Chapter 424: A New Age
Fifty thousand wizards, set against the total human population of Middle-earth, was a vanishingly small number—and the gap would only widen with time.
Wizarding power posed a real threat to ordinary people, but on a continent where magic was steadily withdrawing from the world, the balance was shifting. As ordinary humanity continued to develop and innovate, the practical advantage wizards held would gradually narrow. Saruman's gunpowder techniques had already found their way into the armies of Gondor and Rohan. The steam engine, whose principles Kael had once shared with the Elves, was beginning to appear in human hands as well.
Kael had no ambitions to rule the world, nor any desire to see the wizarding community he had helped build pursue such a path. The future would belong to ordinary humanity. Even the Elves had been unable to hold their place in it—wizards could hardly expect to fare any differently.
He did not know whether some ambitious wizard would eventually arise and try to overturn that order — to seize dominance over the ordinary world. But he knew clearly enough that it could not succeed. Even if wizards managed to gain the upper hand, the Valar in Valinor would never permit such a thing to stand. A war between wizards and ordinary people would, at best, be another story like Sauron's. At worst, it would end with the destruction of the wizarding community entirely.
Kael would not allow that to happen. The only answer was prevention — guiding wizards gradually toward withdrawal, toward self-containment, toward a society that ran parallel to the ordinary world without colliding with it.
Time moved on.
It was now the one hundred and twentieth year of the Fourth Age.
That year, Aragorn — the legendary King of the Reunited Kingdom of Gondor and Arnor — passed from the world at the age of two hundred and ten.
Boromir, who had conquered Mordor and founded the Kingdom of Ando, had been dead for many years. Ando was now ruled by its fourth king.
In the Great Greenwood, Elven sightings had become rare. Legolas had held his post longer than anyone, watching over the forest long after the last of the others had gone westward. But the time had come for him too. Before Aragorn's death, he had gone to say farewell to his old companion in arms. Then he had made his way south to the Glittering Caves in the White Mountains to be reunited with Gimli, and had found the desire to leave Middle-earth taking firm hold of him.
Gimli, as it happened, had received the call from Valinor — the first and only Dwarf ever to be granted that right. He passed the kingship of the Glittering Caves to his son, and then he and Legolas travelled north together to spend time as guests in the forest of Lothlórien.
Under Cemya's protection, Lothlórien was as beautiful as it had ever been.
The Silvan Elves lived there still, easy and unhurried in the life of the forest. Their numbers included not only those who had always called Lothlórien home, but Elves who had come from the far east and from the Great Greenwood — those who had chosen to remain in Middle-earth rather than sail, and who had found their way here at last.
As the Fourth Age had progressed and the Age of Men had truly taken hold, the magical vitality of Middle-earth had continued to ebb. Elves who remained in the wider world would feel it — their power declining slowly over the centuries, until they faded beyond the perception of mortal eyes. The process was a long one, but its direction was not in doubt. Even the immortal Elves, if they stayed in Middle-earth, would eventually lose what made them what they were.
But within Lothlórien and Rivendell, where Cemya's influence held sway, that erosion moved at a crawl. Life there remained full and vital. The Elves who dwelt in those places did not weaken. Lothlórien had become the last true refuge of the Elves in Middle-earth — a place set apart from the world's slow forgetting.
The Wood-elves spent their days in the company of the unicorns that had made the forest their home, or riding through the golden trees on their backs. Now and then, from somewhere high in the mallorns, a phoenix would sing.
Standing on a high flet in the crown of one of the greatest mallorn trees, Legolas and Gimli looked down over the forest below, and both of them were quietly overcome by it.
"Could Valinor itself be more beautiful than this?" Gimli murmured, his voice full of something that wasn't quite awe and wasn't quite longing. "The Queen of the Evenstar has done something remarkable here. This place keeps getting lovelier."
Legolas nodded, but added: "Kael's part in it shouldn't be overlooked. It's his power that holds this forest in its protection. Without that, none of this would have been possible."
His ears shifted — catching something. He turned.
Through the doors of the elegant, natural-toned palace behind them, a couple walked side by side.
The woman wore a crown of mallorn flowers and a long white Elven gown of fine, flowing design. Her smile was warm. Everything about her spoke of gentleness and quiet dignity.
Beside her, the tall man was dressed in white Elven robes as well, a circlet of wisdom on his brow. His face was unlined and young-looking, but his eyes carried the weight of long years.
They were the lord and lady of Lothlórien — Arwen and Kael.
Behind them, unhurried, came Elthir and Elríen.
At one hundred and eighty years of age, the twins had long since come into their full maturity, matching their parents in height and bearing.
They had drawn the best of both their parents' features, and even among the Elves were considered exceptionally beautiful. Their faces were strikingly similar — the most obvious difference between them being height.
Elríen, perhaps by inheritance from her great-great-grandmother Galadriel, stood nearly six feet and three inches tall, which was unusual even among the Elves. Her long black hair fell almost to her heels, held loosely behind her ears with a simple silver band. The spirited, bright-eyed girl she had been was still visible somewhere in her, but she had grown into something else as well — a measured quality, a quiet authority, a sharpness that showed itself at the right moments. She had the look of someone accustomed to being obeyed.
In temperament, Elríen resembled neither Arwen nor Kael, but had something of Galadriel in her — the same tall, striking presence, the same pride, the same refusal to consider herself lesser than anyone. Beyond her ongoing study of alchemy, she had borrowed her father's Resurrection Stone to call up the souls of great Elves long dead — Fëanor, Celebrimbor, and others — to learn directly from them. For her weapon, she had chosen Aeglos, the divine spear of Gil-galad, High King of the Noldor.
Elthir stood taller still — two metres in height, with something of Kael in the line of his brow and eyes. His temperament, however, was closer to Elrond's: steady and measured, widely read, the kind of person who made those around him feel at ease without any particular effort.
For all their differences from their parents, both of them were exactly the children Kael was proudest of.
Elthir administered Hogwarts and the surrounding territory on Kael's behalf. Elríen managed Rivendell and Lothlórien on Arwen's. Both of them handled their responsibilities with a competence that had, some years ago now, allowed their parents to step back from active governance entirely.
Kael walked with Arwen's hand in his and offered his two guests a warm smile.
"My friends, are you comfortable? Is there anything you need? Please, say so if there is."
Legolas shook his head, genuine and unhurried in his answer. "Lothlórien's beauty has been more than enough for us. There's nothing to want for."
Gimli gave a series of enthusiastic nods, his voice carrying its usual strength. "The scenery here is extraordinary. Just being in this place makes me feel younger. I'm not sure I want to leave at all. I could live here forever."
Kael smiled. "Lothlórien welcomes all true friends. You're free to stay as long as you wish. Consider it your own home."
Legolas looked out over the forest, and for a moment something in his expression wavered. Then it settled, and he turned to Kael and Arwen with quiet certainty.
"I've made my decision. I'll be leaving Middle-earth before long—sailing to the far shores of the West."
He met Kael's eyes.
"Will you come with us?"