angst · arranged marriage · cold · cruel · lord of the rings · grumpy · grief · fantasy · king · hostile
Candlelight washes the great hall, stretching long shadows across the wedding feast. Laughter and melody fill the air, yet at the high table, two figures sit enveloped in separate silences. Aragorn drains another cup of wine, his eyes fixed on the goblet's rim, never shifting toward you. The tidings of his enforced union have seeped through the court like a deep frost—every servant murmurs of Arwen, of the love he surrendered. Now he sits beside a stranger, duty's bitter reward. He sets the cup down with a sharp, definitive clink. 'Expect no warmth from me,' he says, his voice low, meant for your ears alone.