In full view of every Elf present, Kaen spoke in an even tone, each word ringing clearly in the great hall.
"Once, this land lay shrouded in darkness," he said. "The Vanyar, The Noldor, The Teleri, your peoples left it behind and sailed to Valinor.
"Later, because of Fëanor's Oath of Vengeance, the Noldor returned to Beleriand and waged war upon Morgoth for more than five hundred years.
"After the War of Wrath and the drowning of Beleriand, when the Valar forgave you, the Elves once again began to depart in great numbers."
His gaze swept the room.
"From beginning to end, in the First Age, the Elves of Aman never truly loved Middle-earth. What they did was driven by hatred and ambition, not by devotion to this land.
"After the First Age, High King Gil-galad founded Lindon. Throughout the Second Age, Lindon bore the burden of resisting the Darkness, buying time for all the peoples who lived upon this continent."
Kaen inclined his head slightly toward Gil-galad.
"The Elves of Lindon loved Middle-earth. That cannot be denied. Had Your Majesty not fallen at the end of the Last Alliance, had Sauron not destroyed your body, Lindon's people would not have departed for Aman at all.
"Those who remained, those who truly loved this land, founded Eregion, Lothlórien, the Woodland Realm… From the middle of the Second Age until the end of the Third, down to this very day, they have stood in battle. Six thousand years and more."
His voice grew quieter, but not softer.
"Their love for Middle-earth, their resolve to stand against the dark, has been tested by ages and found unbreakable.
"The Dúnedain of Arnor saw their kingdom fall in struggle against the Shadow. Their descendants became Rangers, spending their entire lives contending with the dark.
"Gondor has faced Mordor for over three thousand years. In glory or in decline, they have never taken a step back, even when their kings died and their stewards grew old and weary.
"All across this land, generation after generation of the Free Peoples have gone forward to die, defending the dignity of free folk. However dark the world became, none of them thought to run away."
He paused.
"But you…"
Kaen's eyes settled on the elven leaders and nobles before him.
There was a flicker of mockery there, and something like pity.
"You have dwelt in Aman, where there is no death and no pain," he went on. "In all the long years behind you, it never once occurred to you to return to Middle-earth.
"Only when you saw that this land now holds the Sacred Trees, a power strong enough to shelter whole peoples, did you gather five thousand—no, five hundred thousand—Elves to cross the sea.
"You wish to seize the lands that the Free Peoples and their ancestors have watched over with their lives for millennia—
and pay nothing for them.
"You do not find that shameful?"
He did not raise his voice, but the words landed like stones.
"A people who feared the dark, who cowered under the Valar's protection, calling themselves the High Elves…
"While those who bled and struggled here for ages, who forged their honor with steel and sacrifice, are dismissed as 'lesser races'—Men, Dwarves, Hobbits, the Silvan…
"Tell me: since when did fear of death and love of comfort become a mark of nobility?"
His voice sharpened.
"Is that what Manwë, Varda, Tulkas and all the Valar taught you to be?"
Faces flushed red across the hall. Elven hands clenched on armrests and sword-hilts; eyes glared at Kaen with a mixture of anger and embarrassment.
They wanted to refute him.
But there were no words that would not immediately crumble under the weight of their own history.
Kaen continued, relentless.
"You have neither the sense of duty the kings of Beleriand once had in the First Age," he said, "nor Gil-galad's resolve to die for Middle-earth in the Second.
"Most of you are here for an easy crown and a comfortable realm. Why should I believe you will stand shoulder to shoulder with the Free Peoples when the Darkness rises again?
"Because you want free land?
"Because you, who once abandoned this continent, now arrive with five hundred thousand Elves?"
He snorted softly.
"On this land, for thousands of years, those who have truly stood between Middle-earth and ruin—Men, Elves, Dwarves—outnumber every Elf in Aman a hundred times in sacrifice alone."
By now his meaning was clear enough for even the proudest lord.
When the world was drowning in Shadow, not one Elf from the Blessed Realm came to help.
Now that Kaen and the Free Peoples had beaten the dark back, blunted its claws and teeth, these bright newcomers wished to walk ashore, claim the choicest lands, and pay nothing?
How was that any different from watching a war from a distance, then stepping in to claim victory once others had bled for it?
It was banditry in fine clothes.
In that moment, all their boasts of "We fought in the War of Wrath" and "We helped defeat Morgoth" sounded hollow, even to themselves.
If the Valar had not hidden in Aman, would Morgoth ever have been free to ravage the whole of the First Age?
If Morgoth had not threatened the very fabric of Arda itself, would the Valar have moved at all?
And if the Elven kindreds had stood shoulder to shoulder as the Dwarves do, how long would the Dark Enemy have lasted?
Now Kaen was not merely questioning their intentions.
He was questioning their character—whether these Elves from Aman still bore the same hatred of darkness that once burned in the hearts of the Elves of light.
Kaen rose to his feet.
His tall, broad-shouldered form seemed to swell, as though some greater power stood behind him. A wave of pressure rolled out from him, and suddenly it was as if every Elf in the room were standing chest-deep in the sea, with the weight of the waters pressing on their lungs.
He fixed Ingwion with a level look.
"Prince Ingwion, son of the High King of the Vanyar," he said, each word like iron, "here is my question to you:
On what grounds do you believe that merely arriving entitles you to vast lands?
"Why not go and take them from Sauron?"
His eyes flashed. "Is it because you think the Free Peoples are easier to bully than the Shadow?"
Silence crashed over the hall.
Not a single Elf spoke. Kaen had not once shouted. His voice had remained calm, almost conversational. Yet every word had fallen like the head of a great hammer, smashing their proud self-image as High Elves of the Light.
At last he stepped aside from his chair and turned to Galadriel and Círdan.
"Your Majesty," he said to the Lady of Lórien, then to the Shipwright, "honored Círdan—let us go.
"A pack of fair-faced cowards, who mouth the word 'noble' while clinging to life and comfort, who bear no true heart for glory, are not worth our time."
With that, Kaen turned his back on the assembled princes of Aman.
In full view of them all, his radiance flared, bright as the noonday sun, and his presence surged to its full height, a living, burning force.
He strode toward the doorway, his voice ringing through the hall:
"My terms stand," he said. "If even one of them is not met, the Elves of Aman will turn their ships about and sail back the way they came.
"Middle-earth has no welcome for those who cower and love ease."
He took another step, and added, without turning:
"High King Gil-galad is the sole exception. Lindon is his work, his kingdom. I have no right to bar a returning hero from his own shore."
He paused once more, then gave his final command:
"As for the rest of you: in the next three days, you may send envoys ashore to deliver your decisions.
"After three days, I will hear no explanations. Any ship that dares approach these coasts without leave from the Free Alliance will be treated as an enemy and dealt with accordingly."
A soft sigh sounded behind him.
Gil-galad rose, bowed slightly toward Galadriel, then turned to Círdan.
"Please tell King Kaen," he said quietly, "that I, and those who follow me from Aman, shall land on the second day from now."
"I will, my king," Círdan replied.
He understood very well what his liege was declaring:
Gil-galad was drawing a line between himself and the proud lords of Aman.
Galadriel nodded, then turned her gaze to her nephew and niece—Anrod and Anariel, children of Finrod.
Compared to my brother, she thought, they lack a certain sharpness of resolve.
With that, Galadriel and Círdan turned and followed after Kaen.
As they reached the doors, Anrod suddenly spoke, voice a touch hurried:
"Aunt," he called. "Your daughter, Celebrían, has come as well. Whatever is decided… I shall at least see her safely ashore."
Galadriel's steps faltered for a heartbeat. Then she moved on, leaving only a quiet, trembling "Thank you" behind her.