Middle-Earth: Kaen, Lord of Light

The Obsidian Gate slowly opened.

Under Old Jack's guidance, the expeditionary party stepped into the realm of Elariel.

This once-charred valley, now reborn, unfolded before them in radiant splendor.

A road paved with pale white stones stretched from the gates into the distance, reaching all the way to a sapphire-blue lake nestled in the heart of the circular valley—beside which rose the bones of a city still under construction.

On either side of the road, verdant grass swayed gently in the breeze, dotted with a riot of blooming wildflowers. Herds of elk galloped freely across the fields.

Charred tree trunks, once dead and lifeless, now sprouted tender green shoots, while white-winged birds built their nests in the branches above. It was as if the land had not only risen from fire and ruin but been reborn into a purer life.

Old Jack spoke with quiet pride:

"Wizards, Dwarves, Hobbits, Welcome… to our capital: Elarothiel."

The company stood in awed silence, lost in the beauty that unfolded before them.

In their eyes shimmered astonishment, envy, longing.

Even Gandalf himself seemed for a moment at a loss for words.

Bilbo murmured, "It's… it's too beautiful for words."

"Aye," whispered Balin. "It is like one of those hidden elven realms of legend… a secret paradise forgotten by time."

Gandalf nodded solemnly. "This city… is fated for greatness."

They continued onward, walking the glistening road toward the valley's center.

Like ants beneath towering cliffs, they passed beneath the watchful gaze of four tall white towers standing sentinel at each compass point.

At the heart of the valley, the road branched into loops encircling the lake.

Old Jack raised a hand toward the shimmering waters.

"This lake bears two names," he explained. "By day it is called the Mirror of the Sky. By night, Lake of Stars and Moon."

"All key ministries of the kingdom—governance, finance, justice, inspection, healing, runesmithing, construction—they all encircle the lake."

"The residential quarters stretch out to the east, west, and south. To the north lies the crafts district. And upon that small hill by the water's edge, the King's Palace shall rise."

He gestured to a modest hill near the shore.

"It is called High King's Hill. The summit is known as High King's Seat, the symbol of supreme power. From there, one may gaze over the entire valley."

"For now," he added with a slight smile, "the palace is not yet built. His Majesty still resides at the foot of the hill in a temporary court."

As they stepped into the heart of the main city, still under construction, the dwarves suddenly halted, their expressions darkening.

Because what they saw were Elves—not a few, but at least a thousand Elven craftsmen.

Thorin's face turned grim. "Such a beautiful land… sullied by the presence of those pointy-eared deceivers."

The other dwarves also scowled.

They remembered.

When Erebor fell, the Elves of the Woodland Realm—bound by oath—stood idle and offered no aid.

During the bloody battles over Moria, the Noldorin Elves—who had long allied with the line of Durin—still failed to lift a hand.

The Dwarves, stubborn as they were, had never forsaken an oath. When their allies called, they came.

The Elves? They broke faith, time and again, watching silently as one dwarven kingdom after another crumbled into ruin.

Thus, between Elf and Dwarf, bitter resentment ran deep.

To the Dwarves, Elves were creatures of pretty faces and poisoned hearts—masters of treachery wrapped in silk.

Sensing the rising tension, Gandalf quickly interjected.

"Thorin," he said sternly, "this is Elarothiel. You represent the Kingdom Under the Mountain. Behave with the dignity your title commands."

Thorin drew a deep breath and gave a slight bow.

"My apologies," he said. "I swear, we will cause no strife with the Elves while in this land."

From the very beginning, Old Jack had shown nothing but respect and courtesy toward the Dwarves.

That gesture—rare in these wandering years—had moved even proud Thorin.

Turning to his kin, Thorin commanded, "We may loathe them, but we must not bring our hatred into this land. Elarothiel has welcomed us with honor. We must return that honor in kind."

Though Old Jack knew not the full story, he caught enough from their words to guess at the old wounds.

He smiled gently.

"Elarothiel," he said, "has always been a friend to all Free Peoples. We do not meddle in your ancient grudges. Our enemy is the darkness—and it alone."

Thorin nodded. "As it is for the Dwarves."

At the foot of High King's Hill, outside the temporary palace, a plaza stretched wide—its floor carefully strewn with multicolored flower petals.

Towering sentinels in gleaming golden armor flanked the entrance—Imperial Guards, nearly seven feet tall.

They bore golden shields and long spears, and upon their faces, fierce golden beast-masks glinted in the fading sun.

A deep horn blast echoed across the square.

"Woooooo—"

Twilight fell.

Bathed in the rosy light of sunset, the expedition followed Old Jack along the petal-covered path toward the temporary palace.

And there, at the palace threshold, stood a tall, commanding figure.

A faint light haloed his form—holy, sovereign, and untouched.

"It's been a long time, old Gandalf," he said, his voice warm. "Nearly half a year since you last visited my kingdom."

As the company drew near, Kaen Eowenríel smiled.

His gaze moved from the tall wizard to the fourteen stout figures behind him.

It was Kaen's first time laying eyes on Dwarves.

Hmm…

How to describe it?

Gandalf's entourage had double the number of dwarves compared to Snow White's.

Gandalf returned the smile, saying,

"Kaen, your kingdom has grown far more swiftly than I imagined. Under your rule, it has become both prosperous and strong. And your spirit... it too has grown. You now shine with the aura of the Elves of Light."

Kaen bowed slightly. "That is thanks to my teacher's guidance."

Then, his gaze shifted to Thorin.

He gave a courteous bow.

"You must be Thorin Oakenshield, the dwarf hero who once used an oaken branch as shield to sever the arm of Azog the Defiler, prince of the line of Durin, leader of the Blue Mountain dwarves."

Thorin bowed in return. "Indeed, I am he. And you, mighty human king, are more than the tales say. Your kingdom is rich and rising, your leadership wise… and your appearance more comely than even the Elves."

At that, Kaen let out a warm laugh. The sun bathed him in golden light, revealing a face of striking beauty—handsome beyond words.

The Dwarves, moved, bowed with newfound respect.

Even the Hobbit, smaller still, followed suit.

Compared to the Elves, it was this man—Kaen—who stirred their hearts with kinship.

Perhaps it was the natural energy that danced invisibly about him.

Or perhaps… it was because Kaen, a traveler from another world, bore a love for all peoples that was genuine and pure.

He extended an arm toward the palace.

"Come," he said with a smile. "I've prepared a fine feast. And there is no better balm for weary travelers than a table full of good food and fine wine."

- - -

T/N:

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