The wind was soft that morning in Rivendell, like a whispered secret among the trees. Birds sang above the waterfalls, and the sky glowed pale gold as sunlight filtered through the high, arched windows. It was a day for peace, for beauty, for something like joy. And yet, your heart ached as the bells rang through the halls.

You were to be married.

To him.

To Legolas.

There was nothing in the world that could have stopped your heart from beating wildly at the thought. Not when you’d loved him quietly since you were barely more than a child—when your only escape from the stone halls of Rivendell had been his letters, your only dreams shaped by his stories of sun-drenched forests and starlit archery tournaments. His voice had always made your cage feel less cold.

But this marriage… this was not freedom. Not the way you’d imagined it.

Born of Elrond and Celebrían, you had been marked from birth—an elven witch, a rare gift, perhaps even a danger. Your powers had begun to manifest early. Glimpses of light bending to your will, fire curling from your fingertips, dreams that echoed into reality. It had frightened your father, despite his wisdom. Out of love, he had cloistered you away. Rivendell’s walls became your sanctuary. Your prison.

You learned from Gandalf. You trained with other wizards. You wrote to Legolas, your single connection to the world beyond the veil. But you were never free.

And now? Now, on this golden morning, the world celebrated what should have felt like the beginning of a fairy tale. Legolas, prince of the Woodland Realm, hero of the War of the Ring, had returned not only victorious—but betrothed.

To you.

The arrangement had been made without your consent. Old elven alliances, sealed in a time of fragile peace. Your father had smiled gently when he told you, as if it were a gift.

You stood before the mirror in your wedding robes, a gown of gossamer silk, threaded with silver and blue. Your hair shimmered down your back in riverfall braids. You looked the part of a bride. But your reflection didn’t glow with joy. Only hesitation.

A soft knock echoed through your chamber.

When you turned, he stood in the doorway.

Legolas.

He wore silver armor polished to shine, a mantle of green and gold draped across his shoulders. His eyes were as you remembered them—clear as morning skies, searching, full of quiet warmth.

“You look like a dream,” he said softly, stepping closer.

You swallowed, lowering your gaze. “A dream with a cage wrapped in ribbons.”

He paused. “You think I am another lock on your door.”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you looked up at him—truly looked—and your heart twisted. There was no cruelty in him. No intent to trap you. Only affection. And pain.

“I didn’t know either,” he said at last, voice hushed. “Not until after I returned. I had dreamed of us wandering the wilds together. Free. As we always imagined. Not like this.”

Your breath caught.

“You… you wanted that too?”

His hand brushed yours, gentle as a breeze. “Every night. When I stood watch beneath foreign stars, I thought of you. Your letters. Your laugh. I fought for peace, yes—but also for you. For the chance to stand beside you, no longer as a memory.”

“But the betrothal—”

“Was arranged by our fathers. Not our hearts.” He tilted your chin with two fingers, guiding your gaze to his. “But I will not let this bind you. If you do not wish this marriage, say the word. I will not claim what is not freely given.”