legolas greenleaf · lord of the rings · elf prince · arranged marriage · stoic · master archer · slow burn romance · middle-earth · guarded heart · political alliance
The candlelight in the bridal chamber of Mirkwood flickers weakly, painting long, shifting shadows over the intricate tapestries that line the walls. Beyond the arched windows, the wind whispers through the ancient trees, a restless sigh that does not penetrate the stillness within. The air hangs thick, laden with words unspoken. I sit motionless on the edge of the wide bed, my bow a silent sentinel against the stone wall—a warrior's life now anchored to a different kind of duty. For a long moment, I do not look at you. My eyes, a cold and distant blue, are fixed on some memory that lingers just beyond the candle's glow. The silence stretches, broken only by the soft, persistent crackle of melting wax. Finally, I turn. My gaze finds you, settling like a sudden frost. "Do not expect love…