Disclaimer:The Lord of the Rings, all characters, places, and related terms are the sole property of J.R.R. Tolkien's estate.
Heart Catchers
Yellow
"Mama, Mama, Mama!" the fourteen-year-old lass calls as she bursts into the kitchen.
Mrs. Cotton looks up from the dishes she's washing. "What is it, dear?"
"Look!" she exclaims excitedly, holding up a small, open, yellow rose.
"Oh, my," Mrs. Cotton says, drying her hands on her apron. "How beautiful!" she leans forward to smell it.
"I found it," her daughter explains. "It was in my secret hiding place," her voice drops to a whisper. "And I also found a note, too." Rosie opens her fist to reveal a folded piece of paper.
The hobbitess carefully lifts up the paper and opens it. "You are a good friend. Happy Valentine's Day," she reads the message aloud. "It's not signed," Mrs. Cotton comments.
Rosie bounces on the balls of her feet, her curls swaying, her eyes dancing. "It is my first valentine gift!"
"What a sweet note."
"A yellow rose means friendship…," the lass half questions, half remembers, looking to her mother.
"Aye. Someone is glad you are their friend."
"Well, I'm glad they're my friend, too!"
Pink
"Tom gave me a valentine. It is the prettiest thing."
"I was given my favorite sweets."
"A poem…"
"My new bracelet…"
Rosie slowly moves from her group of friends talking excitedly about who had given them what on this day of love. A small smile gracing her lips, she touches the pink rose in her hair. She and Sam Gamgee had discovered it at the entrance of her secret cave earlier today.
She has been so happy on finding it. The rose, in addition Sam's helpfulness, have brightened her otherwise downcast day. It has been five years since she received her yellow rose. And other lasses teasing her about her lack of a gift have gotten to her at times.
"You are wonderful the way you are," she softly quotes the note that accompanied the rose.
Rosie's smile grows. She does not need to change her hairstyle or act differently. Just be herself.
"Pink…admiration, sweetness. You have an admirer," a blushing Sam had said in explaining the meanings of different roses' color.
She ducks her head, blushing at the thought, and unfamiliar warmth spreads through her.
Lavender
Rosie curtsies politely to the young hobbit at the dance's end and smiles sweetly before finding a place to sit. Her hand wanders up to the rose on her shoulder, gently tracing the purple petals. A dreamy sigh escapes her lips.
She received the rose among a number of valentine gifts: poems, sweets, jewelry, and requests to call or escort her to parties. (This was the second year she has been given things from a number of hopeful lads.) They are all nice and sweet, yet they are superficial and do not truly interest her. But she loves the three roses she has been given over the years; flowers, roses in particular, are among her favorite things. More than once Rosie wonders who the mysterious giver is, who wordlessly confessed he is developing feelings for her.
There had been a single word on the note: Enchantment.
And she feels like she is floating.
"Good evening, Rose-lass."
Startled, she looks up discover Sam before her. "Hello, Sam," she replies brightly. "How are you?"
"I am well, thank you, kindly." Pausing, he asks shyly, "Would you like to dance?"
She smiles softly and nods. Giving Sam her hand, she follows him onto the dance floor. Their dance lacks the laughter and conversation that usually flows between them. Instead Rosie's mouth is dry. She is keenly aware of Sam's arm around her waist and his hand holding hers in a firm but gentle grasp. His clear blue eyes look into her brown ones, and she feels like shw is falling into a deep sweet abyss.
Yellow with Red Tip
The Green Dragon is loud and crowded tonight. Pipe smoke, clank of mugs, and drunken singing fill the air. The door of the pub stands open, bringing in fresh air and the smell of damp grass and hay.
Rosie works in a daze, filling orders, serving tables, washing dishes. Some of her friends comment that she seems distracted. She brushes away their questions.
Almost everything she sees, every thought that crosses her mind, brings her back to the rose that is in a small pot by her bed. There was no message this time. But she did not need one to understand the meaning of a yellow rose, its tip red.
Falling in love.
Cheeks flush with excitement, and unconsciously a smile lights Rosie's face. Who? Who? Who? The question dances around her again and again. Who is it? Who does she wish it…? A pair of deep eyes, sun-kissed hair, tanned cheeks, and chapped lips come to mind, lingers. The same face appeared when she first realized the implications of her latest rose. She had immediately pushed the thought away; it couldn't be. Now, though, she holds the thought close to her.
"You are looking particularly lovely tonight, Miss Rose."
She manages not to jerk back in surprise as the face in her mind's eye scatters, replaced with the flirtatious grin and dark eyes of Ted Sandyman. Rosie takes a step back, gripping the mug she's drying tightly. Her smile dims a little.
"Thank you," she says softly.
He leans against the counter and tilts his head to one side. "Might you be need of a strong, handsome hobbit walking you home?" Ted winks.
She glances over his shoulder, eyes quickly sweeping the full tables. Her gaze lingers on a table near the middle on the side. Shoulders hunched, head lowered, he seems unaware of the activity surrounding him. She pushes away a pang of disappointment.
Rosie meets Ted's expectation-filled eyes and shakes her head.
Red
Rosie sniffs and hugs herself as she gazes at her old secret cave, holder of so many memories for her. She has not played here for years. Once she came here last year, when there were rumors that the hobbits were dead, and she had wept many tears.
She studies the young new trees sprouting up and the short fresh grass under her feet, a sign the Shire is on the mend. The corners of her mouth turn upwards.
Slowly Rosie turns to go and gasps when she sees Sam a little ways back.
"I didn't mean to scare you," he apologizes when he is closer.
"It is all right," she assures. "How did you…?" she trails off.
"Tom." He is staring at the ground, shifting his weight from one foot, then to the other. She cannot interpret the expression on his face.
"Sam?"
He swiftly brings his head up and looks her in the eye, a strange light in his own. "Rosie…" he produces a red rose from behind his back and holds it out towards her.
Red…love.
Rosie's eyes widen and her breath catches in her throat. For a moment she is frozen, and then shakily she reaches out a hand. It takes her a moment to realize Sam is speaking.
"—didn't have the courage to tell you. You were the only one I ever… I was worried another hobbit might interest you. Yet I had no right to be jealous, not when I was such a coward and didn't reveal that I was the one—"
"Sam."
Her soft calling halts his ramble. He looks at her and his eyes become concerned and fearful. She looks like she is about to cry.
"I was hoping it was you."
Astonishment fills his face and he stares at her. "Truly?" he gasps.
Blinking back tears, Rosie smiles. "Yes."
They move closer, the rose between them.
"I love you, Rosie Cotton," Sam confesses.
"And I love you, Sam," Rosie says, her heart singing.
His rough hand brushes her dimpled cheek, before burying in her thick curls. Then Sam kisses his Rosie sweetly and gently.
THE END