Of the Elves who had sailed eastward from Aman, four great hosts were formed. Under High King Gil-galad, Two hundred thousand of the folk of Lindon had already returned to their ancient homeland. The remaining three hosts had likewise received the recognition of the Free Alliance of Middle-earth, and were permitted to journey to the lands allotted to them, there to establish their own realms. Thus the mission of Kaen Eowenríel and the embassies of the Free Peoples to Lindon came to a fitting and complete end.
When Gil-galad learned the final result of the council, he gave his command at once, and the three hundred thousand Elves still upon the sea disembarked to rest in Lindon. So it was that the great feast, which had begun as a celebration of Gil-galad's return, rose into something higher, becoming a festival of the Elves of Aman returning once more to Middle-earth. That day, the multitudes of Elves rejoiced, and they named this great day the Westcoming Festival, in memory of the High Elves who had come back from the West to their first home.
In those songs and tales, Kaen Eowenríel, under the title of the Aran-Erain, was hailed as a beacon of hope and of holy light. The scholars of the Calaquendi set down his name and deeds in their scrolls, to be remembered and spoken of through long ages among their people. Glorfindel uttered a prophecy also, saying that this was not the last company of Elves to cross from Aman. In the long years yet to come, many Elves in the Undying Lands would return in their turn, and under the guidance of hope they would stand against the Shadow.
Anrod and Anariel led fifty thousand of the Noldor. Ingwion led a hundred thousand of the Vanyar. Elurín and Eluréd , the two brothers, a hundred and fifty thousand Sindar and Teleri. These three hosts tarried only a short while in Lindon.
Half a month later, Kaen Eowenríel, with the embassies of all the realms, embarked upon the great ships that waited for them along with the three other hosts of the Calaquendi. They voyaged eastward along the shore, bound for the vast southern harbour of the western continent, Lond Daer, the once Great Port.
On that long voyage, almost all busied themselves with learning from the Elves of Aman and sharing their own lore in turn. Only one man was an exception: Denethor. Since the council beneath the White Sacred Tree, he had been weighed down with troubled thoughts. A shadow of care lay ever upon his brow, and whenever he looked upon Aragorn, he seemed on the verge of speaking, yet each time swallowed his words in silence.
This Aragorn had long perceived.
So, one night, Aragorn asked Denethor to come up with him to the deck. The sea-breeze was cool upon them, and in the radiance of moon and star they stood side by side, looking out over the dark waters. Aragorn said softly, "Denethor, my dearest friend and kinsman, I can feel the turmoil and bewilderment in your heart, and I know it was born because of me. Now that we are alone, will you not tell me what lies behind it?"
"Brother, I am neither torn nor lost," Denethor replied at length. "I am only uncertain of some of the guesses I have made in my heart." He sighed, and in his eyes the moon and stars were mirrored upon the sea. Then he turned to Aragorn, his dark gaze as if it would read him to the very depths. For a long while he was silent, and at last he spoke.
"I remember our first meeting," he said. "It was ten years ago. Then His Majesty Kaen Eowenríel led us forth, thirty thousand riders, in a lightning strike upon the far eastern inland Sea of Rhûn, dealing a grievous blow to those Men that served the Shadow.
"In those days you were the foster-son of King Elrond of Rivendell, commander of the King's Guard, junior in learning to His Majesty Kaen Eowenríel and sworn in service beneath him. We fought shoulder to shoulder. You were brave and mighty, ever in the forefront of the charge. Together we broke the tribes of the Easterlings, each of us guarding the other's back, and so we forged a deep friendship.
"But I am no fool. From the time you chose to name yourself a Dúnedain and to wander the North as a Ranger, I began to question who you truly were. And then, when you stood beneath the White Sacred Tree and spoke before all in the name of the northern Dúnedain, a certain suspicion rose up in my heart..."
Here Denethor's eyes shone with hope and burning eagerness. He looked straight into Aragorn's gaze and asked, "Estel, tell me, you have another name, do you not?"
Looking into the expectant eyes of his friend, Aragorn did not know for a moment how he ought to answer, for he knew well what it would mean. If he spoke his true name, it would mean that he accepted the weight of his destiny, and that in days to come he would inherit the thrones of Gondor and Arnor united. If he chose still to hide it, then he might yet cling to the thought that he was free to turn aside.
...
After all that he had endured, more than ten years of wandering and trial, Aragorn had come to understand many things. Among them was this: that fate does not depart merely because you flee from it; in the end it will come to you in its own appointed hour.
So Aragorn drew a long breath and bowed his head in a quiet nod.
"I knew it. I knew it..." Denethor murmured to himself, his heart surging. In his eyes there was both astonishment and a joy that could scarcely be uttered, as though a riddle of a hundred years had at last been solved. Suddenly he laughed aloud, seized Aragorn by both shoulders, and cried in excitement, "It is as I thought, is it not? Tell me, your name is… Aragorn, is it not? You are Aragorn, son of Arathorn?"
Aragorn breathed in deeply once more and said, "Promise me this. Until the time is ripe, you must tell no one, not even your father. For I am, apart from His Majesty Kaen Eowenríel, the last person that Sauron in the Dark would wish to see."
That night the two of them spoke together for a long time, and no one knew exactly all that passed between them. It was only known that on the following day Denethor was changed. The former furrows of care were gone from his face, and he shone with a new brightness, open and cheerful, his spirit once more full of fire.
He told the others that when he returned to Gondor, he meant to journey abroad with Aragorn and Legolas, to wander the lands together. Yet that lay in the days ahead.
A month later, the fleet reached its destined haven, Lond Daer, the Great Port. This was one of the chief harbours of Middle-earth in the Second Age, lying where the River Gwathló met the Sea in the land of Eriador. Lond Daer had been raised in the Second Age by the Númenórean prince Aldarion, between the years 750 and 800, and at first it was named Vinyalondë, the New Haven.
Its site had been chosen with keen foresight, for from there one might guard the western coasts of Middle-earth, checking the eastward reach of Sauron's power and shielding the lands of Eriador. Its harbour-works were lofty and strong, with quays of hewn stone, tall beacons, great shipyards and a fortress of war. In its heyday it was the chief hub of Númenor's might in Middle-earth.
In those years of the Second Age, many great battles were fought there. In the wars of the Elves and Sauron, Lond Daer played a deciding part. When Sauron led his hosts against the kingdom of Lindon, King Tar-Minastir of Númenor, hearing of it, sent a mighty fleet to succour the Grey Havens. His captain Ciryatur landed with chosen warriors at Lond Daer, and marching up along the Gwathló, fell upon Sauron's rear, so that in the Battle of the Gwathló his armies were utterly broken.
From that war Sauron learned that it was not possible to overthrow the Elves and their allies by force of arms alone. Thus was he driven in time to other designs, and the Akallabêth happened, the world was forever changed with the drowning of Númenor .
Yet after the downfall of Númenor, that sea-kingdom was swept away, and Lond Daer lost its former place of might. It declined little by little, and even when Gondor and Arnor were founded, the Great Port never again rose to its ancient glory.
Now, however, the three Elven hosts were to land upon the southern coasts of the western continent near Lond Daer, there to raise new kingdoms. In days to come this place would surely flourish once more and become a stronghold of great worth.
Three thousand great ships had put forth from the Grey Havens, and after a voyage of more than a month upon the sea they at last came to this mighty harbour. Throughout that time Kaen Eowenríel walked among the Elves of Aman in the guise of a wise teacher, speaking with them of lore and learning. From them he learned many spells and arts that had their roots in the power of the Valar.
At the same time he taught those Elves many ways of war and many crafts for dealing with the servants of the Shadow, for this was what the Elves of Light desired above all. And he and Arwen Dawnglow swore that when they returned to Elarothiel, they would fashion for these three new realms..... three Sacred Trees of their own.