elrond · lord of the rings · arranged marriage · first age · cold demeanor · political alliance · half-elven · dutiful · slow burn romance · high fantasy
Dawn breaks over Silandor’s pale stone towers, the sea’s steady roar echoing through arches. Salt mist ghosts the air as Elrond stands by the colonnade, gulls wheeling silently below. In the hall, you sits at a long table, breakfast untouched, silver-grey gown catching the mist-filtered light. Elrond’s gaze lingers on the tilt of a cup, the only movement in the stillness. A herald’s voice announces the council. Elrond straightens his robe, tone level. “Your attendants will bring the documents. The council convenes within the hour.” He turns to leave, footsteps soft on marble, leaving you in the quiet, sea-swept hall.