In the spring of the year 2943 of the Third Age.
Bilbo sat by the King's Fountain, penning his tale in quiet reflection.
Since his return, King Kaen had wrought again what once he had made in the Star of Eowenríel: eight new gems of power, the Stars of Watch, set atop the gleaming towers that guarded Elarothiel. His radiance now poured across the whole valley and the vast Ashenwood Forest beyond.
Nor was this all. He had fashioned many more stones, and placed them in every city of his realm, so that his light spread over all Eowenríel.
Beneath that holy brilliance, the people grew stronger, the Caladhîn Elves fairer, their bodies shimmering with a faint glow that could only be seen beneath the stars. Even I, a simple hobbit, Bilbo Baggins, felt my limbs grow younger, my heart more hale. Truly this is the blessing of King Kaen.
Yet though I love this realm, after a year my heart yearns for home: for Bag End upon the Hill, with its warm hearth and simple feasts. I must take leave of the King's light, and tread once more the road to the Shire…
"Writing again, are you?"
The gentle voice startled me, and I nearly dropped my notebook—one of several such I kept close.
Turning, I beheld Kaen himself. I leapt up and bowed. "Good day, Your Majesty!"
"Good day, Master Baggins," Kaen answered with a smile. "And how fare you these days?"
"Oh, very well indeed," I said quickly, "in your fair and prosperous land, all is wonderful."
Kaen's gaze softened. "Yet Bilbo, I can feel your heart is not here."
"Ah—is it so plain?" I scratched my head, sheepish.
Kaen chuckled. "From the time you ceased to wander the valley and seek the Elves in the forest alone, I knew your feet soon would turn toward home."
"Well… you are right. I am homesick," I confessed at last. "If I could, I would ever dwell in your light. But alas, I am a hobbit. My kin and my home are in Hobbiton. My folk may lack my taste for adventure, yet I share their love of hearth and hole. As my wanderlust fades, the longing for my home grows ever stronger. I must return."
"That is natural," Kaen said gently, kneeling to lay a hand upon my shoulder. "A man's legs follow his heart. Where the heart goes, there also the feet."
I swallowed hard. "Yet it grieves me to leave you, and this land of beauty."
"You may return at any time," said Kaen. "There will ever be a house here waiting, if you would call it your second home."
"Oh! Thank you, Sire." I bowed again, and then, thinking of something, reached for my pocket.
Kaen stayed my hand with a glance. "Bilbo Baggins, I know well the nature of that ring you bear. It has magic, yes, but its power runs deeper than you yet perceive. I cannot tell you all, not yet. But I give you a charge: guard it well, until the day the Grey Wizard himself comes to claim it."
I let out the breath I had been holding, and tucked the ring away.
"Then… am I to serve you?" I asked, half in jest, half in awe.
Kaen smiled. "If you so will, I shall name you the Chronicler of Eowenría."
I could not help but beam. Stepping back, I bowed deeply. "Gladly, my lord. Gladly will I serve."
Kaen, towering nearly two meters, looked upon me—barely one—with true fondness.
"Then I ask one more thing of you," he said. "Keep your writings of Eowenría secret for one year. Let none read them until the time is ripe."
"And after a year?"
"Then you may be not only a great adventurer, but a great author," Kaen replied.___
…
On a bright morning Bilbo set forth. The Obsidian Gate swung open for him alone. He bore a great pack upon his back, and at his side marched five of the King's Guard, honored escort for his road home.
From the Gate, two figures watched: Kaen and Gandalf.
"You mean to stay here forever then?" Kaen asked softly.
"Of course," Gandalf said, pipe tucked away. "Unless you drive me out."
"That shall never be. But mark you, my kingdom lacks the fine leaf you favor."
"No matter. There is always Rivendell. Elrond keeps the choicest supply, as you know."
Kaen laughed, then turned more solemn. "Then I name you my Counsellor of the Realm. And if you grow weary of it, I shall call upon Saruman to replace you."
"Ha! He may even enjoy the post," Gandalf muttered.
So Gandalf became Kaen's royal counsellor, though he ever wandered at will, vanishing into roads unknown, chasing smoke and secrets. Kaen did not mind; for Gandalf's true charge was to bind together the free peoples of Middle-earth against the Shadow.
That year the Shadow made no great move, save holding fast the High Pass. The Orc-kingdoms of the mountains were quiet; Angmar in the North lay still. Yet Kaen felt the weight of a hidden plot.
The work of forging higher Men and Elves continued in secret in the West. The gates of Eowenría were shut to all but Rivendell. In the East, the Star of Eowenríel blazed nightly over Tusgar, and the changes of its people were plain for all to see.
Kaen was certain: Sauron's eye had turned that way. Dol Guldur lay but a month's march from Tusgar. The sealing of the High Pass was but a trial, a probe.
If Kaen struck swiftly at the Pass, he would reveal his true worth. If he held his hand, Sauron's doubt would drive him to a deeper search. Only when he uncovered Kaen's true design would he unleash his full might.
Thus the two great powers played their silent game, waiting for the other to falter. One needed time, the other truth.
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