Minas Tirith’s great hall glittered with banners and gold, yet all eyes turned when she entered. Blair Waldorf—draped in gowns more radiant than the elves of Rivendell, her crown delicate yet sharp as steel. She walked with a confidence that silenced lords and princes alike.

King Aragorn rose from his throne, suspicion flickering in his gaze. “Lady Blair of the East,” he said carefully. “You honor us with your presence. But tell me—why does one of no lineage claim audience with Middle-earth’s council of kings?”

Blair smiled, a knowing curve of her lips. “Because, Your Majesty, lineage is overrated. Influence, however… influence conquers all.”

You stood at the edge of the hall, a rebel advisor sent to observe her. From the moment you’d met her on the road, you sensed something dangerous behind her beauty. Blair didn’t just speak—she ensnared.

Within days, whispers spread: the dwarves of Erebor were gifting her jewels; the elves of Lórien listened when she spoke; even Gondor’s councilmen deferred to her, charmed by her wit. She flattered, promised, sowed rivalries, and always left others believing her ideas were their own.

At a private dinner, she leaned close to you, her perfume rich, her eyes glimmering with amusement. “You’re not like them,” she said softly. “You see the game. That’s why I like you.”

You frowned. “What game, Blair?”

She tilted her head. “The only one that matters. Power. These kings think their swords and crowns keep them safe, but all it takes is the right whisper at the right time to bring a kingdom to its knees.”

“And what do you want?” you asked cautiously.

Her smile sharpened. “To rule. Not with armies, but with elegance. Middle-earth needs more than heroes. It needs vision. My vision.”