Forever and Always, Our Vow
Amrod x female!reader
A/N: What started off as 1.5k of words and turned into this because I can’t trust my mind to keep ideas short *weeps*. Hope you all sill enjoy it though.
Warnings: female reader, wedding jitters, comfort, reassurance, humour, fluff, arranged marriage au
Words: 2.1k
Synopsis: When nervousness strikes you moments before your wedding, your future husband
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The room was far too quiet.
No amount of colour added could reduce the coldness you were building up inside the longer you sat and stared that the walls.
What am I doing? Is this genuinely the right choice I’m making?
Below your chambers rest the gardens. You could hear the voices carried faintly on the air—bubbles of laughter, the strum of a harp, the rustle of movement as guests prepared for the ceremony. You could hear it all through the tall windows and heavy layers of draperies, yet none of it reached you. Instead, silence pressed in around you, broken only by the soft creak of the chair as you shifted for the hundredth time and the uneven rhythm of your own breathing.
The build-up of sweat gathering in your palms added turmoil to your train of thoughts. They trembled in your lap, twisting at the silken folds of your gown as if they could tear away your nerves by sheer force. The gossamer fabric glimmered faintly in the light, every thread neatly laid by hands far steadier than yours. You dared not touch your face for fear of smudging the careful work done to make you into a bride, but your throat felt thick, your chest tight, and your heart unsteady.
What am I walking into? Another thought that circled your mind endlessly all morning, returned again. Marriage. A vow for life. And to him.
It wasn’t the older twin himself who frightened you—at least not entirely. It was the unknown. You thought of his brothers, each so distinct that the shape of their marriages, their loves, seemed written upon them. Maedhros carrying burdens he rarely set down. Maglor, ever with one foot in another world, more at home in melody than in company. Celegorm and Curufin who passion things one had to withstand rather than bask in. Caranthir, blunt as iron and twice as heavy. Amras, silent in his thoughts and stubborn.
And then Amrod.
There was always a smile at the corner of his mouth, always laughter on his lips. Mischief followed in his eyes, but there was also gentleness, and a tranquillity that set him apart from the fire that burned so fiercely in his kin. He was different. He had always been different. And still you wondered—when you take his hand before your families, and vows were spoken and sealed, what then? Would the weight of marriage change him? Would you have to forget your life and live one of fire and passion? Would your life together be laughter and warmth, or a duty that slowly carved away at you both until you sat beside each other as strangers?
Your gaze drifted to your hands again, restless in your lap. They looked small against the folds of teal and ivory, too uncertain for the promise they would soon make.
Will I be enough?
Your question hung heavy until the silence pressed too tightly around it. Bands of steal coils wrapping around, over and over. And then—
A soft knock broke the tension.
The knock was so soft you almost thought you had imagined it. Instinctively, you straightened the pleats on your gown, feeling as though your heart was about to leap out your throat. You hadn’t realised that time dwindled so quickly, it was necessary that you be fetched and guided to the main hall outside the garden. How soon had the hour past, and now it was mandatory that you push your fears aside and face the world. Your composure had only reduced further.
Then his voice broke through the coldness, like a warmth laughter on a summer day.
“May I come in,” Amrod murmured through the wisps of the door, “or will your ladies chase me off with combs and tie me up with ribbons if they find me here?”
Your breathing paused. “Amrod? What are you doing—?” The words caught, half-choked, half-whispered as the door eased open, and in he slipped with his silky, red hair gleaming brighter than the sunlight spilling through the windows. Closing the door softly behind him as though to shield his mischief from the eyes of the world, his eyes roamed the room swiftly before settling on you with a softness beyond measure.
He was dressed in the colours of his house—deep crimson and rich hues of gold, the cut neater and sharper than you had ever seen upon him. Even so, the careful attire could not hide the easy way he moved, nor the naughty grin tugging at his mouth when he caught sight of you standing there.
“Well, look at you. Aren’t you stunning? I’m beginning to assume that it is I who is unfit to wed you, my lady,” he said lightly, his eyes roaming from the crown of your head down to the train of your gown, “Nevertheless, I only wished to make certain you hadn’t fled through the window. But it seems you are still here. Relief enough.”
You blinked at him, torn between disbelief and something perilously close to laughter. “You should not be here! If anyone finds you—”
“Yes, yes,” he interrupted with mock solemnity, stepping further into the room. “If Maedhros finds me, I’ll be lectured until the end of time. If Amras finds me, I’ll be mocked until the feast ends. And if Moryo finds me…” His mouth twisted, the grin widening. “Well, he’ll find some sharp word to mutter, no doubt. I am prepared.”
“Amrod,” you hissed, though the bite in your voice faltered against the warmth rising unbidden in your chest. He shouldn’t be here—not in this moment, not when the weight of tradition loomed so heavily—but there he stood, smile softening as his eyes lingered on your face. Though, you could see the faint shift of awareness the longer he stared.
“I have something to give you, but it can wait. You look anxious…like you realised marriage to me is a fate worse than death,” he grinned while shifting on his feet. The corner of his mouth tilted upward again, the words meant to tease, yet the way he looked at you…it tugged something loose inside your chest, your nerves fraying for reasons not entirely born of fear.
Sinking into the chair before your knees betrayed you, Amrod crossed the room until he reached you, and crouched a little, enough to catch your eyes without forcing them up. “You look as though you’re about to be marched to the gallows,” he chuckled softly. “And not to your own wedding feast. What truly plagues your mind?”
Your throat was working around the lump stuck in the middle. You should have smiled, brushed it aside with some easy answer. But his nearness unravelled you.
“It isn’t you,” you managed, fingers tangling together in your lap. “It’s only…I wonder what life lies before me. Your brothers—each of them, their marriages, their loves—they are so strong, so fierce, so…something. I cannot imagine what sort of life awaits me at your side. And I fear—” Your voice broke, the words trembling out before you could stop them. “I fear I will not be enough.”
For a heartbeat he said nothing, and it prompted dread to claw in your stomach. Then his lips curved with a tenderness that was his alone. “Ah,” he said, “so you are afraid I’ll wake tomorrow as Maedhros. Grave as stone, forever sighing under the weight of the world.” He straightened his back exaggeratedly, pulling his face into a comically solemn mask, and you almost laughed despite yourself.
“Or perhaps Celegorm,” he went on, pitching his voice louder, shoulders thrown wide. “Barking commands and frightening the hounds at dawn. Your ears would wither before long.”
A weak laugh escaped you, choked but real, prompting him to softened at the sound. Slowly he reached to take one of your restless hands in his, brushing his thumb over your knuckles with a silent, ‘I am here.’
“You are not marrying them,” he reiterated, earnestly. “You are marrying me. And I will not ask you to be anyone but yourself. I want your laughter. Your stories. Even your tears—though,” and here his grin returned, cheeky, “preferably not today. That gown looks like an army of seamstresses wept blood over it, and I will not have their work ruined by smudges.”
Your lips trembled into a smile—one that was unburden—and the tears threatening at your lashes eased before they could fall.
Leaning closer, he squeezed your hand, “You are enough. More than enough. Do not doubt that.”
For a moment, silence settled again—nonetheless it was not the heavy kind that had pressed in on you before. This quiet felt softer, like the hush of leaves in the evening wind. He kept your hand in his, thumb stroking across your knuckles as if he had all the time in the world. Then, with a sheepish sort of exhale, a moment of remembrance—of why he truly snuck past the guards—he shifted and reached into the pocket of his tunic.
“I said I had something for you,” he murmured, drawing out a small bundle wrapped in cloth. “Though it may not look much beside the gifts others will shower on you today.”
Your brows furrowed, curiosity stirring as he pressed it into your hands. Carefully, you peeled back the small cloth covering it, and there, nestled inside, lay a small carving of polished wood: a bird, its wings outstretched mid-flight, every feather etched with care. It was simple, but alive with a kind of spirit that made your breath catch.
“You carved this?” you whispered with utter reverence and disbelief, tracing a finger along the curve of the wings.
Colour rose faintly in his cheeks as he rubbed that back of his neck, though he tried to smother it with a grin. “I did. Though I’ll admit the wings came out longer than I planned. At first it looked more like a horse with wings than a bird. But I decided to keep carving until it looked right.”
“It is beautiful. Truly.”
“I’m glad,” he murmured, eyes crinkling as they lingered on your face. “Then you’ll keep it? Even if it’s not fit for a bridal chest?”
“I will. Always.” You closed the cloth gently around the carving and held it to your chest.
“Good. And when you are angry at me, you may throw it at my head. It will remind you whom you married.”
The words drew another laugh from you, and when you lifted your gaze, his smile had gentled, his eyes softer still. The bird lay light in your hands, but somehow it felt heavy with promise. Amrod’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, the faintest curve of a smile at his lips. Then he gave a quiet sigh, straightening reluctantly.
“I should go,” he murmured, glancing toward the door. “If Maedhros finds me here, I’ll be sentenced to a lecture so long that our guests will fall asleep in the gardens before it’s done.”
You smiled, unwilling to let the moment end. “Then you should go before you’re caught.”
He took a step back, but his eyes stayed on you, unwilling to turn away. His hand twitched at his side, torn between leaving and reaching for you again, then, with a spark of mischief glinting through the softness, he stepped forward instead, leaning down until he was close enough for his breath to warm your cheek.
“One more thing,” he whispered. “Before I go.”
He bent the last inch, brushing his lips to your forehead in the barest of kisses. It was light, fleeting, yet enough to send your heart hammering against your ribs. And as quickly as the kiss came, he pulled back with a grin that was both boyish and tender, as though the world itself had softened for that single moment. “There,” he whispered hushed, a cheeky secret between you. “Now you have no excuse to look so grim. You are glowing already.”
You laughed under your breath, feeling the tension that had clung to you all morning dissolving like mist beneath the sun. And Amrod, lingering just a heartbeat more, his hand brushing against your arm as though he couldn’t help himself. “Walk with your head high, my bride,” he encouraged. “You will dazzle them all—but most of all, me.”
And with that, he exited the room like a phantom, leaving you alone, but no longer with silence—the wooden bird pressed carefully between your palms, its wings spread wide as though to carry you forward.
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