Middle-Earth: Kaen, Lord of Light

Seeing the enemy horse scattered and their charge spent, Cardilaman gave a clear cry. Side by side with Ingolossë she led the five thousand Vanyar warriors forward to strike. The shadow-wardens loosed their arrows as well, each shaft as true as the shot of a master bowman, piercing armor and felling their foes with terrible precision.

For more than half an hour the battle raged. In the end the heavy cavalry of Dark Númenóreans lay slain to the last.

The cheer that rose from the Vanyar spread like ripples on water. The Elves, who but moments before had been worn to the edge of despair, now smiled with the joy of those who have walked through death's shadow and found life again.

Kaen drew in his Mearas and halted, watching the host of Elven refugees running toward his soldiers. A slight frown touched his brow. They were in sore condition: clothes torn, faces hollow, bearing the marks of long flight and terror.

A captain of the shadow-wardens stepped forward. "My lord, these are Vanyar folk out of Alcarosto. They fled the siege. Those two at their head, the man and the woman, are nobles. From their dress they are likely of the royal house of Laurenandë. They may know how things stand there."

Kaen nodded and rode forward.

As he drew near Cardilaman stopped suddenly, gazing at his tall figure in a kind of daze. In the sunlight his gilded armor shone with a holy light, and the emblem of the Golden Sacred Tree blazed upon his breastplate. His eyes were keen yet gentle, as if they could see down to the fear hidden in the roots of a heart.

"Your Majesty Kaen!"

Ingolossë was the first to find his voice. He hurried forward and bowed deeply, so moved that his words shook. "I am Ingolossë of Laurenandë. This is my sister, Cardilaman. By command of our father, King Ingwion, we have brought our people to seek your aid."

Kaen dismounted in one smooth motion. His gaze went past them to the Elven refugees huddled behind, to elders holding children, to wary warriors scanning every shadow with eyes still haunted. Then he turned back to Ingolossë, and his voice was steady.

"How fares Laurenandë now? What of King Ingwion?"

At the mention of their father and their home Ingolossë's eyes reddened. The young prince forced down his sorrow and answered, "The Dark Númenóreans have besieged Alcarosto, and five Nazgûl with Orcs fight at their side. Father bade us go first. He remained with twenty thousand warriors to fight to the end..."

Cardilaman stepped forward too, and though her tone trembled ever so slightly she did not falter. "Your Majesty, I beg you, save my father, save Laurenandë. The Vanyar are willing to pay any price."

She lifted her face. In her golden eyes tears flickered, yet she would not let them fall. Sunlight lay upon her mud-streaked cheeks, tracing out her fine features, and beneath her tangled hair there shone that holiness and steadfastness that belonged to the Vanyar alone.

Kaen looked into her eyes, and in them he saw the sky of the barren plain and his own figure reflected faintly. He remembered then something Arwen Undómiel had once said, that the eyes of Elves were gifts of the stars, able to mirror the purest of hearts.

"I will save them," Kaen said, and his voice was iron. "Not only for Laurenandë's sake, but for all the Elves of the Light who still stand against the dark."

He turned to the captain of the King's Guard. "Distribute food and clean water to the refugees. Send the healers to tend the wounded. Dispatch a small detachment to escort them to the valley ahead and help them make camp. The rest of us will continue marching toward Laurenandë."

"At once," answered Reger, and moved to carry out the order.

A true cheer broke from the Elven folk. They took the bread and water offered by the soldiers of Eowenría, and many fell to their knees in gratitude, kissing the ground beneath their feet as if the earth itself had been given back to them.

Cardilaman watched Kaen's back as he walked among his men, calmly setting all things in order, giving quiet commands, offering from time to time a gentle glance over his shoulder. Her heart began to beat strangely fast.

"Sister, come, we must keep up," Ingolossë said, tugging lightly at her sleeve.

Cardilaman started, a flush rising to her cheeks, and she hurried after the column. She chose a place not far behind Kaen, watching his silver-grey cloak stream in the wind, watching the small, simple things, like the way he sometimes lifted a hand to wipe dust from his sword. Some unspoken stirring rose within her, hard to name.

...

By evening they had made camp in a valley.

Cardilaman aided the healers in tending the wounded. Her hands were gentle and sure, and starlight glimmered at her fingertips as she worked. It was the inborn gift of the Vanyar, to hasten the mending of flesh with the light of the stars. When she had dressed the last wound and straightened, she looked up to see Kaen standing on the highest rock of the valley, gazing toward the dark line of Laurenandë's mountains.

She hesitated, then ladled a bowl of hot broth and walked toward him.

"Your Majesty, you have not eaten," she said softly, offering the bowl. Her voice was gentler than it had been by day.

Kaen took it, and his fingers brushed hers by chance. Cardilaman's face flamed at once. She drew her hand back quickly and twisted the edge of her skirt without thinking, suddenly shy as a maiden of long ago.

"Thank you," Kaen said, calm as before. He had seen her reaction but made no remark. He drank a mouthful of the hot broth and lifted his gaze once more to the south. "At our current pace we will reach Alcarosto by tomorrow evening."

"Will Father... be able to hold until then?" Cardilaman asked, and there was bare fear in her voice.

Kaen turned to her, the emblem of the Sacred Tree gleaming faintly upon his breast in the twilight. "King Ingwion is an Elf who passed through the fires of the First Age. His endurance is far beyond what you imagine. Reger and the King's Guard have already joined him. They can hold until we arrive."

His eyes dropped for a moment to the mark on her arm, a thin line where brambles had torn the skin during the flight. Though it had scabbed over, it still showed clear. "Your wound should be treated."

Before Cardilaman could respond he raised his hand, and a faint golden light kindled at his fingertips. When he touched the scar, a warmth flowed through her whole body. The pain vanished, and the old scab faded and closed, the skin knitting smooth again, leaving only the faintest trace.

Cardilaman's heart pounded even harder. She could smell upon him a quiet scent like starlight, purer even than the fragrance of Laurenandë's own Sacred Tree. She lowered her head, letting her golden hair fall to hide her face, and dared not meet his eyes again.

Kaen let his hand fall and turned once more toward the south, his voice steady. "Rest well. Tomorrow we have hard fighting ahead."

Cardilaman watched his back until the night swallowed his shape, and only then let out a soft sigh. She knew that for this High King of Eowenría she had begun to feel something she should not, yet in days of war and ruin she could only bury that feeling deep in her heart, and let it become the strength that kept her walking forward.

She looked toward the east, and whispered, "Father, you must hold on."