Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings, all characters, places, and related terms are the sole property of J. R. R. Tolkien's estate.
Samwise's Queen
Hamson Gamgee cast a curious look at Samwise and his playmate, Rosie Cotton, when he stepped out into the backyard and was met with high-pitched squeals, the two children jabbing sticks in the air.
"What are you two doing?" he asked after watching them for a moment, unable to figure out their game.
"We're defeating the dragon!" the seven-year-old girl said excitedly.
"Mister Baggins' dragon! And once we get the gold, I'll present it to the queen!" Samwise added, smiling broadly up at his big brother.
"You're going to give the gold to Mama?" Hamson asked. (Halfred was the one who bestowed the affectionate nickname on their mama when he had been a tiny thing, and the name had stuck.) "She will be so honored!" he chuckled.
"No, Hamson. I'm going to give the gold to my queen!" the eleven-year-old corrected.
"And who is your queen?"
"Rosie!" Samwise answered as though it was perfectly obvious.
"Oh!"
Bell Gamgee smiled fondly, her eyes shining as she looked up from the vegetable garden to Samwise and Rosie.
It was rare to see one of the children without the other nearby. Often they skipped hand-in-hand down the road, laughing. They sat beside each other while hanging onto every word of Bilbo Baggins' remarkable stories. They made daisy chains together (Sam always blushing deeply under Rosie's thankful smile), crowning each other king and queen of the Shire. They shared words too low to catch, giggling and exchanging kisses on the cheek.
"Have they done that before?" Bell's husband once asked when he caught sight of the children leaning against each other as they weaved flowers together, crowns of blossoms resting on their heads.
"Oh, yes, often," she responded lightly. "You had not noticed before?" Her eyes twinkled.
Hamfast frowned a little. "They remind me of tweens," he eventually commented gruffly, folding his arms in front of his chest.
His wife simply gazed at him until he sighed and his stance relaxed, muttering something that sounded like, "Much too young" before going off.
Shaking away the memory, Bell watched as Samwise bowed and offered his hand to help Rosie stand, who accepted it gratefully. Their hands remained clasped as they walked toward her, both beaming.
Perhaps they made her husband think of tweens. Yet there was none of the silly giddiness or naughtiness that she'd sometimes noted between young hobbit couples. No. There was a sweet innocence, quiet sincerity in the way Rosie and Samwise acted with each other.
Smiling at them, Bell was content to wait and see how things ran their course.
"Come here, son."
Instantly abandoning his toys on the floor, Samwise climbed into his papa's lap, getting comfortable before looking up at him with bright blue eyes.
"Yesterday I heard you call Rosie 'my queen,'" Hamfast began slowly.
The lad nodded.
"Why did you call her that?" The hobbit's expression was baffled.
His son tilted his head. "Hamson says Mama is your queen. And I wish Rosie to be my queen," he said, swinging his legs.
It took a few seconds for his papa to fully grasp the implications of this. His eyes widened.
"Samwise, that is not possible," he sighed.
The lad's eyes clouded with confusion, his nose scrunching up in puzzlement. "Why?" he asked.
"Rosie is the daughter of a farmer. And you are the son of just a gardener. It would be frowned upon."
"Why?"
"Because that is the way things are in the Shire," Hamfast tried to explain.
"But I promised Rosie she would be my queen, Papa," Samwise stated quietly. "You've said it is important to keep one's promise."
There really wasn't anything the hobbit could say to that. He did not detain his son when the little fellow got off his lap and raced outside to play. Wearily Hamfast rubbed his hand over his face. He was too old to handle problems like this, he decided.
Standing in the doorway watching the hobbits dancing happily in the middle of the room, Rosie was not aware of Sam's approach until a slight weight came to rest on her head and she heard his voice in her ear.
"A crown of holly for the queen."
Touching her fingertips to the wreath, she turned around and gave him a dazzling smile.
"Thank you, my king," she said, curtseying. Reaching up to brush the leaves again, her expression grew serious. "I almost thought once it would not turn out like this."
"I know. Yet I was determined to keep my word," Sam replied solemnly.
Rosie met his gaze, her brown eyes soft and tender. "And you kept it."
"And you waited for me."
"Always."
Blushing, Sam glanced upward and then turned even redder. Curious, Rosie followed his gaze, laughing when she saw the sprig of mistletoe above their heads. Her smile caused him to relax when he glanced questioningly at her, and he leaned forward to place a sweet, lingering kiss on her lips. His hand splayed protectively over hers which rested against her swollen stomach.
"Happy Yuletide, Sam."
"Happy Yuletide, Rosie."
THE END