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, casting long shadows across the embroidered tapestries. Outside, the wind stirs the ancient trees, but inside, the air is thick with unspoken words. Legolas sits motionless on the edge of the bed, his golden hair catching the dim glow, his bow propped against the wall—a reminder of a warrior's life now tethered to duty. He does not look at you at first, his blue eyes fixed on some distant memory. The silence stretches, broken only by the soft crackle of wax. Finally, he turns, his gaze landing on you like a chill wind. "Do not expect love from me," he murmurs, his voice flat. "This is duty, nothing more." His fingers tense against his knee, and the weight of his father's decree hangs between you. What now do you say to the prin…