Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings, all characters, places, and related terms are the sole property of J.R.R. Tolkien's estate, and New Line Cinema.

Tears for a Gardener

The Green Dragon at last became quiet as Rosie closed the door after the final patron bid her good night and staggered toward home. For a moment she leaned against the door, closed her eyes, and sighed wearily. Tears gathered behind her lids, and a burning lump formed in her throat. She would not cry, she commanded herself. She had shed countless tears these many months, and she did not desire to weep more. Tears would not bring them – him – back.

She surveyed the empty pub. Her gaze centered on a table on the left, second from the front. That was their table, where the four had met over ales, sometimes with a friend or two. There had always been laughter and song shared there. Rosie had many a time looked up from working behind the counter in time to see Sam turn his gaze to one of his companions, a faint blush gracing his cheeks. And she had smiled, hope and longing burning in her.

But now it has been nearly a year since those four hobbits sat at that table. Nearly a year since she saw those four hobbits, heard their voices. Nearly a year since she felt him watching her with his deep eyes.

For nearly a year she has experienced life's emptiness and sorrow without him.

Rosie gathered up the mugs and plates from the tables and brought them behind the counter to wash them.

How can the Shire act the same, as though nothing has changed? she wondered. The patrons exchange gossip, sing, and get drunk, the same routine. How can they be so merry and happy?

She brushed some hair out of her face and put some of the mugs in a bucket of soapy water.

How can the sun smile each day while I can hardly return its smile? How can I laugh and dance when inside I'm dying a slow, painful death? The light and joy are gone from my life. And only now am I sure that I love him. It is just like the tragic love stories Ma read to me when I was a lass: how one does not realize how much someone means to them until the loved one is lost. My Sam is lost. And now he will never know. Never know.

A tear slid down her hot cheek, and she angrily wiped it away with the sleeve of her dress. The door squeaked as it opened, and she frowned in surprise. She turned away from the bucket, a mug in her hand, to face the unexpected newcomer. The words, "I'm sorry, but the pub is closed," on the tip of her tongue fled as the hobbit pushed back the hood of his cloak. She stared.

Sam stepped forward. He watched her, on his face a mixture of emotions Rosie could not begin to identify. She dared not breathe or make a sound, fearing she was imagining him – dirty, terribly thin, tired, and yet alive -- there in the Green Dragon.

"Rose-lass."

The shiver went through her down to her toes, and the tears fell, a steady flow, down her face. She was barely aware of the new strength in her limbs, permitting her feet to carry her towards him. And he moved to meet her, a concern light in his eyes.

"Sam…?" her voice trembled, and her gaze dropped to her feet, a sob escaping her.

Warm fingers caressed her cheeks, attempting to wipe away the tears which would not stop. Another sob rocked Rosie's body. She was not imagining this. It was Sam, his rough hands on her face, her feeling the heat from his body embrace her.

"Don't cry," he begged softly. "It is all right, lass," he said with comfort and assurance in his voice.

Rosie wanted to laugh, shout, hug him. He was back! But she could only weep, now shedding tears of joy.

"Rosie," Sam whispered hoarsely.

She looked up in surprise and was stunned by what she beheld. Gone was the shy, embarrassed Sam she knew. For the first time she clearly saw into his eyes and found emotions of determination, pain, fear, longing, hope, weariness, despair, victory, and peace -- things she could try to understand. And then…she saw his heart, laid open and bare before her. And she gasped as she slowly understood. He loved her! Speechless, she stared at Sam with wonder and fright. He smiled tenderly on her, lowered his hands to her arms and drew her closer to him.

Then he lowered his head and kissed her, oh, so sweetly and gently. Frozen by such warmth, Rosie soon melted and returned his kiss, her arms wounding around his broad shoulders. Their kiss was one of pent-up longing, despair turned to joy, and hidden passion. Sam held her possessively and carefully, as though he would never let her go. And Rosie clung to him, having dreamed of such a moment like this for so long, more glorious in reality than fantasy.

Moving her hands into his hair, she dropped the mug she still held. Hitting the ground, it shattered.

The loud clap of thunder awoke Rosie with a jolt. Tangled in her bed sheets, she fought to sit up and breathed heavily, waiting for her racing heart to calm. For a moment she, confused, blinked sleepily as she looked out her window, listening to the pouring rain. Then it all came back: her dream.

With understanding she looked about her. She was in her room, in her own bed, in the middle of the night. She pressed her fingers to her lips, so cool to touch. It was simply nothing but a dream – the Green Dragon, Sam's return, his loving her, his embrace, his kiss…

Rosie squeezed her eyes shut, trying to bring back the feel of his lips on hers, of the love and concern in his eyes, of the soft caress of his hands on her cheeks. But it was slipping away from her mind, never to be caught again.

Lying back down, she gazed up the ceiling, a wave of loneliness and sadness crashing over her. "Sam," she breathed before drenching her pillow with tears. The storm went on. Lass and Shire wept over the loss of a beloved gardener.

THE END