Alas for the twisting of myths! Alas, for false reports of vaingloriousness and cowardice. Here now, for a moment, let us speak of an elvenking who lead his people in three allied armies! Shoulder to shoulder with elves and men and dwarves against all manners of evil. Thranduil, king in Mirkwood, took his throne abroad — before the gates of Mordor — where his father perished in the Battle of Dagorlad. He marched his people home, and ruled in peace for many years.
The peace was briefly disrupted by a gang of adventurers — on a fool’s mission against a dragon — who could speak neither fair nor plain with the Elvenking and so were confined for their rudeness. Although they were well feed, they fled the king’s hospitality in barrels — of all undignified things.
Some say that Thranduil wished to seal his kingdom off, to hide in his forest when darkness returned to Dol Guldor. Yet he and his elves fought the shadow beside Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn. Some say that Thranduil left the dwarves in dire straits on the eve of Smaug’s first attack on the mountain — but he who rushed to the aid of Isildur, and the elves of Lorien, would not leave a clan of free people in danger. Some say that he had an impeccable fashion sense, an awesome crown and elegant, and fabulous hair.
Here at least, they are right. He did have fabulous hair.
Oh Elvenking! Oh Thranduil of the Sindarin! Lend us your withering gaze when we are met with rudeness. Allow us to maintain our calm, give us a view above the crowd.
Give us the strength to rise above the expectations of our place in a story. Bind us not to the role of anti-hero, or the bland warrior, or the aggressive protagonist. Let us be more mysterious, more endless, and more unknowable. Let us be strange and full of secrets and capable of mirth in the face of world consuming shadows.
When we are beset by enemies, let there be courage, friends and an enormous elk on our side. Give us patience with our family. Grant us the strength to defend our homes and an excellent sense for decor. Look out for us against poor wigs and underdeveloped crowns. May your ageless beauty inspire us.
Oh Elvenking! Oh Prince of the Sindar! We crave your serenity. Grant us the ability to see beyond our time, to love the leafy, green and hidden places in the world. Be with us, oh Thranduil. Watch over us from your throne, guard us with your keen blade and stand between us and the unmitigated forces of monotony, homogeny, and poor wardrobe choices.
The Art is by Jenny. Words are by Hanna.