Ingwion stared up at the illusory star-vault above the hall, a sky woven of light and memory. Countless stars shimmered there, reflected in his golden eyes.
He heard again the words Manwë had spoken to him before he sailed: "Go to Middle-earth, and let the Light return to the lands of shadow."
He had never imagined that this "return of the Light" would demand that he bow his head.
"The lore of Aman is the gift of the Valar," he still argued with himself. "How can we give such treasures to mortals whose lives scarcely reach a hundred years? Their hearts are full of desires. With such power in their hands, they will fall into corruption."
"Then, my prince… are you prepared to lead the Vanyar back to Valinor?"
The voice belonged to Glorfindel, who had been silent from the beginning of the council until Kaen's departure. He looked steadily at Ingwion and said:
"Will you stand before the Valar—before your father, High King Ingwë, and tell them that because you could not set aside your pride, the Vanyar shall have place no more in Middle-earth?"
Pain flickered across Ingwion's face. He knew very well what such a choice would mean.
It would mean that of the three High Kindreds of the Eldar, the Vanyar would be forever gone from the lands beneath the sky; that in all the circles of the world there would be no place left that remembered their presence.
Glorfindel turned then to Anrod and Anariel.
"Galadriel is right," he said quietly. "Compared to your father, you lack a certain resolve. Your hearts have already chosen, yet you still bury yourselves in pointless hesitation. That is not a quality a true leader should possess."
Having said this, the golden warrior took his leave.
The "Hero of Gondolin"—whose might stood at the very peak of elven power, beyond even most mythic heroes, did not need to raise his voice. His words alone carried a weight that pressed on every heart.
Those High Elven nobles who had still been wavering now began, one by one, to make up their minds.
They turned to look at the leaders seated around the round table, waiting quietly for their decision.
"Alas…"
Anrod exhaled a long breath and walked to the wall, fingertips gliding slowly over the great map of Middle-earth. The hesitation in his gaze faded; something firmer took its place.
"The Noldor are the People of Knowledge," he said softly. "Our wisdom is a spring that does not run dry. We will use our skill and craft to add our share to the flourishing of Middle-earth.
This will be our home, until the world's end."
Anariel's eyes fell on a green-shaded region on the map, marked with a single name: Hollin.
"In the Elder Days," she whispered, "the Noldor built a realm of craftsmen in this land. Here in Middle-earth, our father once raised a kingdom of his own.
Here, we shall rebuild it—Nargothrond reborn."
Anrod and Anariel departed, and with them went many Noldorin lords.
When the door closed behind them, only Ingwion and the nobles of the Vanyar remained in the hall.
The candlelight in the council chamber stretched their shadows long across the floor.
Ingwion recalled Kaen's last, cutting question:
"On what grounds do you believe that merely arriving entitles you to vast lands?Why not go and take them from Sauron?"
Yes. They dared proclaim war against the Darkness, yet did not give respect to those who had guarded the Light.
This prince of the Vanyar, who had once stood in the War of Wrath, now showed a trace of bitter awakening in his expression.
He understood, at last, that the Vanyar, lovers of poetry and peace, had, in the long ages since they left Middle-earth, slowly been forgotten by this land.
They abandoned Middle-earth. Middle-earth, in turn, has begun to abandon them.
And now, the choice he made here would shape the fate of the Vanyar…and of Middle-earth…for ages to come.
The prince of the Vanyar sat alone beneath the fading candles. His nobles kept silent vigil around him through the long night.
Wax burned low; flames guttered; darkness folded over the chamber.
Then dawn came, and the first ray of sunlight pierced the gloom.
"We cannot lose Middle-earth."
Ingwion finally spoke again. His voice was hoarse with exhaustion, as if he had fought a long and bloody battle, not with steel, but with his own heart.
"Send word to Elurín and Eluréd," he said, "and to Anrod and Anariel. Tell them to make ready.
I will go with them to Grey Havens…and there I shall beg pardon of the one who is now chief among the kings of Middle-earth. Eowenría must see our sincerity."
His gaze slid once more to the map of Middle-earth and came to rest upon Enedwaith.
"To you," he said to the nobles of the Vanyar, "I say this: here will be our new home.
In Enedwaith, the Vanyar shall raise a kingdom of beauty and light, filled with song and blessedness."
When the doors of the council chamber opened again, morning light poured in like a tide, gilding the Elves' forms in gold.
Their steps were no longer as high and careless as when they had sailed from the West. There was still dignity in their bearing, but also a new, hard-won humility.
With his stance and his calm words, Kaen had taught these High Elves a lesson they had never been forced to learn in Valinor:
Humility.
….
Upon the sea-walls of Grey Havens, Galadriel stood on the spray-damp stones of the breakwater, gazing at the slowly nearing fleet.
A soft blue radiance curled around her fingertips: Nenya, the Ring of Water, was reaching out across the waves, sensing the hearts of the Elves upon those far-off decks.
"They are coming," she said to Kaen at her side. "And they come bearing a resolve that has wrestled with itself through the night."
Kaen's eyes followed the dark line of hulls and masts against the horizon. Sea-wind tugged at his black hair; his gaze, bright as twin stars, was full of quiet thought.
"Resolve still needs testing," he replied. "The soil of Middle-earth does not feed idlers, still less those who would only take and never give.
To resist the Dark is the duty of every free people.
If they set foot in Middle-earth, they cannot stand aside. The Free Alliance will set down rules to bind them and to guide them.
When they face the Shadow, they must fight with all their strength."
Galadriel nodded. She knew that the true struggle for the fate of Middle-earth was only beginning.
The choice of the Calaquendi had won them nothing more than the right to set foot on these shores.
The true decision still awaited one more word of assent, from Kaen.
Such was the authority of the Lord of Eowenría, King among Kings, and High Lord of the Free Alliance.
The youth who had once left the vale of Anduin seeking adventure had, unawares, grown into the guardian of all the Free Peoples of Middle-earth, fulfilling at last the calling of a member of the White Council.
…..
Two days later.
The horns of Lindon rang out across the land, long and clear. Tens of thousands of Elves gathered in streets and on sea-cliffs, all faces turned toward the grey sea.
They knew what this day was.
It was the day their king returned.
Gil-galad, High King of the Elves of the West, after years in the Halls of Aman, had at last come back from the Blessed Realm.
For this, uncounted Elves had waited in longing.
At last—
Among the five thousand great ships, more than a hundred vast swan-prowed vessels slowly began to move.
They slipped free of the anchored fleet and turned their prows toward the Gulf of Lhûn.
Elves crowded the rails, watching the shores of Middle-earth draw nearer. One by one, they broke into smiles that were not proud now, but simply glad.
At the prow of the foremost ship, Gil-galad stretched out his hand into the white radiance that fell from the distant White Tree upon the Blue Mountains. He drew a deep breath, and whispered:
"Light… Hope… I have returned."
Glorfindel stood at his side. Behind them were Ingwion, Anrod, and the other elven leaders.
They had come now for one purpose—
—to make their peace with Kaen, and to seal, at last, a new covenant with the Free Peoples of Middle-earth…