In the ninth year of the Age of the Golden Tree, corresponding to the year 2954 of the original reckoning, a year unfolded worthy of inscription in the songs of the ages.
Not only because Kaen Eowenríel led the allied armies of three realms to sweep across the lands of Rhûn with the swiftness of lightning, but also because, in that same year, the first true Council of Kings of the Third Age was convened, a gathering unlike any before it, where all the rulers of the Free Peoples of Middle-earth came together beneath one roof.
From the Elves came Galadriel, Celeborn, Thranduil, Círdan, and Lord Elrond himself.
From the Dwarves: Thorin Oakenshield, Dáin Ironfoot, Rorg, and five other kings of the dwarven houses.
From Men: Bard of Dale, Thengel of Rohan, Kaen Eowenríel ofEowenría, and the Steward of Gondor, Ecthelion II of the line of the Dúnedain.
From among the Wise: Gandalf the Grey and Saruman the White.
Sixteen kings and a Queen in all, a Steward as mighty as any monarch, and two wizards of ancient power, each gathered now within the vaulted hall of Lord Elrond.The Elven kings sat in elegance and grace; the kings of Men and the Steward in humility and quiet composure. Only the Dwarves, ever earnest and guileless, brought their usual cheer to lighten the weight of such a moment.
"Oh, Kaen! It has been too long!" boomed Dáin Ironfoot, his deep voice echoing through the hall.
The King of the Iron Hills strode forth with a broad grin. "You look no different from before! But I've heard from Rorg that you've done something remarkable in the East not long ago!"
Rorg, Lord of the Ironfists, stepped forward and declared, "Indeed! You may not all know this, but His Majesty Kaen led thirty thousand riders and struck the far eastern lands with thunderous speed. The dark men of Rhûn were routed and fled in terror, and even now some still hide in the mountains, fearing to emerge!"
Kaen showed no trace of pride upon his face. Instead, he smiled kindly. "The victory was due to Rorg's aid. Without his maps and counsel, we could not have triumphed so swiftly."
At his modest words, the kings and lords around them eased, joining in pleasant talk to break the formality that had settled upon the air.
Thengel, the young King of Rohan, sighed with regret. "When I received your letter, I wished to lead my riders to join your campaign, but matters of state bound me at home. When Wudred returned and told me of your deeds, I was sorely vexed that I could not ride forth beside you."
And indeed, his words were sincere—for Kaen's lightning campaign through Rhûn was already counted among the great feats of the Age. Many kings had lived and died in mediocrity; few had achieved a glory so resplendent. For one newly crowned, to have missed such a moment was grief indeed.
Kaen smiled. "Our reigns have only begun, my friend. The world will grant each generation its chance for honor and renown."
Ecthelion, the Steward of Gondor, cared little for boasts or glories. As one of the Dúnedain now entering his twilight years, his life already held more than enough tales of valor and toil. He regarded Kaen with quiet respect.
"In you," said Ecthelion, "I see the echo of the wise kings of old. To have achieved so much in so few years, few could match such greatness. My son, Denethor, looks up to you, and through your example he has grown stronger and wiser."
Kaen inclined his head. "Your praise honors me, my lord. Under your guidance, Gondor flourishes anew."
...
In a shadowed corner, two wizards spoke softly.
"I heard," said Gandalf, curiosity glinting in his eyes, "that you have been lingering in Isengard, keeping company with… Shaloth , was it?"
"Hmph?" Saruman glanced sidelong at him, feigning surprise. "And how, pray, did you come by that knowledge?"
"How could I not know?" Gandalf rolled his eyes. "I am, after all, royal counsellor toEowenría! Isengard now falls withinEowenría's administrative realm. How could I be unaware of its affairs?"
"Heh," Saruman gave a dry, disdainful laugh. "And I, dear Grey Fool, am Grand Scholar ofEowenría, and still the Head of the Sacred White Council!"
Gandalf sighed, exasperated. He knew too well that pride was Saruman's nature, and so changed the subject. "Since you are the Head of the Council, tell me—what purpose lies behind Elrond's summons? What matter calls forth kings from every land?"
"How should I know?" Saruman scoffed. "This is a Council of Kings, not of the White Council. It concerns rulers, not scholars."
Gandalf fell silent. He would not admit it, but in matters of cunning and argument, Saruman often bested him. With a frown, he turned away and strode toward Kaen, meaning to ask him directly.
But before he could speak, Lord Elrond's calm voice filled the hall.
"My lords, take your seats. The council shall begin. I will now reveal the purpose of this gathering."
The words silenced the hall. Gandalf bit back his question, sitting reluctantly as he caught Saruman's smug look from across the room—one that only deepened his irritation.
...
One by one, the kings and rulers took their places about the great round table, each race seated with its own kind. When all had settled and quiet filled the hall, Elrond rose.
"The shadows are in retreat," he began, "and Middle-earth knows a brief season of peace. Yet it is precisely in such moments that we must speak of what may alter the very fate of our world. I have summoned you for two matters of great import—each with power to reshape the course of history."
At this, every head turned toward him in solemn silence. None among them were fools; none would take lightly a summons of such gravity.
Elrond drew a slow breath and said, "The first matter concerns the Avari of the East.More than a couple hundred thousand of these Elves prepare to journey westward. Their destination being the Fangorn Forest. The Ents have agreed to share their woodland with them."
A stir rippled through the chamber. All eyes turned to Thengel, for all knew that Fangorn lay beside Rohan, where the river Entwash sprang from the forest's heart. More than a couple hundred thousand Elves—such a tide could not be ignored. The Woodland Realm of Thranduil held scarcely so many souls in its height of power.
To have so vast a host settle by Rohan's border was no small concern. For though the Ents were neutral and would not meddle so long as their trees stood unharmed, Elves were not always so detached.
As expected, Thengel's face grew grim at once, and he opened his mouth to protest. But Elrond did not grant him the chance.
"The second matter," said the Lord of Rivendell, his voice deepening, "concerns the West."
He paused, and the light in the hall dimmed, as though even the air held its breath.
"My disciple," he said at last, "Kaen Eowenríel, King ofEowenría, High King of the Caladhîn Elves, together with my daughter, Arwen, have both borne witness to the appearance of the Valar."
The words fell like thunder.
The name Valar, to most present, was but a whisper from the dawn of time, a tale from the Elder Days. Only the eldest Elven-lords and the two wizards understood the full weight of what Elrond had spoken.
The Valar—those who shaped Arda itself—revealed once more in the mortal world. How could any heart remain still before such revelation?
Before awe could give way to disbelief, Elrond spoke again, and his next words struck even deeper.
"Ulmo, Lord of Waters, has himself appeared. He brings word that one-third of the Elves of Aman shall cross the sea, returning to Middle-earth within ten to fifteen years."
Every soul present fell into utter silence.
Even the fires in the braziers seemed to waver, as though the Hall itself trembled at the tidings.
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