Chapter 2: Wedding Day
The four hobbits rode out in the direction of the Party Field with Sam at their head, who looked very dashing astride his faithful pony and wore a serious expression on his face. He could hardly believe that the day had finally arrived when he would join himself to his beautiful Rose forever, just as he had so often dreamt. Though she might not have known it, it was the memory of her sweet, happy face that had seen him through some of his darkest moments, and the wish that he might return to her had done so much to keep his own hopes alive, even when it had seemed like folly to hope. There were nights when he would cast himself down upon the cold, dusty earth and a vision of her would come to him like a blessing from above, and he fancied that he could hear her girlish laughter and the sound of distant music as she danced freely under the sun. For that moment, he would forget all of his troubles and his pains, forget the coldness that gripped him and the bleakness that surrounded him and revel in the bliss of her graceful movements. Now, he would no longer have to settle for memories or dreams, for she would be his to have and to hold. It was really happening.
As they neared the Field, Sam saw a great gathering of hobbits all assembled on the lawn: friends, relations, in-laws, and quite probably a few stragglers who had not been invited but had decided to turn up anyway. His mind was so distracted that he could have hardly put a name to many of the faces if he had wanted to, and he rode by in silence, nodding his head occasionally at the guests who hailed him.
Sam himself had seen to the floral arrangements, and he had not come up short. Though he had had his work cut out for him after the devastation that Sharkey and the Ruffians had wrought upon the Shire, Sam had laboured with almost single-minded preoccupation to ensure that all that was green and growing was restored to its former splendour. For this day, he had hand selected the finest flowers from his own gardens, and they were breathtaking to behold. Most numerous of all were the pink and white roses, his wife's namesake, their pale petals endowed with a softness and a femininity that so much reminded him of his beloved.
At the end of the long aisle that his wife was to walk down was an arched trellis, laced with twisting green vines and dotted with little pink flowers. Sam dismounted, taking in everything through eyes that were hazy with wonder and disbelief.
"Ready, Sam?" Frodo said at his side, though Sam had not heard him approach.
Sam took one last, long look at the field, and let out a shaky breath.
"I'm ready, Mr. Frodo," he said.
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Sam took his place underneath the trellis as the crowd looked on, Frodo standing sedately off to one side. A hush fell over the audience as the music started up with a high singing of flutes and an orchestra of violin strings. The procession began as the bridesmaids and the groomsmen came in their turn, among them Sam's own brothers and sisters and the Cotton lads. Next, the flower girl walked primly down the aisle, scattering petals on the ground, her curls bouncing springily as she went. Then, the music seemed to fade to gradual silence, and there was a palpable air of expectancy as a figure in white appeared at the foot of the aisle. The musicians started afresh, and Sam's breath caught in his throat as he looked upon his bride.
Her flowing white skirts brushed lightly across the flower-strewn carpet as she came towards him, making a faint whispering sound that could barely be heard over the band playing. Her fitted bodice all done up with ribbons and lace conformed to her soft curves like a second skin, the neckline revealing just enough of her décolletage to show off the fairness of her bosom. On her head was a wreath of flowers and in her hands a bouquet, and a joyful smile was on her face.
Sam swallowed back the lump in his throat as tears sprang to his eyes and slid slowly down his face. He brushed them away with his thumb and did his best to compose himself as Rose drew nearer with Farmer Cotton at her arm. At last, she met him, and the old farmer placed his daughter's hand in Sam's.
"Take care of her, lad," he said in an undertone and took his place in the crowd.
Sam clasped Rose's hand between his own, tears still falling in spite of himself, and gazed into her eyes. Her smile widened even as she shed tears of her own, and a small silvery laugh that was an expression of purest happiness came from her lips. And so, Rose and Sam were married in the springtime underneath blue skies and golden sun, and all agreed that it was one of the loveliest and perhaps the most moving union of two hearts that they had ever witnessed.
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That evening was filled with much merriment and dancing and, of course, feasting as hobbit custom demanded. Indeed, Frodo himself had overseen many of the details that had gone into the reception with special diligence, and he had pulled out all the stops for the momentous day. This had not been lost on Sam, and it only added to his overwhelming gladness and made him feel twice as blessed, if that was possible.
But the new couple in truth only had eyes for one another and could scarcely be induced to release their mutual gaze. The two were showered with many congratulations on all sides, the ladies preening over Rose and giggling excitedly for her, some of the fellows shaking Sam's hand and slapping him jovially on the back.
"Well done, Sam old boy!" Merry said, raising his glass when Sam was alone, Rose having been shepherded away by some of the lasses.
"How did you manage it, Sam?" Pippin said, throwing back a tumbler of his own.
"Perhaps if you thought less of ale and learned a thing or two about minding your manners, you'd be better off yourself, young Took," Sam retorted with a sarcastic smile. Pippin's eyes darted up from above the rim of his cup, and he wiped away the foam on his upper lip somewhat guiltily.
"Congratulations, my dear Sam," Frodo said, shooting Pippin a quick, quizzical look. "I cannot think of two hobbits better suited for one another. You are very lucky to have each other."
"I know it, sir, and I'm luckier still to have you with me through it all and to share this day with us - and that goes for all of you. Even you, Pip." he said.
"And I am sure that I speak for all of us when I say that we are overjoyed to have been a part of it," said Frodo. "But, the hour is growing late and I expect you are growing tired of sharing your Rose with us and wish to have her to yourself."
"I suppose it is getting late" said Sam, shifting awkwardly, purposely sidestepping Frodo's subtle insinuation. "You're sure you'll be all right leaving though? It don't seem right that you should have to go off on my account."
"Of course I will be all right! This is your night, Sam, yours and Rose's, and I would not have it any other way."
"Don't worry about Frodo, Sam, I'll be sure to look after him while he is in my keeping," Merry added.
"Yes, yes, and he shall certainly not want for sport when he is in our company, that's certain," Pippin agreed. And neither will Rose, I'll bet Pippin thought, but decided against saying it aloud. "Now you go and look after your lady, you old dog," he said with a playful nudge.
Ordinarily Sam would have countered with some vague threat to fetch Pippin a sound blow for his impertinence, but a strange anxiety came over him, an anxiety that was yet laced with a keen expectancy, and he simply shook his head at the younger hobbit in exasperation.
"Go on, Sam, go and fetch your wife and I will deal with the rest," said Frodo, shooting a glance at the loitering hobbits. "I have already packed and laden the cart with what few belongings I will be bringing. You go on ahead."
"All right, Mr. Frodo, me and Rose will say our good-byes to the last of 'em," he said and shambled off.
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When the gathering had finally dispersed and the night had grown quiet again, Sam took Rose by the hand as they turned their backs to the Party Field and made for the green door of Bag End.
"Hold on, Rosie love, I'll not have any wife of mine trudging through the fields on her wedding night," he said, and swept her off of her feet in one deft motion.
"Sam!" she laughed, her heart all aflutter in her chest. "Goodness gracious, but you are a perfect gentlehobbit."
Sam smiled as he turned the doorknob and carried Rose across the threshold.
"Well, here we are," he said, his blood quickening in his veins all of a sudden. "Back home, all to ourselves." He set Rose down carefully on her feet.
"It was very thoughtful of dear Mr. Frodo to have left it to us," Rose smiled.
"Aye, and he knows we're right grateful," Sam said.
"Oh, Sam, today has been the most wonderful day I have ever known," Rose gushed. "And though the waiting was hard, it has all been worth it in the end. I would have waited for as long as it took just to see this day come true."
"Rose..." Sam sighed, touching a hand to the side of her face. She tilted her chin upward as the two of them connected in a deep, loving kiss that spoke of so many years of eager anticipation and ardent yearning. His heartbeat pounded stronger as her lips clung to his - surely she would be able to hear the terrific din that it was raising inside of him. But if she was aware of it, she did not say so, and at last, she released him with eyes that shone with love and desire. He saw the colour rising in her cheeks even in the darkness of the dimly-lit hobbit hole and the way her lips were parted slightly as though she had been rendered breathless. He was intoxicated by the dizzying fervour of her kiss and hungered to press his lips to hers again, to hold her body close to his in a perpetual embrace. But before he could lean in for a second taste, she took him by the hand coyly with a meaningful smile and led him down the halls of Bag End. All at once, he realised she was leading him straight to the bedchamber.
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A/N: Stay tuned folks, things are just beginning to heat up! Be warned, from here on in, this story will have an M rating and will be intended only for mature audiences.