#myr personal | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

synchodai · 3 months ago

Note

Hello I am here to ask you about……….

The hour of the wolf.

🐺🐺

Okay, so! The Hour of the Wolf....hahahaha, you asked for this.

war has no meaning, but how we come to peace does

So war is meaningless, right? At least, that's what Fire and Blood depicts The Dance as — a cycle of violence that destroys everything and everyone that gets trapped in its vortex. We, as a society, have moved on (hopefully) from the concept of the dictator whose unchecked, absolute power is fine for them to have because they are just inherently more righteous and better than any human being. Narratives about powerful heros waging just and righteous wars are looked at with reasonable suspicion and are often decried as propaganda.

"We were king’s men, knights, and heroes . . . but some knights are dark and full of terror, my lady. War makes monsters of us all. " - Thoros of Myr, AFFC

We have all agreed that in war, everyone ultimately ends up the loser and the biggest losers are those who had no hand in starting this in this first place. At least, that's very clearly the narrative of the Dance, right?

Alright, so if war is meaningless, then where do we find meaning? Well, whenever I read any story or book about war, the most important and constructive part is always in how the author or historian chooses to resolve it. Because the natural inertia of a wheel demands that it keep spinning forever — it takes an active choice and will to power to break a cycle, come to a resolution, and stop it. Yes, the war is meaningless, but how it ends isn't.

With that premise in mind, this is why the Hour of the Wolf and Aegon III's Regency is my most read, analyzed, and beloved parts of Fire and Blood. Only the Hour of the Wolf takes place during the civil war of the Dance, so let's focus on that.

the hour of the wolf

A (not so) quick summary for those who haven't read or don't remember this part:

After the Battle of the Kingsroad, the Tully black-aligned forces overcome the Baratheon green-aligned forces when the Baratheon army underestimates their foe (for being made of women and young boys) and gets betrayed by the Crownlanders who were part of their van. When the Tully army arrives in King's Landing, they find that do not need to retake it because Aegon II is dead. Aegon III has been betrothed to Jaehaera and declared the presumptive monarch. This ushers in a period known as The False Dawn, where the city and the black-aligned armies celebrate, believing they have won and that the war is over.

That is until Cregan Stark arrives with his army of northmen and ushers in The Hour of the Wolf (the darkest hour of the night in Westerosi time-telling). He easily seizes control of the city because he has the biggest army and he's the most senior commander at 23. That should tell you something about the state of this war when literal children are leading armies. Without Cregan, this is the person who would be your highest ranking officer:

(In the books, Kermit Tully is 19 and Oscar Tully is 13. Kermit leads the Riverland armies in F&B.)

Cregan is like, "Children, this isn't over."

Who told you the war was done? The Clubfoot? The Snake? Why, because they wish it done? Because you won your little victory in the mud? Wars end when the defeated bend the knee and not before. Has Oldtown yielded? Has Casterly Rock returned the Crown’s gold? You say you mean to marry the prince to the king’s daughter, yet she remains at Storm’s End, beyond your reach. So long as she remains free and unwed, what is to stop Baratheon’s widow from crowning the girl queen, as Aegon’s heir? - Cregan Stark, F&B

He's aggressive and being a bully about it, but...it's a logical course of action given what kind of person he is and the world he exists in. Yes, Westeros was dangerously close to having more people die in a pointless war because of Cregan Stark, but that's a feature, not a bug of his character and what he represents (which I WILL go into great detail later). It is very important to the themes of this story that someone like Cregan Stark exists and that war isn't wrapped up with a victorious battle and a neat little bow.

For now, King's Landing starts to fall into despair and turmoil once again when people find out that war might not be over after all.

With the infallibility of hindsight, we now look back through the centuries and say the Dance was done, but this seemed less certain to those who lived through its dark and dangerous aftermath. - Maester Gyldayn, F&B

Luckily, the peace efforts made during The False Dawn are actually well-received not by the lords, their armies, or their commanders — but by their widowed wives. One by one, green-aligned Houses begin to come to King's Landing to negotiate and accept terms peace, and this was only possible because the lords fighting the war are dead and their widows are godsdamned tired and just want to put their own lands to rights. The final nail in Cregan Stark's plan to restart the war effort comes when Jeyne Arryn arrives with Rhaena Targaryen and her newly-hatched dragon, Morning.

The smallfolk of King’s Landing, who not a year before had slaughtered every dragon in the city, now became rapturous at the sight of one. Lady Rhaena and her twin sister, Baela, became the darlings of the city overnight. Lord Stark could not confine them to the castle, as he had Prince Aegon, and he soon learned that he could not control them either. - Maester Gyldayn, F&B

The Three Widows, the Maiden of the Vale, and the Dragon Twins absolutely wreck Cregan's control of the city. Big strong northman suddenly finds that being the biggest man with the biggest stick isn't enough to control the city — and it is delicious. For all Cregan's characterization that he is this harsh, unforgiving, and unyielding warrior, the women cow him not by playing his game of swords or aggression, but by their willingness to lay down arms. Rhaena doesn't arrive with a dragon to assert her power and threaten people with it, but instead uses it as a symbol of hope. After the darkest hour, the hour of the wolf, comes Morning.

This is when I fell in love with Fire and Blood.

judgement of the wolf: no truce with the fur(r)ies

Okay, fine, so our foes have decided to willingly lay down their arms. What are we supposed to do with all these weapons, the men we specifically brainwashed and traumatized to die in war, and the many many crimes left unanswered? SUCH A GOOD QUESTION. A quandary that we still struggle with in our 21st century. Reparations, whomst?

Here are the answers F&B gives. The weapons? Well, they're mostly decommissioned or in the process of being decommissioned. Dragons will no longer be a problem. The men? Marry them to widows that need a strong arm and have them rebuilding homes and fields. The crimes? Well...

We have to tackle the question of what justice looks like in a world where people are forced to commit violence on one another. Killing your fellow man during times of peace is treated very differently from killing your fellow man on the battlefield. When everyone's hands are stained with blood, who is left to mete righteous judgment and punishment to those who have sinned?

This fucking idiot, that's who.

Okay, that was a joke — I don't think Cregan Stark is a complete idiot or that it should be an idiot who does the judging, else GRRM would have made Mushroom do the sentencing.

But what he is, however, is somewhat of an outsider. He is a Westerosi lord paramount who has grown up with their feudal system and common laws, but he is also severely out of place in the King's Landing court because he is from the North. And the North has a very different way of dispensing justice than the south. It's no coincidence that it's the Warden of the North who takes on this task, not only presiding over the trials, but also being the executioner himself.

The blood of the First Men still flows in the veins of the Starks, and we hold to the belief that the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. If you would take a man’s life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words. And if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die. … A ruler who hides behind paid executioners soon forgets what death is. - Eddard Stark, AGOT

All the lord paramounts agree with the need to enact justice. It's their primary job as feudal lords, but understandably, none of the lords who have been embroiled in the many, many years of civil war want more blood on their hands.

On one point Lord Cregan remained adamant, however; the king’s killers must not go unpunished. Unworthy as King Aegon II might have been, his murder was high treason, and those responsible must answer for it. So fierce was his demeanor, so unyielding, that the others gave way before him. “Let it be on your head, Stark,” Kermit Tully said. “I want no part of this, but I will not have it said that Riverrun stood in the way of justice.” - Maester Gyldayn, F&B

Everyone in Westeros has a feudal conception of justice — very Code of Hammurabi, eye for an eye, "the higher you are on the social totem pole the less harsh your penalties," "it is the order of things" kind of thing. But the North has a less romanticized and more utilitarian view of justice. Ned speaks of it as a duty to sentence a man to death. They remember and keep to oaths, even when circumstances have drastically changed. So things like compassion, leniency, and mercy? Why, those get in the way of duty, don't they?

The north is hard and cold, and has no mercy, Ned had told her when she first came to Winterfell a thousand years ago. - Catelyn Stark, AGOT

To get classical, biblical even, an ideal Northern Lord is depicted to be this impartial, cold, and relentless hand of justice, unable to be swayed by love, pity, or glory, like Zeus calling down lightning on sinners as punishment. Except Cregan Stark is not Zeus. He's more like the furies — a powerful, single-minded force of nature who cannot be stopped from exacting righteous vengeance to those who have done indiscriminate evil. And to this day, some do still idealize that form of justice where every thief must be given the same punishment regardless of circumstance of context.

Again, this is why I love Cregan Stark and why I think he is such an important character on a thematic level. Because he represents the "old way" and a male power fantasy of how to win a war where all the evil-doers are either slain indiscriminately or forced to submit by the unquestionably honorable strong man who stayed true to his word to the very end.

And he's shown to be EXTREMELY out of his depth. You cannot plead with a force of nature; there can be no truce with the furies — but the furies do answer to gods. And who are the gods that move and stay Cregan Stark's hand?

the trial of corlys is the trial of westeros

Before we answer that questions, let's set up the trial and examine what's at stake.

These three are the big players who are accused of the most grievous crime of high treason, and they all represent an aspect of Westeros. Orwyle is a stand-in for the smallfolk. He did what he had to, mostly on the orders of others. Larys represents the low/upstart nobility who have been kept under the boot of the royals and who have rebelled against their wishes to assert their autonomy. Corlys represents the high/established nobility, also pushing for his own advancement but through a reinforcement of the status quo.

Orwyle is banished, sent to the Wall, but ultimately treated with leniency (by Tyland Lannister, not Cregan Stark). Larys refuses the offer of being sent to the Wall and chooses to be executed instead, extinguishing House Strong (the true upstart usurper house imho, not the Hightowers). Corlys is pardoned.

(Judgement of the Wolf by Ertaç Altınöz)

Let's focus on Corlys's verdict, because that's the one that baffles the historians and characters in the book.

Corlys is a key character throughout the Dance because he is arguably the only character that serves as the running thread all the way to the Council of Harrenhal to 101 AC to Aegon III's regency. He is the only character who has served as witness to everything, and he is arguably the guy who planted the seed of the civil war.

As far as Westerosi nobility goes, Corlys is nouveau riche. He didn't inherit his wealth like most lords; he made it through his Nine Voyages, going so far to surpassed House "We Have Literal Gold Mines" Lannister in terms of sheer wealth. Corlys was this close to becoming a king. If common law were followed and Jaehaerys didn't pass over Rhaenys, Corlys would have achieved social mobility the likes Westeros has never seen without using bigger army diplomacy. It's the closest this extremely rigid hierarchy can get to a rags to riches story, honestly. In other words, Corlys represented a new order where any bloodline could theoretically sit on the throne.

And so, in order to prevent that, we come to the original sin of the Dance. Jaehaerys passes over Rhaenys for Baelon. That leads to the nobles passing Laenor over for Viserys. Which leads to Aegon II being passed over for Rhaenyra. And this all snowballs into the Dance. All of that arguably because Rhaenys married Corlys instead of one of her Targaryen cousins or brothers.

Whether green or black, Corlys represents the nobility asserting their growing influence over the ruling dynasty and the decisions they made to further undermine their monarch's power to advance the prestige of their own House. This is not to say Corlys is evil, but that he is simply what all highborn strive towards — power, wealth, and influence. Corlys is Westeros moving forward, past the need to rely on the Targaryens for power and security.

Viewed in the most charitable way, Corlys and nobility like him werw a check and balance to the power of the monarchy, a promise of social mobility — something indeed necessary for the good of the realm. Viewed in the least charitable way, Corlys is an opportunistic traitor who allowed their liege to fall to ruin.

Lord Velaryon did not attempt to deny his guilt. “What I did, I did for the good of the realm,” the old man said. “I would do the same again. The madness had to end.” - Maester Gyldayn, F&B

Cregan Stark, snow-addled and hailing from an ancient heritage who values pacts and order, does not view him charitably. Using cold laws of the world they themselves built and live in, Corlys admitted to treason and treason is to be punished with death.

But to execute Corlys is to punish a person who built himself from the ground up, who is a repository of knowledge and foreign experiences, was the reason Rhaenyra and her claim ever stood a chance, was the person who sued and arranged for this peace, and acted primarily for the good of his House and family. There's also the very real danger that executing such a powerful man would start a whole new war, causing Alyn Velaryon to rebel against the Starks and the crown.

And so, a lot of people argue against the decision. But the cold furies were once again stayed by the wisdom and restraint of women.

jace, baela, & black aly: pretty words that can topple mighty oaks

The justice and fury Cregan Stark rains down is ultimately because he has been summoned by a greater authority in this war — otherwise, my man would have stayed in the North. And who moves mountains, who summons this force of nature, who calls upon this winter storm?

Two years past, Cregan Stark had made a promise to Prince Jacaerys. Now he had come to make good his pledge [...] - Maester Gyldayn, F&B

IF YOU THOUGHT I WOULDN'T MAKE THIS ABOUT JACEGAN, YOU ARE SORELY MISTAKEN. STRAP IN, FOLKS, WE'RE GOING DEEP.

“What is the life of one bastard boy against a kingdom?” “Everything.” - Stannis & Davos, ASOS

Jace's bastardy is the driving force of this war — he is the fruit of Rhaenyra being named heir (necessitating her marriage to Laenor) and he is the reason why it begins (Aegon II only being convinced to challenge his sister because of her heir's bastardy).

Only when Ser Criston convinced him that the princess must surely execute him and his brothers should she don the crown did Aegon waver. “Whilst any trueborn Targaryen yet lives, no Strong can ever hope to sit the Iron Throne,” Cole said. “Rhaenyra has no choice but to take your heads if she wishes her bastards to rule after her.” It was this, and only this, that persuaded Aegon to accept the crown [...] - Septon Eustace, F&B

Jace is disruption of the established order writ small. He is both born a crime and a prince. So we know where most characters stand whether they have an agenda of supporting bastards and other slightly "outsider" nobles (see: women, second sons, etc.) to hold power or they have the opposite agenda of wanting it to be strictly traditional.

But for some reason, Jace being a bastard or disruption of the social order doesn't play a part in Cregan's decision to ally with him at all. The Lord of Winterfell is offered three things: friendship, a pact sealed in blood, and a betrothal to a daughter who does not exist. He does what he does based solely on a promise of a person long dead. This boy must be god for he commanded a force of nature solely by the strength of his word.

“Words are wind,” says The Testimony of Mushroom, “but a strong wind can topple mighty oaks, and the whispering of pretty girls can change the destiny of kingdoms.” - Maester Gyldayn, F&B

What exact words Cregan and Jace, we'll never know.

But we do know what other characters do say to Cregan to get him to stay his hand. There are only two people that manage to do this. The first is Baela Targaryen who was Jace's cousin, step-sister, childhood friend, and betrothed.

Lady Baela brandished a sword and declared that she would cut off the hand of any man who sought to harm the men who had saved her, the Wolf of Winterfell smiled for all to see, and allowed that if her ladyship was so fond of these dogs, he would permit her to keep them. - Mushroom, F&B

Baela along with her sister Rhaena plays a huge part in pushing Cregan to pardon Corlys, but the person who closed the deal, saving Westeros from its own destruction, is Black Aly by offering her hand in marriage in exchange for Corlys's life.

“A lean tall creature was this wench,” says the dwarf, “thin as a whip and flat-chested as a boy, but long of leg and strong of arm, with a mane of thick black curls that tumbled down past her waist when loosed.” [...] “She smells of woodsmoke, not of flowers,” Stark told Lord Cerwyn, said to be his closest friend. - Mushroom & Maester Gyldayn, F&B

(A promise of marriage stays Cregan's hand, so the theory is that it was also a promise of marriage that moved him in the first place. Whose marriage? Well, my stance on that is pretty obvious but you all are free to speculate otherwise. Also, Aly being flat-chested like a boy, being Jace's age, having dark curls, and smelling like woodsmoke 👀)

Regardless of my jacegan truther shipping, let's talk themes. Jace is what got Cregan moving, and it is two aspects of Jace that stay his hand. Baela reflects Jace's Valyrian side, his boldness and dragonfire. Black Aly is Jace's First Men side, his dutifulness towards his family and capacity for sacrifice.

love doomed us, love saved us

Reading Fire and Blood, you understand the cycle of violence continues because of grief and the need to avenge loved ones. It only fully spirals into an all-out war once Luke and Jaehaerys are killed. Characters are so motivated to protect and save their families first and foremost that they end up destroying them. Each loss demands more blood.

The grief and rage of losing a child could burn down the world. - Catelyn Stark, Game of Thrones - Histories & Lore: The Dance of Dragons

So...how did this war end? Not with force, not with another victorious battle, and not even with bent knees. The unstoppable force of retribution that we summoned from the white primordial plane that would have prolonged this war and left nothing but scorched earth... stopped because a girl who smelled like woodsmoke offered her hand in marriage? What?

Let's go back to what Thoros said: war makes monsters of us all. Even when motivated by very human emotions like love and grief, ceaseless pain, cruelty, and brutality turn people into animals.

There is a savage beast in every man, and when you hand that man a sword or spear and send him forth to war, the beast stirs. - Jorah Mormont, ASOS

To me, this is the whole point of the Starks and the North. Fans think Starks are "honorable," which sure, they can be...but not in the same way knights are. The North doesn't have a code of chivalry — that's an Andal thing. First Men are honorable in the same way a winter storm is honorable. Winter doesn't discrimimate and it comes for us all, but there's no humanity in its retribution. The world northerners live in is incredibly cold and harsh, so they must harden themselves in order to survive. Their magic literally involves them turning into animals, and every Stark has the capacity to be a savage beast.

But even beasts need warmth and companionship.

Let me tell you something about wolves, child. When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. - Eddard Stark, AGOT

There's something insanely compelling about having to be both tough and communal to survive the winter. Starks must be stoic and fierce but also carry this deep capacity for love and family.

Going back to The Dance, the cycle of violence ends because a girl offered herself to a wolf, and she allegedly reminded him of his lost friend who allegedly reminded him of his lost brother. And suddenly he wasn't a beast anymore, sent out to die while spilling the blood of his master's enemies. Maybe he was thinking with his cock, but at least he was thinking like a man.

Love is the bane of honor, the death of duty. What is honor compared to a woman's love? What is duty against the feel of a newborn son in your arms ... or the memory of a brother's smile? Wind and words. Wind and words. We are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love. That is our great glory, and our great tragedy. - Maester Aemon, AGOT

personal notes on cregan stark

I love Cregan Stark because he is me in my darkest hour with my self-destructive coping mechanisms, my desperation to prove myself, my anxiety that I will never be safe from those who wish to hurt me unless I hurt them first.

He is the hyper masculine reaction we have towards any kind of trauma, and he seems so strong and stoic and something we should aspire to be. But he's really not — it was a good thing that for all the talk about how "unyielding" he was, there were actually people he deferred to in the end. When you have been raised to be the best fighter in the world and know nothing but fighting, making peace is the challenge. If you have been taught glorify death in battle, choosing to life suddenly becomes radical.

Whenever I talk about this character, I feel like I'm Theon crying in the corner and clutching onto my portrait of Robb, saying, "You don't know him like I do!" Because fans valorize Robb as a king the same way they hype up Cregan as a badass. The man was so out of his depth that he left after 6 days on the job.

He's credited for dispensing justice during the Hour of the Wolf, but out of about 22 people that were arrested, do you know how many he actually executed?

Two. Larys Strong and Ser Gyles Belgrave of the Kingsguard. The rest took the black and Corlys was pardoned. So for all the talk that he's this big, tough guy who cleaned up everyone's mess, he actually did very little in terms of what people consider cleaning up.

That being said, I still very strongly believe that his role made this book worth it for me. Because if Cregan did not show up and the False Dawn continued onto peace without the Hour of the Wolf, it would not have changed the outcome of the Dance but it would have a drastic downgrade to its themes and message.

Instead of the women and widows willingly laying down their arms to dissuade a powerful man from going scorched earth, it would be a bunch of them following Corlys's lead and re-establishing Corlys's version of the status quo. Corlys would never have been tried as a criminal, which was very important because without that, he would have been the arguable "winner" of the Dance. Him being forgiven by Aegon III shows the child exercising power over his life and actively choosing to forgive his crimes instead of being a puppet who is ignorant of said crimes.

The northmen marrying Riverland widows instead of dying in battle is so near and dear to me, because it show that even in ruinous and the harshest of circumstances when you've left everything and death seems like the only choice, there is more value to your life than to whatever glorious death you might imagine for yourself. There is someone out there who will love you and build a home and family with you, no matter how old and how much of a burden you otherwise think you are.

You're mine. Mine, as I'm yours. And if we die, we die. All men must die, Jon Snow. But first we'll live. - Ygritte, ASOS

#house of the dragon #hotd #long post #hotd spoilers #hotd meta #cregan stark #jacegan #hour of the wolf #a song of ice and fire #house stark

170 notes · View notes

cherryheairt · 2 months ago

Note

Hi :)

I’ve had this headcanon for a while where thranduil, upon falling in love again, makes it quite obvious he feels strongly about reader but won’t push physical limits of affection quite yet. Due to him having been married before he wants to be sure the Gods approve of him falling in love/marrying again as to not cause ill intend to fall upon reader because of him not being in control of his carnal desires. Reader is oblivious to this and pushes/teases him relentlessly.

Might end in smut upon him knowing reader is safe and he may pursue them fully or just him saying fuck it I see no god but me down here lol

Or just might end in him teasing back big time n leaving reader high and dry (but maybe with an explanation lol we love some open communication ✨)

Thank you! And feel free to mix it up and or change ending I’d just love to see a take on this 🙂‍↕️

hello! I'm so sorry that its been forever since you submitted this. thranduil is a character that we only ever got to see in super serious king mode, and had little screentime at that so I wanted to think through his personality a lot. might be ooc

I personally don't know how to write smut, so I didn't include it. I hope that's okay.

The character will be named Myria (meer-rhea), but have no skin color, body shape, hair color, etc description. She is eleven though, if that matters.

👑

The Gods had long since forsaken Thranduil. After he lost his wife, Legolas' mother, the world seemed to darken along with his own attitude. He changed, and everyone in Middle Earth knew it. Legolas never grew up to know the kind and magnanimous person his father was before his late wife's death.

To him, and the world, Thranduil was a stoic and unforgiving King.

To all, perhaps, except Myria. Myria had been born not too long after Thranduil—in Rivendell. Though the two never met until well into adulthood, Myria liked to say that they hit it off well. Thranduil would never admit the same out loud.

Myria moved from Rivendell to Mirkwood for her studies, thanks to her friend Elrond's advisory, and had since lived there for thousands of years. Youthful as ever, Myria made it her unofficial duty to occupy the King of Murkwood's free time.

She had even befriended his only son, Legolas, despite their age gap. The young elf was approaching 3000 years old soon, and he swore that he was more mature than the she-elf that graced their halls.

Myria didn't mind the head shakes or comments from royal advisors, telling her to mind herself around their King. Thranduil had long grown used to it, anyway.

Myria made her way to his royal chambers, uncaring about her unpropriety with visiting without being called upon. This was their daily routine. Thranduil had his meetings before breakfast, then went back to his chambers to dine alone. Or, he would, if Myria wasn't always waiting right there at his table for him.

"What is for breakfast today, My King?" Myria asked jovially, perched upon one of his carved wooden chairs. Originally, there had only been one for himself, but he ordered a matching one to me made after the woman's incessant visits. Before there was a seat, she simply stood at the table. The thought bothered him, a tinging in the back of his mind telling him that she must be on the same level as him, at all times.

Thranduil's long flowing sleeves and cloaks followed behind him as he entered the room. "You ask this every day, Myr. And what is my answer every day?" He asks, though there is no bite to his words.

"That you 'do not know'. Quite amusing, the all-knowing King not knowing something so simple." She mused, scrunching her nose up at his tall frame.

He fought an amused eye roll, sitting in front of her. He poured himself a chalice of sweet red wine, sipping on it as he replied. "Simple, or trivial? I do not concern myself with such affairs, the food is brought to me and I eat it."

"Careful, Thranduil. That may one day get you poisoned." She mirrored his movements, having waited for him to start drinking.

"By whom? Yourself?" He chuckled darkly, amused at the prospect of such a thing. Mirkwood elves' loyalties ran deep, the chances of him dying suddenly from a cold where higher than dying of poison. "You are the only outsider residing here."

Myria 'hmphed' vehemently, lifting her nose at the accusation. "I hardly can be called an outsider these days. How long have I lived here? Four...five thousand years?"

"Five thousand, two hundred and thirty." He answered for her.

Shocked, she stared at him, mouth agape. "You know the exact year?"

"How could I not? That is the year when my life started to get ten times harder."

She snorted, shaking her head. "I disagree. I think it only got better."

Two servants entered the chambers, one plate in hand each. Platters were lifted to reveal the neatly presented food, a light breakfast of fruit and toasted bread.

Myria and Thranduil dug into it, a pleasent chatter filling the room. "What are your plans for today?" She asked him.

"Same as usual, final preparations for the Feast of Starlight. Though, there is a task I wanted to assign you–" Thranduil was interrupted by a guard rushing into the room. He lifted an unimpressed brow, staring the guard down for his brash action.

"Your majesty, a party of rogue Dwarves have been apprehended in the Mirkwood forest!" To this, Thranduil immediately stood and strided past the guard out of the chambers. Myria, struck by the news, eagerly followed in suite.

"You are not supposed to sit in on prisoners being interrogated, Myria." Thranduil told her sternly, knowing the sound of her light steps trailed behind his own heavy ones.

"When has that stopped me before?" She laughed. It had been a nearly a hundred years since she'd seen a dwarf, and much longer than that since one had been in the depths of the Elvenking's Halls. She was excited to see what brave adventurers had come, and survived the dark forest's curse.

Thranduil seated himself at the head of his lifted throne, elegant giant antlers rooting themselves out from behind the throne like a crown. The one perched on his head mirrored that, thick branches striking in contrast to his pure white hair. Myria took a moment to admire him from her spot at the base of the stairs. The guard next to her didn't even blink at her intrusion, knowing the relationship between the ward and the King was a complex one that even the elders didn't bother to deduce.

Myria stayed silent during the precedings, not moving an inch except to lean her head forward and inspect the Dwarves. The party was quite large, a whole gaggle of Dwarves were bravely setting off to reclaim Erebor's keep and defeat the dragon nested under it. The leader, Thorin, was quite handsome for a Dwarf, not that Myria would say so aloud. For all her teasings, that would surely be the tip of the iceburg for Thranduil's patience.

As the majority of the Dwarves were escorted to the dungeons, only Thorin was left in Thranduil's audience. She listened as Thranduil made his offer, then got rejected harshly by the Dwarven King. Screamed at, being told off by a life form deemed lesser than an Elf, Thranduil had enough. He sent the man away with a flick of his wrist.

As he slowly desended the steps after the dwarf 'king' was escorted away, Thranduil placed a hand on Myrias shoulder.

The cold rings on his hand raised goosebumps on the back of her neck and arms, shivering at the feeling. She cursed herself for wearing an off-shoulder dress, dressing herself for the nice weather that morning. If he noticed, Thranduil didn't say anything. But the tiny lift to the corners of his mouth said plenty. "Do not fraternize with the filth that dirties our halls."

Our halls. The brief words pleasently rung in the back of Myria's mind. She nodded. He knew her well, guessing that she would try to sneak into the dungeons during the feast to try to speak with the curious Dwarves.

He moved his hand down, resting it gently on the small of her back. "Let us go, the feast will not oversee itself."

👑

Myria and Thranduil lounged in his chambers, simply biding time until the Feast of Starlight had begun. Admist muted chuckles and jests, mostly from Myria, Tauriel entered the room. "You called for me, My King?" She bowed shortly. "I have come to report to you." Tauriel glanced briefly towards Myria, nodding when she lifted a goblet towards her silvan friend.

"I thought I ordered that nest to be destroyed." Thranduil said, voice taut with frustration. The spiders had been plaguing their forest for years now, unrelenting.

"We cleared the forest as ordered, my Lord." The woman insisted. "But more spiders keep coming from nests in the South. If we could kill them at their source–"

"That fortress lies beyond our borders. Your orders are to keep our lands clear of those foul creatures. That is your task."

"And when we drive them off, what then? Will they not spread to other lands?" Ever the bleeding heart, Tauriel worried for other people.

"Other lands are not my concern." Thranduil said coldly. "The fortunes of this land will rise and fall. But here in this kingdom, we will endure." As had been the way for thousands of years. Thranduil insisted that Mirkwood keep to themselves, not needing or offering help from any others.

Tauriel nodded stiffly, excusing herself from the King's presence. Before she left, however, he spoke again. "Legolas said you fought well today. He has grown...fond of you."

She paused, thinking his words over carefully. "I assure you my Lord, Legolas thinks of me as no more than captain of the guard.

"Perhaps he did once. Now, I'm not so sure." Thranduil pushed.

"I did not think that you would allow your son to pledge himself toward a lowly silvan elf." She responded, voice slightly hopeful.

Myria leaned forward, too, curious of his answer. Would he allow his heir to love an elf with no royale blood?

"You are right, I would not." Thranduil chuckled humorlessly at the thought of it. Myria bit her tongue, hurt by the comment indirectly. She was no common-born Elf, sure, but had no royal blood to speak of either. She deflated in her seat, drinking down the rest of her wine. "Do not give him hope where there is none."

Is that what Thranduil had been doing for Myria, merely giving her hope? Slivers of special attention, with no intentions of truly loving her. She stood from her seat, leaving the chambers without a word.

Tauriel, too, left quickly after that.

Thranduil stood alone in his chambers, looking at the spot where Myria had once been.

👑

The feast came and passed quickly, Myria in no mood to sing or dance like she usual did at such events. She attended for the sake of politeness, leaving when she had greeted enough people for the night.

She spend the rest of it wallowing in her chambers.

Word got out that the entire party of Dwarves escaped, and Myria silently applauded them for their boldness. She hoped, for their sake, that they were successful in freeing their home.

Days passed, and news of Smaug's death had spread to every corner of Middle Earth. Thranduil was quick to organize his army to march toward Erebor, wasting no time to retrieve his precious gems. Myria had come along on her own white elk mount, following behind Thranduil silently, if only to satiate her curiosity. Last time they had come, Thranduil had rejected the Dwarves' desperate plea for help. This time, he came to declare war if they refused to return his gems.

The damned gems. Always on his mind. True, they were a physical reminder of his late wife and Queen. But it seemed as though he dwelled on them more than he cherished her memory. He did not speak of her, ever. Even to his own son, his wife was but a ghost haunting the halls.

Myria couldn't begin to understand the loss of a spouse, but she did understand that he was too caught up in himself.

Even though she had little intention of fighting the Dwarves, Myria still brought a dagger and bow on the march. Could never be too careful, Thranduil always reminded her. She guided her elk to stand behind his, watching him greet the human leader stiffly. It was almost laughable how mad his manners were, his kingly presence deemed to good for polite small talk.

Myria had been given a temporary quarter near Thranduil's, their tents close as they usually were. He had been too busy to notice her absence lately, both to her joy and displeasure. She missed his daily warmth around her, but knew it was best to distance himself from him. Just this last journey, then she sould go back to Rivendell to live out the rest of her long and lonesome life.

Thranduil plotted with the human leader, Bard, and a wizard by the name of Gandalf. Myria wandered the decrepit town while they did, having no place in war council, nor did she wish to.

By the time she had returned, night had fallen and all the humans of the town were asleep. Myria ducked into her tent, desperate for some solid rest before a potential battle on the morrow. She was surprised to see Thranduil sitting awkwardyl on her cot.

"Thranduil? What are you doing here, you should be resting." Myria insisted, brow furrowed.He stood at her entrance, possibly being left waiting for quite a while.

"I wished to see you before we go to Erebor's gates in the morning. I suspect that the Dwarf will have something up his tiny sleeve. I know you are a capable fighter, but I want you to stay in town tomorrow just in case."

She protested sharply, "I am just as much a fighter as any elf in your army. I will not sit around and wait for you to return–"

"Please, Myria." He rested both of his hands on her shoulders, looking down at her with his deep blue eyes "I could not focus if I knew you were behind me somewhere. If I know you are safe, I can retrieve the jewels easier." Always about the jewels. He should have married them, she thought bitterly.

"Is that an order?"

"It is a request. From a friend." Thranduil said softly.

Myria bit her cheek, crossing her arms. "Fine. I will stay here on the morrow. But, if any fighting breaks out, I will join."

He seemed content with her answer, knowing its as far as he'll get with her stubbornness. "Very well, I'll see you when this is over." He planted a tender kiss to the top of her head before he left to his own tent.

👑

Myria could only watch from afar as negotiations with the Dwarves had clearly gone to shit. More dwarves had shown up, an entire army to match the Elves' golden one. Myria rushed back to grab her bow, bursting out of her tent to the sound of screams in the town. Surely the Dwarves wouldn't target the women and children who had stayed behind?

She was right. It was orcs who had invaded the town, cutting off exits as they slashed through defenseless crowds of people. Myria rushed to help whoever she could, shooting down orcs' fat heads whenever they got too close to a fleeing human. With her dagger, she slashed through whoever she could reach to retrieve each of her arrows.

This arduous process repeated for some time, Myria panting with effort as she continued. The sounds of screams toned done as golden-armored soldiers flooded into the cobble streets and started to push back at the beastly creatins. Myria breathed a sigh of relief, engaging another orc. It was larger than most, with armor protecting its head and chest. She slashed at his with a sword she had taken from dead enemy, yelping when he stabbed into her abdomen with his own weapon. She gasped, trying to keep her composure as he approached above her menacingly. As he lifted his sword above his head again, ready to strike down the Elf, his head was detached from his body in a spray of hot blood.

Myria flinched at the feeling on her skin, feeling disgusted more than she already was with the sweat and dirt covering her. Thranduil came from behind the orc, who was now dead on the floor. He crouched down in front of her, a frantic look in his eye that betrayed his regal appearance. "Myria, look at me!" He shouted, her blurry vision shakily focusing on him. He held her face in his hands, watching her try to keep them open. "It's okay, I'll get you help." Thranduil promised her, gingerly lifting her up princess style. He flinched when she protested in pain, clutching at her stomach to stop the blood from gushing out.

"It's okay, you'll be alright, sweet." He told her, repeating himself multiple times as if to convince himself, too.

He brought her outside of the town, where Elven medics had set up a discreet few tents disguised to the orc's vision by Elven magic. The King layed her gently on a stiff cot, petting her hair comfortingly as she screamed in pain at the medic disinfecting and stitching her wound up. He glared at the Elf assigned to help her, making the poor young fellow sweat in fear of messing uo in front of his King.

Eventually, the sounds outside died out. Thranduil regretted taking his forces to this pit of death. He had lost more Elves today than had ever been lost at one time since the Great War. Elves did not die easily. This was a massacre of great damage to their ranks, to their people. Thranduil mourned the deaths of his kin dearly.

Myria had calmed, pain dulling when given some numbing herbs. She focused her attention on Thranduil, "you came for me." She said, voice barely a whisper.

"Of course, I did. Why wouldn't I?" He asked, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles.

"Your gems...they're still locked away in the keep, aren't they?" She asked.

"The gems are not my priority. They are merely objects, remembrances. You are alive, I need you."

Myria felt tears blurr her vision, clamping her throat shut. "But–I am not from any important bloodline. I am not a Princess, nor—"

"I do not care. You are Myria. The woman who has been by my side for five thousand years. The only lady worthy of being Queen by my side is you."

Thranduil took her into his arms as she cried. He shushed her gently, hands locked into her hair as she clung to him.

"I love you, Thranduil. I have for a long, long time."

"And I, you, my dearest Myr."

#thranduil #thranduil x reader #lotr #the hobbit

115 notes · View notes