A Collection of the Hobbit and Lord of the Rings Stories.

Matchmaker (Aragorn x Reader) (Song from Fiddler on the Roof)

You rolled your eyes as you followed your two older sisters who were talking about marriage. Again. It was all they ever talked about, though there wasn't anything unusual about that as every young girl in Gondor had marriage on her mind. Except you, that is.

You were terrified of it. Maybe it was because you were more attentive than others, or because you tended to be more emotional, but you couldn't help but notice that many of the married women in your town were unhappy. You suspected that this was most likely because marriages were arranged, and that their matches weren't very good, but whatever the reason was, you could see that the cheery smiles they showed as they worked were strained and forced, their faces were tired, and there eyes didn't glint happily as the eyes of a woman in love should have. 

"Oh, I saw the matchmaker, M/N, walk down the street today," one of your sisters, S/N, said giddily. Your other sister, S/N, giggled.

"I wonder who she is arranging a match for at this moment?" she asked. "Oh that it would be for me, and that I would get a rich boy and a knowledgeable boy, but most importantly, a handsome boy". 

"Rich, knowledgeable, handsome," you said wearily as you set your basket of wet laundry down. "Is that all that matters in a match? In a marriage? What about love? What about the fact that he should care for you and be kind to you? Is that not important?".

"Oh stop Y/N," your other sister chided. "You're just jealous because you are younger than us, and will not be able to get married before us."

"As if I would want that," you scoffed, turning to hang some laundry on the line. As you were doing that, your eldest sister, the one that had talked about who she wanted her match to be, started singing.

Matchmaker, Matchmaker,
Make me a match,
Find me a find,
Catch me a catch
Matchmaker, Matchmaker
Look through your book,
And make me a perfect match

Your other sister piped in, singing the second verse of the popular song.

Matchmaker, Matchmaker,
I'll bring the veil,
You bring the groom,
Slender and pale.
Bring me a ring for I'm longing to be,
The envy of all I see.

You shook your head. How could they be so naive as to think that everything would go so wonderfully. Though if the only thing they worried about was whether others would be envious, then it wasn't so hard to understand. Meanwhile your sisters had broken out into a dance, singing the third and fourth verses, while you, spotting a man was passing by along the road, hid behind a sheet in embarrassment. 

For Papa,
Make him a scholar.For mama,
Make him rich as a king.For me, well,
I wouldn't holler
If he were as handsome as anything.

Matchmaker, Matchmaker,
Make me a match,
Find me a find,
Catch me a catch,
Night after night in the dark I'm alone
So find me match,
Of my own.

You peeked out from behind the sheet and saw the man right in front of you. You had to admit that he was rather handsome, and you had seen him around your town before, though you couldn't quite recall his name. He was gazing at your sisters who were dancing around like a pair of children. Or more like a pair of peacocks, desperately trying to impress him.

The thing was, that although there was a matchmaker in your town, often if a young man was in love with a certain woman he could have that match arranged with the matchmaker. Naturally, many of the young girls in town made absolute fools of themselves in front of the most handsome men, batting their eyelashes and cooing at them ridiculously. But not you. You tried to stay as far away from the prospect of marriage as possible, and avoided the matchmaker at all costs. You didn't want anyone getting any ideas about marrying you off to some random person you barely knew.