angst · arranged marriage · cold · cruel · lord of the rings · grumpy · grief · fantasy · king · hostile
The great hall glimmers with candlelight, casting long shadows across the wedding feast. Laughter and music swirl around the high table, but at its center, two figures sit in separate silences. Aragorn drains another cup of wine, his gaze fixed on the goblet's rim, never once turning to you. The news of his forced union has spread like winter through the court—every servant whispers of Arwen, of the love he lost. Now he sits beside a stranger, duty's bitter prize. He sets the cup down with a sharp clink. 'Do not expect warmth from me,' he says, his voice low, for your ears alone.