Middle-Earth: Kaen, Lord of Light

Rumble—

Thunder rolled across the eastern plains beyond the Ashenwood Forest, as Company after Company of cavalry thundered across the wildland. Each unit, a hundred riders strong, galloped in formation, scouring the bramble-choked terrain for hidden Warg Riders.

Upon discovering clusters of brambles concealing enemy movement, the riders would first carve out a firebreak—then set the thickets ablaze.

Trapped within the flames, the Orcish Wargs were either roasted alive or driven into the open, where sunlight scorched their corrupted flesh. Those who fled met death by a storm of arrows, loosed by mounted archers. Their charred remains were cast back into the burning brush, reduced to ash and bone.

It was a cruel, merciless end.

Under the leadership of Cathril, the elite mounted archers rode like reaping wind through the eastern wilds, hunting the Warg Riders without rest. Countless beasts of shadow met their end—exterminated before they could regroup.

At first, it was only Cathril's mounted archers who rode this grim hunt.

But as more Orc dens, Goblin lairs, and dark creature nests were discovered across the kingdom's frontier, Kaen Eowenríel understood: the time had come to purge these blights completely.

And so, his orders rang out from the halls of Elarothiel, spreading swiftly across the realm:

—To the north: Caden's heavy infantry stationed at Thalorien Outpost were to march a hundred leagues deeper into the wilderness.

—To the south: At Elariel, Reger would lead longbowmen and infantry to push the kingdom's border two hundred leagues farther.

—To the west: In Virelmar's Reach, Sigilion was tasked with deploying heavy cavalry to clear the area between there and Azure Spring Keep.

—To the east: From Aurienel, Cathril was to continue her relentless mounted raids across the frontier, rooting out every shadow that dared invade or hide.

—And at the heart of it all: Mundar would lead his infantry from Azure Spring, purging every dark den within thirty leagues.

From the great central city of Elarothiel to the five outlying towns, Kaen's command mobilized the full strength of the realm's military. The kingdom, awakened as one, began a sweeping campaign of extermination against the darkness.

Because Caden's armored infantry moved slower, he and Cathril devised a joint strategy.

They would drive the beasts of the north and east into a narrow valley in the northeastern edge of Ashenwood Forest—then obliterate them in one fell strike.

….

Half a month passed.

In a ravine nestled northeast of the Ashenwood Forest, thousands of darkspawn were now trapped.

There were Orcish Warg Riders from the Misty Mountains, wildland Orcs, Goblins, and other foul things. Their eyes shone with panic, crude weapons clutched tightly as they watched the mouth of the gorge.

There, arrayed in unshakable formation, stood three hundred heavy infantry, their shields and armor forming an iron wall.

Behind them, five hundred mounted archers formed a second line.

"Ready—!"

Cathril's voice rang clear as a bell.

The riders moved in perfect unity, nocking arrows to string.

"Loose!"

"Ready!"

"Loose!"

With each sharp command, arrows flew in volleys like driving rain. The sky darkened with the storm of fletched death. They fell into the enemy ranks—thousands of shrieks rising as Orcs collapsed in blood and agony.

When the time was right—

Caden raised his blade and bellowed:

"Advance! Crush them beneath your boots!"

The wall of iron moved forward.

Three hundred heavy infantry advanced like the tide of doom itself, crushing all resistance beneath their shields and blades. Everywhere they passed, death followed. Goblins screamed and fled, only to be cut down. Wargs lunged, only to be impaled.

It was not a battle—it was an execution.

Together, Caden and Cathril's forces orchestrated a flawless extermination. The eastern and western fronts of the Ashenwood Wilds were swept clean. Not a single den of darkness remained.

At the ravine's entrance, the soldiers carved words into the stone:

"Here lies the place where monsters die."

…..

Soon, victory songs echoed from across the land.

The month-long campaign ended in triumph. Within the kingdom's borders, no shadow creature stirred. The wildlands had been reclaimed.

But it was not without cost.

Over four hundred soldiers gave their lives in the campaign.

Kaen visited each of the five towns personally to hold mourning rites. In every town square, he ordered the construction of a Pillar of Heroes, inscribing the names of the fallen. On its base, he wrote:

"All who died for the kingdom live on in our hearts.

Every beautiful thing we cherish today is a flower fed by their blood."

…..

After the war.

Kaen often found himself pondering the invasion of the Warg Riders.

In his memories of the other world, in a film he had once watched, Gandalf had led a Dwarven company through the Troll-woods. After defeating the trolls, they were chased by Warg Riders and narrowly escaped into Rivendell via hidden paths.

If so, then perhaps… the Warg Riders who attacked Kaen's kingdom were the very same ones meant to pursue Thorin's company in the original tale.

But Kaen had altered fate.

The Troll-woods had become the Ashenwood Forest—a reclaimed wilderness teeming with life. A new kingdom had been founded upon its bones.

This realization sparked a quiet understanding in him.

Gandalf and his companions would soon arrive in Eowenría.

And when they did, Kaen would be ready—not just to stand against the dark, but to grasp a fortune along the way.

….

One month later.

The height of summer brought torrential rains. Thunder crashed above as a group of drenched travelers crossed the Last Bridge over the Azure Spring River, riding into the borders of Eowenríel.

They numbered fifteen.

At the forefront was a tall figure in grey wizard's robes, a blue pointed hat upon his head, and a long white beard reaching to his belt. It was none other than Gandalf the Grey, who had departed in the spring after bidding Kaen farewell.

Beside him rode a stocky Dwarf, no taller than 4'9", with flowing black hair, a sturdy frame, and proud, handsome features.

Behind them followed a line of Dwarves, all roughly the same height—save for one Hobbit, barely 3'6" tall, who looked utterly miserable from the rain.

They were in foul moods, the storm having battered them for days.

"Blasted rain! It's ruined my whole day," one of the Dwarves grumbled.

"Gandalf! Aren't you a wizard? Can't you cast something to lighten the rain?"

"I could," Gandalf replied, "but rain stops when it pleases. And besides—I'm not a wizard of the weather."

"Ugh, I hope this town ahead gives us a shred of peace."

"Fear not," Gandalf said with a smile. "The king here is a friend of mine. He's promised to help us."

"That's what I like to hear! I could eat ten pounds of meat and down ten xtankards of ale!"

"Only ten? I could eat thrice that," another Dwarf snorted.

As they bantered and grumbled, Thorin Oakenshield turned toward Gandalf.

"This king of yours… he's the one you keep going on about? Kaen Eowenríel?"

"The very same," Gandalf nodded. "A fine king. I saw him build this kingdom from nothing. Half a year ago, he was just an adventurer with six companions."

Thorin's eyes narrowed in thought. "A man like that… I'd very much like to meet."

As the heir to a lost kingdom, Thorin had wandered with his kin for generations, enduring exile and cold stares. His pride was his armor, his dignity unshaken. He had little love for lords and nobles, whom he saw as vain and distant.

But for Kaen of Eowenría, Thorin felt something different—curiosity, even respect.

In recent months, he'd heard much from Gandalf: of battles fought and won, of armies trained from scratch, of five hundred men standing firm against ten thousand Orcs…

It all sounded like a legend.

But now, the time had come to see if the legend was true.