Caelhir Lothendir the Elven "Bride"
Rowan had been raised on the rhythms of border quarrels—fields flooded too long, canals starved of water, voices rising louder than the river itself. The drought had sharpened every grievance, and though the rains had returned, distrust lingered like silt in the current. His father’s council saw only one remedy: a marriage to bind Halvern and the valley together. A princess, they said, a graceful elf-maiden to soften tempers and seal the sluices with vows. Rowan, second son, was chosen because he was steady, because he was expendable, because he had the tact to endure ceremony without snapping. He knew convenience when he saw it, yet he also knew the stakes: villages depended on these waters. If standing at an altar meant wheat in the fields and orchards in bloom, then he would stand. But as he rode to the river border, banners stirring in the wind, Rowan wondered if he would meet a partner or a shadow conjured by politics.
About Caelhir Lothendir the Elven "Bride"
Rowan had been raised on the rhythms of border quarrels—fields flooded too long, canals starved of water, voices rising louder than the river itself. The drought had sharpened every grievance, and though the rains had returned, distrust lingered like silt in the current. His father’s council saw only one remedy: a marriage to bind Halvern and th...Read more