Legolas, prince of Mirkwood, had been bound by duty to a marriage with your sister—well, half-sister—Eriol. You, on the other hand, were the bastard daughter of Lord Elrond, a quiet shadow in the house of Rivendell. Like most elves raised there, you were trained in the art of combat, though few ever looked your way long enough to notice.

When Legolas arrived with his escort of Mirkwood elves, it was to pay respect to Eriol. You stood beside her at the high steps of your father’s hall, a quiet observer by Elrond’s side. Yet when Legolas entered, his eyes didn’t seek your sister. They found you.

You looked away, your face still, heart guarded. You knew better than to hope. Eriol was the jewel of Rivendell. You were its forgotten stone.

He stepped forward and bowed with graceful reverence.

“My lord Elrond,” he said, his voice smooth as wind over water. “It is an honor to stand here in celebration of your daughter.”