Aemilia Rose: Ha ha, yes, they are! I'm glad you're so excited.
Lily Among the Thorns-89: Thank you very much! Please continue to read and review! (Yes, I'm shameless)
Rosa Cotton: Thanks! Sam is a shy fellow, so it is interesting to write about his feelings; he so rarely expresses them.
Sam focused his attention on the crystal shower of droplets bedewing the flowers. Smiling, he ran his fingers through the spray, teasing and sprinkling the flow. His eyes trailed their progress as they fell, one by one, onto the velour surface of the petals. His view broadened to take in the surrounding flowers, his mind recounting each of their names in satisfied familiarity. Daisy, dahlia, honeysuckle.he frowned in sudden perplexity as he reached the final one.
"Rose," He softly intoned, emotions flooding through him. His favourite flower. Rosie was named fittingly so, he mused, subconsciously comparing the beauty of the two. He wondered over his reaction the afternoon before. Alien sensations, abruptly tearing the door open to innumerable, unwanted questions. That such feelings should invade the comfortable, easy camaraderie between them was startling and Sam berated himself silently as he recalled his behaviour towards Rosie. Whatever had moved him to act in such a way? What would Rosie think of him now? Worries commenced to torment him, all left hopelessly unresolved. He sighed, tilting the small watering can as the last few droplets left its security. Why did yesterday ever have to happen?
Frodo watched from the front window as Sam leaned on his spade, his gaze lingering on the distant horizon. His thoughts evidently distracted, he heaved yet another melodramatic sigh, unaware of the amusement he was causing his silent observer. He cast a glance at the rose he held in his hand, absently plucking its petals.
"Is anything the matter?" A voice pierced his gloomy study. Sam jolted upright, turning to meet the twinkling eyes of Mr. Frodo. He, in turn, indicated the pathetically droopy rose in Sam's hand, his motion a silent query. Flurried, Sam dropped the flower, before returning to his digging with furious vigour, all the more energetic due to his overwhelming embarrassment.
"I don't mind you taking my flowers, Sam," remarked Frodo, seating himself on the doorstep. "But looking at how you treated that poor thing, I can't help but feel sorry for it."
"S.sorry, Mr. Frodo."
"Don't worry yourself, it's of no consequence, really. But tell me, whatever has been bothering you?"
"Bothering me, Mr. Frodo?" The dirt flew in wild disarray as Sam dug all the more viciously.
"You're a fine gardener, Sam. But as excellent as you perform, there is more to life than working. I can tell there's something troubling you. Come, tell me about it."
Sam stopped at the genuine concern in Frodo's tone.
"I.I won't be botherin' you, Mr. Frodo?"
"Of course not!" Frodo exclaimed scornfully. "Now tell, the old, wise hobbit what the matter is."
Laying his spade at one side, Sam proceeded to relate his tale woefully. Frodo found himself retreating hastily from the brink of laughter more than once, the bashful nature of the younger hobbit sometimes too much for him to bear. Overall, however, he understood, even to the point of sympathizing. Young love, he knew, was a rude shock when thrust upon one wholly new to the experience. The strong friendship between Sam and Rose was renowned among the hobbit villagers of the Shire, Frodo, himself, having indulgently observed the two grow up together. How confusing it must be, indeed, to find yourself in love with your best friend! He found it altogether a fascinating predicament.
"Well, I see no need for worry here. What you've encountered, Sam, is puppy love."
"Puppy love?"
"Yes. In other words, Sam, you've developed a strong liking for young Rosie." At his words, Sam blushed in protest. Frodo nodded knowingly.
"It's no use trying to deny it. But," Frodo waggled his finger warningly, "The two of you are still young, just past fifteen. Whether or not this liking matures into something more, only time can tell."
"Wha..at should I do now?"
"Well." Frodo rubbed his chin thoughtfully, reveling in his glorified role of love guru.
"In my opinion, you should continue as before. Remember, the friendship the two of you share is too precious to be sacrificed for something as doubtful as puppy love. Watch her and ponder your situation with a clear and unbiased mind. This affection may die down after some time, or it may not."
Sam slowly digested his words. Turning them over in his mind and reasoning all avenues of choice, he saw the practicality of Frodo's advice.
"I'll try to do it."
"Good lad."
* * *
Rosie impatiently threaded her needle, the elusive thread having slipped once more out of its eye, infuriating in its minute size. Thus accomplished, she jabbed the slender silver instrument through her cloth, cursing silently as it bit cruelly into the hand steadying the framework from beneath.
"Use a thimble, dear."
"Yes, mother." Came the submissive answer, entirely contradictory to its speaker's inward raging. Rosie squinted down at her cloth, struggling to pinpoint where she should sew the next cross. The small yellow butterflies, usually a joy and pleasure to sew, now angered her as she stormed at their uselessness. Frustrated by her feminine occupation, she would have thrown her work wholly aside, had the watchful eyes of her mother not restrained her. Rocking calmly, Mrs. Cotton tethered her own needle with practiced rhythm as she mended a pair of torn trousers. She had long before noticed Rosie's irritation with her work, now she merely waited for the eventual explosion. It would come soon enough, she knew, none better understanding the inconsistencies of a young female mind.
"Mother, why do I have to do this? Why did you stop me from going to the farm with Father and the boys?"
"Don't you like to sew, dear?" Came the meek reply.
"Yes, but.you knew I wanted to go." Rosie picked at a loose thread dangling unobtrusively from the cross-stitch.
Setting aside her mending, Mrs. Cotton turned to the young girl fidgeting beside her.
"There is a reason, dear. I heard you crying last night." Rosie started at the words. Mrs. Cotton gently took away the cross-stitch from her quivering hands.
"Now is the time, dearest, that a young girl's heart aches the most, and aches terribly. Won't you share your worries with me?" Mrs. Cotton's tone was almost wistful, touching her daughter in its yearning to seek the girl's trust.
"Oh, mother," Rosie buried her head upon the familiar shoulder, a tear trickling down her cheek. "I will."
Sobbing out the happenings of the past day, that hour was one that brought the girl and her mother closer than ever before. As Rosie told all of her worries and burdens, her mother comforted and soothed, holding her close as she guided her daughter through that precious stage in every hobbit girl's life. Though surprised by Rosie's confessions, she soon came to realize that it was natural to expect such a revelation. Momentary pangs of reluctance overtook her, loathe as she was to see her only daughter taking the first preparations for flight from the home nest. Yet as she listened to the earnest innocence in Rosie's tone, she rejoiced in her daughter's discovery of first love, made all the purer in its oblivion.
"Where do I go from here?"
"Only you know that, Rosie. The answer is lurking somewhere in there."
"But, oh, mother. Sam would never follow up on his feelings. He's too shy!" And Rosie stomped one foot upon the floor, emphasizing the point.
"What matters more to you; his actions or his true feelings? Rosie, though I do hate to admit it, both of you are still very young. Boys get infatuated."
"Sam isn't like that!"
"I'm not saying he is, dear. The point is, what he did yesterday may not be a clear indication of his feelings. He, and only he, can discover the extent of his regard for you. Meanwhile, you have to ascertain that what you feel for him is true."
"But I am sure."
"Take an open approach, Rosie. The two of you have shared ten years of wonderful friendship. Do you want to ruin that, and all the memories behind you, due to a mistaken emotion? Build him up, encourage him to grow into the hobbit you know he can be."
"Build him up."
"Yes. Rosie, dear, if the test of time is passed.." Mrs. Cotton smiled at her daughter. "Whatever is meant to be, will be."
"Whatever is meant to be, will be."
Lily Among the Thorns-89: Thank you very much! Please continue to read and review! (Yes, I'm shameless)
Rosa Cotton: Thanks! Sam is a shy fellow, so it is interesting to write about his feelings; he so rarely expresses them.
Sam focused his attention on the crystal shower of droplets bedewing the flowers. Smiling, he ran his fingers through the spray, teasing and sprinkling the flow. His eyes trailed their progress as they fell, one by one, onto the velour surface of the petals. His view broadened to take in the surrounding flowers, his mind recounting each of their names in satisfied familiarity. Daisy, dahlia, honeysuckle.he frowned in sudden perplexity as he reached the final one.
"Rose," He softly intoned, emotions flooding through him. His favourite flower. Rosie was named fittingly so, he mused, subconsciously comparing the beauty of the two. He wondered over his reaction the afternoon before. Alien sensations, abruptly tearing the door open to innumerable, unwanted questions. That such feelings should invade the comfortable, easy camaraderie between them was startling and Sam berated himself silently as he recalled his behaviour towards Rosie. Whatever had moved him to act in such a way? What would Rosie think of him now? Worries commenced to torment him, all left hopelessly unresolved. He sighed, tilting the small watering can as the last few droplets left its security. Why did yesterday ever have to happen?
Frodo watched from the front window as Sam leaned on his spade, his gaze lingering on the distant horizon. His thoughts evidently distracted, he heaved yet another melodramatic sigh, unaware of the amusement he was causing his silent observer. He cast a glance at the rose he held in his hand, absently plucking its petals.
"Is anything the matter?" A voice pierced his gloomy study. Sam jolted upright, turning to meet the twinkling eyes of Mr. Frodo. He, in turn, indicated the pathetically droopy rose in Sam's hand, his motion a silent query. Flurried, Sam dropped the flower, before returning to his digging with furious vigour, all the more energetic due to his overwhelming embarrassment.
"I don't mind you taking my flowers, Sam," remarked Frodo, seating himself on the doorstep. "But looking at how you treated that poor thing, I can't help but feel sorry for it."
"S.sorry, Mr. Frodo."
"Don't worry yourself, it's of no consequence, really. But tell me, whatever has been bothering you?"
"Bothering me, Mr. Frodo?" The dirt flew in wild disarray as Sam dug all the more viciously.
"You're a fine gardener, Sam. But as excellent as you perform, there is more to life than working. I can tell there's something troubling you. Come, tell me about it."
Sam stopped at the genuine concern in Frodo's tone.
"I.I won't be botherin' you, Mr. Frodo?"
"Of course not!" Frodo exclaimed scornfully. "Now tell, the old, wise hobbit what the matter is."
Laying his spade at one side, Sam proceeded to relate his tale woefully. Frodo found himself retreating hastily from the brink of laughter more than once, the bashful nature of the younger hobbit sometimes too much for him to bear. Overall, however, he understood, even to the point of sympathizing. Young love, he knew, was a rude shock when thrust upon one wholly new to the experience. The strong friendship between Sam and Rose was renowned among the hobbit villagers of the Shire, Frodo, himself, having indulgently observed the two grow up together. How confusing it must be, indeed, to find yourself in love with your best friend! He found it altogether a fascinating predicament.
"Well, I see no need for worry here. What you've encountered, Sam, is puppy love."
"Puppy love?"
"Yes. In other words, Sam, you've developed a strong liking for young Rosie." At his words, Sam blushed in protest. Frodo nodded knowingly.
"It's no use trying to deny it. But," Frodo waggled his finger warningly, "The two of you are still young, just past fifteen. Whether or not this liking matures into something more, only time can tell."
"Wha..at should I do now?"
"Well." Frodo rubbed his chin thoughtfully, reveling in his glorified role of love guru.
"In my opinion, you should continue as before. Remember, the friendship the two of you share is too precious to be sacrificed for something as doubtful as puppy love. Watch her and ponder your situation with a clear and unbiased mind. This affection may die down after some time, or it may not."
Sam slowly digested his words. Turning them over in his mind and reasoning all avenues of choice, he saw the practicality of Frodo's advice.
"I'll try to do it."
"Good lad."
* * *
Rosie impatiently threaded her needle, the elusive thread having slipped once more out of its eye, infuriating in its minute size. Thus accomplished, she jabbed the slender silver instrument through her cloth, cursing silently as it bit cruelly into the hand steadying the framework from beneath.
"Use a thimble, dear."
"Yes, mother." Came the submissive answer, entirely contradictory to its speaker's inward raging. Rosie squinted down at her cloth, struggling to pinpoint where she should sew the next cross. The small yellow butterflies, usually a joy and pleasure to sew, now angered her as she stormed at their uselessness. Frustrated by her feminine occupation, she would have thrown her work wholly aside, had the watchful eyes of her mother not restrained her. Rocking calmly, Mrs. Cotton tethered her own needle with practiced rhythm as she mended a pair of torn trousers. She had long before noticed Rosie's irritation with her work, now she merely waited for the eventual explosion. It would come soon enough, she knew, none better understanding the inconsistencies of a young female mind.
"Mother, why do I have to do this? Why did you stop me from going to the farm with Father and the boys?"
"Don't you like to sew, dear?" Came the meek reply.
"Yes, but.you knew I wanted to go." Rosie picked at a loose thread dangling unobtrusively from the cross-stitch.
Setting aside her mending, Mrs. Cotton turned to the young girl fidgeting beside her.
"There is a reason, dear. I heard you crying last night." Rosie started at the words. Mrs. Cotton gently took away the cross-stitch from her quivering hands.
"Now is the time, dearest, that a young girl's heart aches the most, and aches terribly. Won't you share your worries with me?" Mrs. Cotton's tone was almost wistful, touching her daughter in its yearning to seek the girl's trust.
"Oh, mother," Rosie buried her head upon the familiar shoulder, a tear trickling down her cheek. "I will."
Sobbing out the happenings of the past day, that hour was one that brought the girl and her mother closer than ever before. As Rosie told all of her worries and burdens, her mother comforted and soothed, holding her close as she guided her daughter through that precious stage in every hobbit girl's life. Though surprised by Rosie's confessions, she soon came to realize that it was natural to expect such a revelation. Momentary pangs of reluctance overtook her, loathe as she was to see her only daughter taking the first preparations for flight from the home nest. Yet as she listened to the earnest innocence in Rosie's tone, she rejoiced in her daughter's discovery of first love, made all the purer in its oblivion.
"Where do I go from here?"
"Only you know that, Rosie. The answer is lurking somewhere in there."
"But, oh, mother. Sam would never follow up on his feelings. He's too shy!" And Rosie stomped one foot upon the floor, emphasizing the point.
"What matters more to you; his actions or his true feelings? Rosie, though I do hate to admit it, both of you are still very young. Boys get infatuated."
"Sam isn't like that!"
"I'm not saying he is, dear. The point is, what he did yesterday may not be a clear indication of his feelings. He, and only he, can discover the extent of his regard for you. Meanwhile, you have to ascertain that what you feel for him is true."
"But I am sure."
"Take an open approach, Rosie. The two of you have shared ten years of wonderful friendship. Do you want to ruin that, and all the memories behind you, due to a mistaken emotion? Build him up, encourage him to grow into the hobbit you know he can be."
"Build him up."
"Yes. Rosie, dear, if the test of time is passed.." Mrs. Cotton smiled at her daughter. "Whatever is meant to be, will be."
"Whatever is meant to be, will be."
