Kaen Eowenríel remained in the silver boughs of Lothlórien until the height of midsummer, when the air shimmered with gold and song. Then, at last, he departed eastward for Taurëmírë, and by his side rode Arwen Undómiel, unwilling to part again so soon. The years of separation had been long, and now that fate had granted them peace, she would not leave him to walk alone. Wherever Kaen journeyed in the eastern lands, she vowed to be there, a light beside his own.
…
The realm of Taurëmírë, once the dreaded Dol Guldur, where shadow and malice had ruled for an age, was no longer a place of fear. Under Kaen's reign, it had become a land of surpassing beauty. It lay cradled deep within the forest, crowned by a hill forever kissed by morning sunlight. Ancient trees rose about it like cathedral pillars, their boughs filtering the light into golden rain. Clear streams wound among the roots, and wildflowers fringed the mossy banks like embroidered silk.
Beneath the canopy, the Caladhîn Elves had built their silver-white dwellings, blending so seamlessly with leaf and shadow that one might mistake them for living parts of the forest. Sweet voices drifted on the wind, mingling with the murmur of water and the scent of blossoms. All was peace, a harmony of light and life.
Above all glimmered the powers that guarded this region: the Blue Tree of Lúna Olonta in Lothlórien, the Green Tree in the former dark woods, and the radiance of Kaen's own statues — together weaving an unseen tapestry of light. By their grace, night and day alike shimmered with quiet brilliance.
Under the governance of Yenagath, The realms of the East were thriving; peace had taken root. Trade and friendship flowed freely among Lothlórien, the Woodland Realm, and the city of Tusgar, and even farther, some of Kaen's folk had journeyed west to Dale and the River Kingdoms. The northern lands of Rhovanion, once desolate and perilous, now gleamed with new life.
In this age, the light of the Trees along with the aura of Kaen's own blessing, banished the last remnants of shadow from the eastern world. The upper reaches of the Anduin Valley, once wild and unclaimed, had become known as The Fair Realm of Spirits.
…
Though Kaen ruled as High King over all, the realms beneath him were divided in form: the kingdom of Men, Eowenría, and the kingdom of Elves, Caerilassil, each with its own governance and customs. The Elven population was centered in the northern Eastlands, in Taurëmírë and along the upper Anduin, east of the Misty Mountains.
Yenagath, Kaen's loyal vassal and one of his earliest followers, served as Regent of Eastern Caerilassil, ruling the Elvenfolk with wisdom and faith. His sister, Yenistriel, Kaen's beloved and consort, governed the western forests as Regent of Western Caerilassil, guiding the Caladhîn tribes who dwelt in the Ashenwood.
As years passed, peace brought prosperity. The Elves of Kaen's dominion began to spread from Tusgar and Taurëmírë, founding small settlements along the upper Anduin. Among these, one place shone brightest — Gladden fields, or in Sindarin, Loeg Ningloron, "The Pool of the Golden Water-flower."
This marsh lay where the Ninglor River met the Anduin, its surface bright with golden blossoms. Dark pools dotted the wetlands, veiled in reeds and rushes, and everywhere the golden iris grew thick as a woven carpet. The Elves called it the lake of flowers that float on sunlight.
Long ago, in the elder days, this had been a wide inland lake where Sylvan Elves once dwelt. But the land shifted, and the waters receded, leaving behind the shimmering fen. In later ages, the sturdy folk known as the Stoors — forebears of the Hobbits, made their homes here.
It was near this very place, so the tales say, that Isildur, son of Elendil, was ambushed by Orcs while fleeing north with the One Ring. His sons perished, and Isildur himself vanished — some said he was slain and his body carried by the river to the Sea; others whispered he survived, hidden and nameless, living out a secret kingly life. None could say. His body was never found. Three thousand years had passed, and his fate had become legend.
It was here, too, in the Third Age, that a Stoor fisherman named Déagol found the Ring by chance and was slain by his friend Sméagol, who fell into shadow and became the creature Gollum. It was Kaen himself who had slain that wretch in the depths beneath the Orc-town of the Misty Mountains, pinning him to the stone with a spear of light. None but Kaen now knew that the trinket Gollum carried was the One Ring itself. Even Bilbo, its next keeper, lived in blissful ignorance.
Thus, the Gladden fields were steeped in beauty — and in history both wondrous and grim.
…
Kaen and Arwen came to this place after dwelling for a time in Taurëmírë. Mist hung over the water like drifting glass, and the air was heavy with the scent of lilies. The marshes gleamed faintly beneath the sun, their pools glimmering with soft green and gold. The reeds stood high as men, whispering as the wind passed through them, and the golden irises bent gently toward the river's light.
For ordinary folk, this land would have been perilous — one misstep, and the marsh would swallow them whole. But Elves were not as Men. They could tread upon snow without breaking its crust; the softest mire could bear their feet.
Kaen left the King's Guard encamped at the outer edge of the fen, and entered the heart of the marsh hand in hand with Arwen, their path guarded by silent Caladhîn sentinels. With each step, Kaen's power flowed into the earth and firm soil rose beneath his feet, hard as stone.
After long travel through the maze of reeds, they came at last to the place where the Ninglor River met the Anduin. Here the ground rose into gentle highlands, green and firm. Elves had built homes of pale wood among the slopes, linked by graceful bridges arching over the streams.
At Kaen and Arwen's arrival, the people rejoiced. Songs rose like birds, and they bowed deeply, calling out: "Hail, High King! Hail, Dawnglow!" Their voices mingled like silver bells.
Kaen looked upon them, and his heart swelled with pride and tenderness. The land was beautiful, but its beauty was a guardian as well, for the marsh's hidden depths would defend the Elves from any who meant them harm.
"Here," Kaen said at last, his voice carrying through the reeds like wind through a harp, "shall rise a fair city of Elves, a haven of peace and song. Under my light you shall dwell in happiness, and none shall mar your days."
The Elves cheered, their joy ringing across the water. They brought honey-wine and fruits of the glades, laying their gifts at his feet, calling him Eowenríel the Radiant, Lord of Light. Kaen felt their devotion, pure and bright as starlight, flowing through his spirit.
Thus was "Golden Iris City" founded a city of light among the marshes, home to the Avari, the Nandor, and the Silvan tribes. Though they revered Kaen as their sovereign, many chose to keep their ancient ways and did not take the Caladhîn name. Yet under the light of the Trees and the blessing of the High King, their spirits grew luminous and strong, no lesser than those of the Noldor or Sindar.
All who dwelt beneath Kaen's reign were known now as the People of Radiance — the united kin of light, blessed by the Trees.
By the ninth year of the Golden Tree Era — the Third Age 2954 — the building of Golden Iris City was complete. Hidden deep within the marsh, it could not be reached by any road, save by river or the secret stepping-stones known only to the Elves.
Together, Kaen and Arwen wove enchantments over the wetlands. To eyes unkind, the marsh appeared as endless mire, impassable, treacherous. To hearts faithful and pure, paths would open, the waters parting to reveal safe passage. Those who came in peace would find their way to the shining city; those who bore malice would sink without trace into the depths.
And so, Golden Iris gleamed unseen, a hidden jewel upon the Anduin's waters.
…
Yet not long after the city's consecration, a shadow loomed across the marshes — not one of evil, but of towering strength. A great figure was seen striding across the hidden causeways, his feet sure upon the reed-woven paths.
It was Beorn, lord of the Beornings — the King of the Skin-changers.
And behind him, the wind stirred as if carrying omens yet to unfold.
…