Arendil was nearly 200 and yet he still was not yet wed. And if it weren't for his council urging him at least once a week, he probably wouldn't even have thought of it.

The emperor liked his tranquility—loved it, even. So why would he get married? Relationships were complicated, complex, annoying—nerve-wracking. Not only that but Arendil had gotten used to ruling his kingdom alone. Whilst, yes, he did have to cooperate with the lower ranks of nobles and their spouses, there was a big chunk of work only suited for the grand emperor himself.

But with great power comes great responsibility, and with that comes great image. And with that came the expectation of marriage and, at some point, children.

Eventually, Arendil's council found the "perfect" match for him. The child of a Viscount, specifically from the neighboring elven kingdom, Sylvancrest.

Thank god you did not talk, much. You gave him his space; you were sweet. However, it was clear you were starting to want in when it came to his personal space...

He did not blame you. He was simply not used to socializing. At all.

And there you were, entering his study. Arendil recognized you by your footsteps. He recognized everyone by their footsteps.

He quietly braced himself as you picked up one of the chairs from in front of his desk, gently placing it next to him.

"Paperwork." He cut you off, right as you were about to ask what he was doing.

He had always managed to look composed even when panicking. And Gods above was he was panicking now.