After the Battle of the Cold Plains, Kaen Eowenríel remained with his host, encamped amid the ruins of that desolate land. The wind from the North blew chill across the broken stones, carrying whispers of the slain and the faint scent of dragon ash. Not long after, Gandalf the Grey arrived, riding with the supply columns that wound their way through the frost-hardened waste.
"Kaen," said the wizard, his eyes glimmering beneath the brim of his hat, "I have heard of your latest deed,that once more you slew a dragon and turned back the darkness of Angmar. Truly, my heart rejoices for you."
Kaen smiled faintly and bowed his head. "Forgive me, old friend. I have drawn you from warmth and comfort for this grim work. Yet when it comes to cleansing the carcass of a cold-drake, I could think of none but you, and perhaps myself ,who could manage such a task."
"Now, that's hardly fair," said Gandalf with a hearty laugh. "Though the years sit heavily upon me, I have looked the same these thousand years. Don't think me frail — I wager I am as sturdy as any of your generals!"
Kaen laughed, the sound echoing over the icy plain. "That I do not doubt! You, of all beings, are the most steadfast of wizards , the forge and flame of battle favor you still."
They spoke for a while longer before walking to where the cold-drake's immense corpse lay. The beast's body, coiled in death, stretched longer than the walls of a fortress. Before the spellwork began, Gandalf turned to him and asked, "Are you certain you would not keep something of it? A tooth, a claw, perhaps , a relic for remembrance. I could purge the evil from it, and truth be told, so could you."
Kaen considered for a moment, his gaze resting on the monstrous head of the dragon. "Then let the head remain," he said. "I will have it fashioned into a monument — a warning to the darkness that festers still in the Ettenmoors."
…
When the Flame of Arnor was kindled, the corpse of the cold-drake burned to ash, its flesh and sinew reduced to grey cinders beneath the fire's holy blaze. Only two complete dragon skeletons remained, gleaming white as frost beneath the wan sunlight.
Throughout the long winter, Kaen held his garrison at the ruins of Cold Plain. At times, he and Gandalf rode out together to survey the land and chart the terrain for a northern line of defense. Unlike ordinary kings, Kaen — tutored by Lord Elrond — had cast aside pride of crown and taken upon himself the duties of scholar and strategist alike. His mind, ever bright, grasped every craft and discipline with ease.
To fortify such a wide and open plain, the defensive line would need to stretch hundreds of leagues from east to west. Yet the kingdom's strength was limited, and Cold Plain itself offered no cliffs or mountains for natural defense. For nearly half the year the land lay buried beneath snow, the bitter cold ruled by the lingering malice of the North.
To hold such ground, at least a hundred thousand men would be required. Though Kaen commanded such a number, he could not station all his host there. Thus he conceived a bold design , to rebuild the ruins of Cold Plain into a mighty city, a bastion of the North, and a shield for Eowenría.
Along the border he ordered towers to be raised, one every ten leagues. Each tower would rest upon a small fortress, its summit crowned with a rune-gem of blue fire. In peace the gems would glow azure, but at the utterance of a secret word they would blaze crimson, their signal leaping from tower to tower like fire along a line of tinder. In this way could news and warnings be borne with speed across the realm.
Every three towers formed a defensive triangle, ensuring that each outpost could swiftly aid another until the main host could arrive. Fifty such towers were planned, each within four or five leagues of the next, equipped with great crossbows and mithril-tipped bolts strong enough to pierce an ogre's hide.
Kaen sent the plans to Elarothiel, commanding the ministers to gather craftsmen and materials. "When spring returns," he wrote, "the work shall begin."
…
In the sixth year of the Age of the Golden Tree , the Third Age, year 2951, as the snows melted and the rivers of the North sang once more, tens of thousands of craftsmen marched northward, their wagons laden with stone. Tower after tower rose upon the plain until, from afar, they seemed like a line of pale fire, a white scar upon the frontier of the realm.
Upon the ruins of Cold Plain, Kaen himself oversaw the rebuilding. When the walls stood tall again, he named the city Rimwinter — the City of Frost. Its northern side bore no gates, but upon the walls were hung the preserved bodies of the twin cold-drakes, their frozen forms exuding a quiet dread that kept beasts and foul things at bay.
The foes within the Ettenmoors watched with growing unease. Wolf-riders were sent forth to raid, but the swift archers of the North struck them down before they could breach the border. Skirmishes flared often, small in scale, for the Witch-king of Angmar seemed to sense that Kaen still lingered in the North.
After more than a year, Rimwinter and the northern defense line were complete. Since the shadow of Angmar still loomed, Kaen stationed three legions there to hold the frontier.
The host was arranged thus: each of the fifty outposts would house a battalion of mounted archers and one of foot-archers, forming mixed companies of strength and speed. Within Rimwinter itself stood a heavy legion under the command of Sigilis, newly appointed as the first Warden of the North.
Each year thereafter, Kaen decreed, new regiments would rotate through the frontier, ensuring every soldier of the realm shared in the burdens of its defense.
When the enemy next tested the line with wolf-riders, the outposts signaled one another in flame, and the defense stood firm. In one great battle, Warden Sigilis himself led the charge, driving the foe back across the Ettenmoors with grievous loss.
…
In the eighth year of the Age of the Golden Tree, Third Age 2953, peace held at last in the North. Kaen, having fulfilled his task and strengthened the realm's borders, led his remaining forces back to Elarothiel. Without the lurking threat of northern evil, Eowenría flourished once again, its cities bright and its people hopeful.
Yet in that same year came tidings from Rohan, that green kingdom allied to the realm. King Fengel, called by some the Glutton of Rohan, had died. A foolish ruler he had been, living long in indulgence and folly, but at his end he sought redemption.
He left behind a relic, the Sword of Melrohtar, wrought of mithril by the Elven-smiths of Rivendell, its blade inscribed by Elrond himself with runes of wisdom and shame. Upon its shining length were these words: "He who bears this blade after me, let him remember my folly and be ashamed."
Thus was the sword named Tiritharn, the Blade of Repentance. Though Fengel's reign had been one of decay, the kings and lords of Middle-earth still honored his passing.
Kaen, bound for Isengard to meet with Saruman the White, passed through Rohan and made a point to attend the funeral. There he hoped to meet the new ruler , King Thengel, son of Fengel.
Thengel had long despised his father's weakness and had departed Rohan in his youth, wandering through Gondor where he took a wife and served the Steward faithfully. Only upon his father's death, at the age of forty-eight, did he return to take the crown.
In the stories kaen knew, Thengel was remembered as a wise and noble king. His wife, Morwen Steelsheen, was a lady of Gondor, a pure-blooded Dúnedain of the South.
When Kaen arrived in Rohan, the newly crowned king welcomed him warmly despite the weight of his duties. He was a tall and broad man, proud and dignified, with the bearing of one born to rule. Smiling, he greeted Kaen before the golden hall of Meduseld.
"I am honored," he said, "that the great King of Eowenría has come to my realm. Long have I desired to meet the one whose name even the winds of the North carry with reverence."
…