The little boat drifted on, drawing ever closer to the great ships.
Their true size became more and more staggering. The sails of the nearest vessels rose higher than the walls of the Grey Havens themselves, and the anchor chains hanging into the sea looked like black serpents whose tails vanished into unseen depths.
On the foremost flagship, Elven guards stood in ordered ranks upon the deck, clad in silver mail, spearpoints cold and keen as a line of unmoving statues.
From the ships, faint singing rode upon the wind—soft and distant, a melody out of Aman, old and high, the kind of song that could calm a raging sea.
Hoooom…
A horn sounded.
One colossal swan-ship, vast enough to carry a thousand souls, glided forward from the line. Elven sailors upon her decks wove their magic; the ship turned upon the spot with effortless grace, bringing her flank around to face the little skiff.
From her side they lowered a gangway, a long white stair reaching down almost to the surface of the water.
A voice rang out above them, clear and resonant:
"We bid welcome to the great Aran-Erain, Kaen of Eowenría; to Galadriel, daughter of the High King of the Noldor in Aman; and to Círdan, ancient watcher of the Havens—come aboard the ship of the Lords of the Eldar!"
Solemn music rose in answer.
Kaen bowed his head a fraction, then turned and held out his hand to Galadriel, that the Elven queen might set foot on the stair first. He followed as the second to ascend; Círdan came last.
They climbed lightly up the gangway, boots ringing softly upon the planks. Step by step, the vista of the deck revealed itself before them.
The topmost deck was like a wide, open square. It was already filled with Elves standing in ordered ranks, fresh from the divisions of their host. They held their heads high, bearing noble and unbent; radiance clung about each of them, and their gathered light merged into a single luminous haze across the ship.
As the three reached the uppermost step and stepped onto the deck, all the Elves bowed together in a shallow salute.
Kaen walked in front; Galadriel and Círdan stood half a pace behind, left and right.
They did not pause among the assembled nobles, but took the straight white carpet laid along the centre, walking forward between two living walls of warriors and princes.
At the far end of that carpet stood Glorfindel, his face bright with a springlike smile. At his side was a middle-aged Elf of striking presence and kingly bearing.
The instant Kaen's gaze fell upon that Elf, he could feel the change in Galadriel and Círdan beside him—excitement, gladness, something like the ache of long parting finally eased.
Kaen inclined his head and spoke first:
"I am Kaen Eowenríel," he said, his voice calm yet carrying to every corner of the deck. "Today I stand here as the representative of all the Free Peoples of Middle-earth. It is an honour to meet you all."
Before him, Glorfindel and the other Elven lords bowed low. The light around Kaen was so intense that few among them dared meet his eyes for long.
The young-looking Elf at Glorfindel's side bowed and answered:
"I am Gil-galad of Lindon, founder of the kingdom of Lindon, direct heir of Fingon, High King of the Elves of old—and ruler of Lindon restored."
Beside him, the stern, golden-haired Elf with the wind-tossed mane stepped forward and gave a warrior's bow.
"I am Ingwion, son of Ingwë, High King of the Vanyar," he said.
Two grey-haired Elven youths bowed together, movements neat as mirror-images.
"We are the sons of Dior, last lord of Doriath and High King of the Sindar," said one. "Elurín," he named himself.
"And Eluréd," said the other.
Then a handsome Noldorin Elf, and a beautiful Noldorin maiden whose face resembled his by seven parts in ten, stepped forward. They bowed first to Galadriel, then to Kaen.
"I am Anrod, son of Finrod Felagund, King of Nargothrond," said the Elf.
"And I am Anariel, daughter of Finrod Felagund," said the maiden.
Galadriel looked upon them, her eyes full of joy.
In these two she saw the shadow of an elder time—of herself and her brother Finrod in the First Age, when both had been young and filled with longing: setting out to seek realms of their own beneath unknown stars, dreaming of lands they might rule in wisdom and splendour.
She smiled and nodded to them, but did not yet speak—for today, the one to lead was Kaen.
Gil-galad.
Ingwion.
Elurín and Eluréd.
Anrod and Anariel.
These were the leaders of the five hundred thousand Elves who had returned out of the West.
Of them all, only Gil-galad had ruled in Middle-earth before; yet save for him, the rest all regarded Ingwion as first among them.
For Ingwion was not only prince of the Vanyar; he was also the mightiest in raw power— a top-tier mythic hero. Of everyone present, he stood highest in seniority as well, of a generation with Galadriel's own father.
Now he stepped half aside and said courteously,
"Lord Kaen, the feast is prepared. If it please you, we would lead you within."
Kaen shook his head.
"My apologies, Prince Ingwion," he said gently. "Forgive me, but I cannot share wine and fine dishes with you, not yet."
A faint murmur ran through those gathered. Kaen went on, his tone still courteous but edged with steel:
"I welcome you back to the land where the Elves first awoke. I wish you well in restoring here, in Middle-earth, the ancient glory of the Calaquendi.
"But I have come bearing not only my own name, but the will of all the free peoples of this continent. Before any feast, we must hold council—
and speak plainly of what the Free Peoples desire."
He let his gaze travel slowly across their faces.
"What we decide there," he said, "will determine whether you may set foot upon this land as allies—
and whether you will be counted among the Free Peoples of Middle-earth."
For a heartbeat the leaders of the host simply stared at him, taken aback.
From Glorfindel they had already heard much of Kaen's character.
A humble king in his dealings with his own; yet when the fate of peoples was at stake, he became hard as tempered steel. His tenderness he kept for all he loved; his sternness he turned upon every uncertain element; his ruthlessness he reserved for whatever sought to destroy the beautiful things of the world.
His refusal to accept their feast now was, in truth, a declaration:
—These Elves returning from Aman had not yet earned the recognition of the "First Among Kings of Middle-earth".
If it had been anyone else saying so, the Light Elves out of Aman would already be seething.
They were proud beyond measure, and had ever regarded those who had never seen Valinor as folk of a lower order.
But the one standing before them was Kaen—
the man who had slain a fallen Maia and walked away alive;
the man who could stand eye-to-eye with the Valar and speak;
the man whose name in the West was spoken even among the Powers.
Such a place and such power left these Western Elves with no room for anger or disdain. In his presence, their pride simply melted away.
Each turned his own thoughts over in silence. It was Ingwion who first moved.
He let the last trace of his smile fade, bowed his head a fraction, and said,
"Since it is your wish, my lord, we will abide by it.
Pass the word, put away the wine and the feasting for now. Prepare instead the honey-tea of Aman.
We shall hold council."
So they left the open deck and passed into the great hall built upon the vast ship, taking their seats around a round table.
Gil-galad spoke first.
"Lord Kaen," he said, "you have come bearing the will of the Free Peoples as they now stand in Middle-earth. Then we would hear that will from your own lips.
Speak to us of their desires; we shall listen, and after careful thought, give you our answer."
"So it should be," Kaen replied.
He inclined his head slightly, let his eyes move once around the circle of faces—Vanyar, Noldor, Sindar, and all their captains,
and then began to tell them what those who came out of the West would be required to do.