the return of the Lord of Eowenría.
Such swift and flowing change left the Noldor aboard the ships breathing easier. One young Elf wiped at the cold sweat upon his brow with the back of his hand.
The Noldorin lords who led the host gazed at the south-bank formations, now compacted again like an iron ring, and murmured among themselves, "It is astonishing. These troops feel like men who have faced war many times. Though we have strong bodies and great arts of magic, if we were to meet them in close combat, equal in numbers, the cost for us would be terrible. And this is but one provincial garrison of Eowenría."
Anrod's eyes were full of wonder, and Anariel's fair gaze lingered upon Kaen Eowenríel, bright with curiosity.
Kaen nodded to the two of them. "We may land now," he said. "From here the Gwathló shall be your southern boundary, following it north to the place where the Bruinen and the Mitheithel River meet. From the Glanduin you shall follow the river to its headwaters beneath the gates of Khazad-dûm in the roots of the Misty Mountains.
"All the wide lands between are the site of the ancient realm of Eregion, the land men later called Hollin, which once belonged to the Noldor. Henceforth it shall be your home, and the name of your realm shall be Nargothrond."