Kaen spoke at last.
Gandalf nodded, took a step forward, and began to chant. Then he lifted his staff high and shouted:
"Light!"
In an instant, white radiance burst from him and rolled outward in all directions.
The shrouding mist was torn away. The clinging darkness on the ground was driven back and stripped from the earth.
The barrow-wights felt that power and shrieked in agony. Like a black tide breaking, they recoiled and fled, melting back into the barrows.
When the last of the evil spirits had slipped into the tombs, the grey veil over the Barrow-downs was utterly dispersed.
Sunlight once more poured over the hills.
The gaping cracks in the ancient mounds slowly knit closed, until they lay as they had for ages past—as though nothing at all had happened.
Only the mangled corpses scattered on the ground, and the stench still lingering in the air, bore witness that the battle had been real.
Kaen gazed at the now-silent barrows.
"These forefathers have been defiled for far too long," he said quietly. "It is time they were allowed to rest."
"I will see to that," said Queen Galadriel.
She swung down from her horse, walked to the greatest of the barrows, and laid her hand upon its weathered stone. In a low voice she began to speak in Elvish, words of mercy and release.
A strange power flowed from her, spreading out over the entire Barrow-downs.
As her chanting continued, a low, pained rumbling rose from under the earth—the muted howls of the wights. At last even that faded, and silence fell.
On the rounded crests of the barrows, new grass sprang up, vivid and green. The foul reek in the air was swept away.
The company gathered dead wood and built pyres, burning the twisted remains that lay above ground.
"Lords of Cardolan, may you sleep in peace at last," Aragorn said.
He and Denethor stood before the flames, laid their hands over their hearts, and bowed deeply. The young noblemen of the Dúnedain followed their example, one after another.
Their black hair gleamed with blue in the dying light of the sun. For the first time, they were saluting their forebears not merely as soldiers, but as heirs of the blood.
When all this was done, the company set out again.
The Barrow-downs slowly dwindled behind them. The pall of a thousand years of darkness and haunting was gone—but the sight of those pale hands, the shrill wails, and the despair in the eyes of the fading wights were etched into every memory.
They all understood: this had been only the first trial of their journey. The shadows ahead might well be darker still.
....
Following the Great East Road, they crossed hill after hill. Ten days later, they came to a forest.
Artemis tilted her head, listening to the susurrus in the wind, and said softly, "This forest feels… wrong. The trees themselves seem to have a will."
The Old Forest.
It lay beyond the eastern border of the Shire, one of the oldest forests left in Middle-earth, its history perhaps stretching back to before the Elves first awoke.
It was said to be the last remnant of the great primeval woods that had once covered Eriador and Enedwaith.
The trees that still "lived" there were much-diminished Ent-folk, or Huorns, so degenerated that they could no longer walk or speak.
In elder days they had seen too many of their kind felled by Mannish axes and orcish fires. Now they bore a deep, abiding hatred toward all two-legged creatures.
The trees that still held a measure of awareness would stretch out their branches to block paths, turn travellers astray, or even lash out in sudden violence.
Chief among them was Old Man Willow—a vast, ancient, and venomous willow that grew beside the Withywindle. With his branches he could bind the unwary and drag them into the river to drown. He was the very knot and heart of the Old Forest's malice.
As the company entered beneath that shadowed canopy, the air grew thick and heavy.
Dark green crowns twisted in the evening wind into eerie shapes. Scars along the trunks looked like countless half-lidded eyes peering at them. Someone, curious, reached out to touch an outermost branch—
The twig jerked away like a startled animal, whipping back so sharply that he snatched his hand away with a gasp.
"Don't touch them," Gandalf grumbled. "These trees have seen Númenórean-axes and Orc-torches. They've long since lost all trust in anything that walks on two legs."
He had passed this way in his wandering years; the temper of this wood was not easily forgotten.
"Onward," Kaen ordered. "Keep to the path. Touch nothing you do not have to."
They wound along a dim forest track. Fallen leaves lay piled thick underfoot, so deep and soft it felt like treading on old ash.
Three days later they emerged from the Old Forest's oppressive gloom and came at last to the Brandywine River, beyond which lay Hobbiton and the green heart of the Shire.
In the pale gold of morning mist, the water rippled and glimmered. Flat-bottomed boats, of the kind only Hobbits used, drifted on the current; a few red-hatted Hobbits were humming as they hauled in nets.
When they saw an armed company—helms, mail, and spears—marching toward Hobbiton, they squeaked in terror and vanished into their cabins, peeking out with wide eyes over the gunwales.
Hobbits were a timid folk and seldom had dealings with the tall peoples. They preferred to watch from afar, not step forward and speak.
Once they had crossed the Brandywine, the sight before the travellers' eyes brightened as though a veil had been lifted.
Great fields of grain rolled away like green velvet to the horizon. White farmhouses speckled the land. Round doors of hobbit-holes were set into the hillsides, and smoke curling from chimneys carried the smell of fresh bread.
The young men pulled off their helmets and let the sunlight warm their faces; even their breathing grew lighter. Here, there were no shadows of war, only untroubled peace.
Hobbiton sat upon a gentle slope, and at its crown stood Bag End. In the light of sunset its round front door glowed a warm russet red.
The arrival of the armed embassy filled the Hobbits with unease. They gathered in little knots, whispering and staring.
Not until Thorin raised his voice and called, "We are friends of Mister Bilbo Baggins—an embassy out of the East!" did the murmuring change.
"Master Baggins's Dwarf-friends! By my whiskers, the tales he told us were true!"
"Are those Elves? They're beautiful! Master Baggins did say he had Elf-friends!"
"Such noble bearing… and that one looks fairer than the Elves themselves… Master Baggins said he was a great king, it was true!"
Hobbits chattered excitedly.
Content in their fields and cellars, they might live their whole lives without ever crossing their own borders, if no great storm reached the Shire.
Bilbo Baggins was the exception.
When he returned from his adventure and wrote down the tale of the Quest of Erebor, Nobody in the shire believed him and thought of him as eccentric. Yet they were indeed intrigued by these tales.
Atop the hill, the door of Bag End creaked open.
Bilbo came running out, silver threads now glinting in his curly hair, and fine wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.
But he looked wonderfully hale, more vigorous than many men half his age. He ran down the slope like a lad, waving and shouting:
"Thorin! Gandalf! Over here!"
Thorin's eyes stung at the sight. He stepped forward and folded the Hobbit, three heads shorter than himself, into a fierce embrace.
Since the Battle of the Five Armies, twenty-four years had passed, and they had not met once. A thousand words pressed in Thorin's throat, but all he managed in the end was a gruff:
"Your beard… still hasn't grown in, you little rascal."
Bilbo laughed and thumped him on the chest, then turned to Kaen. Suddenly he seemed shy, like a child meeting a king for the first time.
"Oh my stars, Your Majesty… I never dreamed you yourself would come here. This is…well…it's a bit overwhelming!"
Kaen smiled. "We're passing by, and thought we'd see how you're getting on. If you don't mind, we'd like to spend a night here and enjoy a proper supper."
Gandalf puffed on his pipe. "There are rather a lot of us, but I don't believe you'll turn us away."
Thorin chuckled. "Sorry in advance, Bilbo. Every time we come, we empty out your larders."
"No trouble, no trouble at all!" Bilbo flapped both hands. "I promise, every one of you will have a full plate and a full belly by nightfall."
Kaen turned to his captains. "Find a piece of open ground and set up camp. Hobbit-holes won't hold this many folk."
…..
Bag End, from within, was far roomier than its round front suggested.
Maps and sketches hung on the walls. Bookshelves climbed from floor to ceiling. Strange curiosity crowded the corners: Elven glass flasks that caught the light like trapped starlight; Dwarvish metal trinkets chased with runes; even a troll's toe, shrivelled and grey, tied with a loop of red string.
Gandalf, as if returning to his own study, went straight to the armchair by the hearth and settled in, stuffing his pipe with leaf and drawing on it deeply.
"I knew you'd come sooner or later, Gandalf," Bilbo said, setting out honey-wine. "Last month I dreamed you'd nicked my ham and fed it to the crows."
"That's just you eating too much and worrying about your pantry," Gandalf said, blowing a smoke ring at him.
Young Dwarves wandered about, staring at everything in amazement.
"Your fathers and I," Thorin told them, "set out from this very hill, when we went east to reclaim Erebor."
It was a fine day—perhaps Bilbo's happiest in twenty years. He went round every smial in Hobbiton borrowing food and drink; by evening the entire village was one great feast.
The Hobbits sang and danced; though they stood scarcely a metre high, their songs were clear and bright.
With the Ring of Fire on his hand, Gandalf sent fireworks whistling into the air. Elves lent their voices to the music, spinning old lays into the night. Dwarves, naturally, fell to eating and drinking with the Hobbits as if they had known them all their lives.
Even the usually stern King's Guard sat down and passed around mugs of ale.
"This is a lovely land," Queen Galadriel said softly, watching a line of Hobbits dance hand in hand. "They are content in peace, and their hearts are still full of simple goodness."
Kaen, fingers intertwined with Arwen's, replied, "The world will not always know peace, but there should always be places where peace endures."
When the feast was done, most of the company slept in the tents of the camp. Kaen and a few others were given room in several of the larger hobbit-holes.
...…..
Late that night, Bilbo led Kaen up to the highest point of the Hill.
From there they could look out over all Hobbiton. The lights in the round windows below twinkled like a scattering of stars thrown upon the grass.
"Your Majesty," Bilbo asked quietly, "do you think the world will really stay peaceful… forever?"
Kaen remembered the souls laid to rest beneath the Barrow-downs, and the fire he had seen in the eyes of the youths as they fought.
"Peace is not a gift that, once given, lasts without cost, Bilbo," he said. "It needs folk to stand up for it, just as you once set out with the Dwarves, and just as these young ones fight now. It must be guarded, generation after generation."
Bilbo nodded slowly. "You're right. Some things… someone always has to carry."
He fell silent for a long time, then drew something from his waistcoat pocket. In the dimness it gleamed with a soft, oily sheen.
It was the One Ring, which he had secretly kept by him for decades.
He held it out toward Kaen.
"You asked me to look after this," he said. "I can feel its power, I know it's what's kept me spry at eighty. I… I'd like to know what it really is."
Kaen did not take the Ring.
Instead he said, "It is a token of peace. When the right time comes, and you hand it over, it will help bring long years of peace to this land."
Bilbo's gaze steadied. "If that's so, then I'll guard it well, until the day your messenger comes, whenever that may be."
Kaen smiled. "When that day comes, come to Elarothiel. The Golden Tree stands there now. I will grant you long life and good health with my own hand."
The tall man and the small Hobbit spoke together on the hill for a long while, until at last they went back down.
.....
At dawn, the company made ready to depart.
Bilbo saw them off at the edge of the village. Thorin pulled him into a rough, crushing embrace.
"If you ever have the time," the Dwarf-king said, "come to the Lonely Mountain. Balin and the others all miss you. And to my new kingdom, Khazad-dûm. I'll be waiting for you there as well."
"It's a promise," Bilbo replied with a watery smile, though his eyes shone.
He bowed deeply to Kaen. "Farewell, Your Majesty. I shall remember your light."
…