Author's Note: Yes, I know it has taken me two months and a week to finally move this story along. I am sorry! But here it is – the most anticipated event of this story. And please, I need feedback. Oh, and thank you all you have reviewed! :) Enjoy!
Chapter Fifteen: Swirling Colors, Souls, Hearts
Rosie stands still, soaking up the sounds and smells and sight before her. She stands outside of the circle of tents, of the festival. The light cast from the lanterns and torches brighten the surrounding area. But no light falls upon Rosie; she stands a little distance away, surrounded by a few trees' shadows. Yet she can see merry hobbits wandering about, can hear the band; and the smell of apple pie tickles her nose.
She nervously draws in a shaky breath. What she hopes or desires to do tonight here, she does not know, except that she wants to be here. She raises her head and bravely steps out of the shadows, walks across the grass, makes her way between two tents, and steps into the middle of the festival.
She blinks as her eyes adjust to the brightness surrounding her. For a moment she can only stare about her in wonderment. Being here feels so familiar when she used to go to parties and festivals with her family, yet at the same time so foreign and new, as though she has never been to something like this before. Freedom -- here she feels free. She can have fun, not do chores, and have a taste of her old life. Slowly a grin spreads over her face; she starts walking about, feeling, for the first time in many months, pure joy and excitement.
"Who is that?!"
Lily's soft whisper -- full of awe and envy -- and painful death grip on her sister's arm cause Rosemary to yelp, halt her searching the crowd for Fosco, and turn to Lily.
"What?" she asks.
But Lily is not looking at her; instead she is peering ahead of them with narrow eyes. Rosemary attempts to pinpoint what her sister is staring at. But she cannot spot anyone unusual looking. Eventually as they continue on, Lily's head snaps around as they pass by the object of her attention. With a lingering glance over her shoulder, Lily turns back, a deep frown darkening her fair face. Her annoyance-filled eyes meet her sisters puzzled ones. They halt walking.
"Did you see her?" Lily questions.
"See who?" Rosemary blinks curiously. "There are many 'hers' here."
The frown on Lily's face melts into an expression of disbelief and shock. "'See who?'" she repeats impatiently. "Her! The one all the lads were gawking at as she went by! Looked like..." she trails off as the confusion on her sisters face does not lift but deepens. "You didn't see her!" Lily exclaims.
"I'm afraid not..." Rosemary answers slowly, shaking her head.
"How?! Everyone was watching her!" Lily turns her gaze away from her sister and resumes walking, dragging Rosemary along behind her. Rosemary follows, not having the opportunity to ask what was so amazing about this mysterious "her" since Lily is still speaking, and for now pushes aside hopes of possibly escaping and searching for Fosco.
To any hobbit that would have spared the two Cotton sisters a long look, they would have appeared to be in a familiar situation to the observer: the older, proud, beautiful sister having control over the younger, meeker one who hardly stands up for herself. And they just might be right.
"So this is where I find you all."
The four hobbits bent over their plates look up and give their visitor broad smiles. Pippin and Merry rise to their feet.
"Well if it isn't one of my favorite Took cousins!" Pippin grins and gives Polly a warm hug.
"And who else is a favorite Took cousin?" Polly teases.
"Fosco, of course," Pippin answers without missing a beat.
Polly rolls her eyes in mock horror and greets the others. Pippin and Diamond scoot down, making room for Polly to join them and Merry and Estella, who sit across on the other side of the table. Merry suggests Polly go get herself some pie; she declines but is won out when the others also urge her to try some. So it is after she gets a nice large-size piece of blueberry pie topped with cream -- and Pippin helps himself to a third helping -- that conversation starts to flow.
"Where is Fosco?" Estella asks Polly.
"I haven't seen him since we got here, which was a long time ago. But if I had to guess, he is probably looking for his friend, as he refers to her," Polly says, shaking her head slightly.
"Friend, eh?" Pippin pipes in, interested, lifting his eyebrows.
"Yes. Though I also wonder, too.... He has gone on and on about a certain girl he met the first night of the festival and has kept company with each night. Mother told him she wants to meet his friend tonight, if possible."
"So," Merry grins. "Got caught finally, has he?" He squeezes Estellas hand under the table.
"Mother sure hopes so," Polly states, a twinkle in her eye. "She has been pressing him for months about settling down. But he insists that there is no reason for her to get excited. This girl is only a friend, and he has only known her for about four days."
"Maybe he will eventually believe that if he keeps telling himself that," Diamond puts in.
Polly giggles. "Yes, he should just keep telling himself that... You should see him when he talks about her. He gets this amazing expression on his face, seems to have his head in the clouds."
"If Aunt Poise approves of Fosco's friend, and has her way -- which she usually does -- I would guess there should be invitations going out by spring," Pippin muses.
All five burst out laughing.
The fast turning of the couples on the dance floor blends into a swirling of colors and blurs. Hoping his face does not show his disinterest, Sam drops his gaze from the dancers to the grass at his feet. As he lets his thoughts wrap around him, he becomes oblivious to Frodo sitting next to him, the music and laughter in the air, and the rest of his surroundings.
Each passing night of the festival, it has become harder and harder for him to come, to feign interest in all the attention laid on him and his friends. Countless lasses have attempted to catch his notice, crowding around him, by flirting and putting on airs. They try to dazzle him with their beauty, all perfumed and powdered with makeup, wearing their finest dresses and jewelry, and styled hair. But they only remind him of how much he longs for only one lass in particular, who has captured him with her natural beauty and kind heart. More than once, as he sometimes watches the dancing, he expects to spot a lass in a blue dress amidst the dancers, but then he realizes he is here at the festival -- and she is not. He has been --
Sam jolts in surprise and is drawn out of his wonderings as Frodo gently elbows him in the side. Giving his head a slight shake to clear his thoughts, he turns to his friend, puzzled. Silently, Frodo tips his head to his left -- towards one of the edges of the dance floor. Frowning a little in confusion, Sam turns his attention in the direction Frodo indicated. All he sees are a few couples dancing, and when he can peer around them, some hobbits standing about, watching them. He does not recognize any of them... Oh. Sams eyes widen in wonder and amazement.
Surrounded by the browns and greens and pinks is a buttercup. She is laughing with the other hobbits by the dance floor, perhaps at a joke. Her smile is charming. Her long hair hangs down to her waist in rolling waves. Her gown is bright yellow -- his favorite color -- quite lovely. A matching ribbon adorns her hair. As she gazes about, her face is full of excitement and awe.
Sam has never seen this girl before. Just as he wonders who she might be, he realizes his heart is galloping like a horse, as if it knows something about the mysterious girl even if he himself knows nothing. He is not aware that his mouth is hanging halfway open until Frodo places two fingers under his friend's jaw and firmly shuts it. Sam blinks and embarrassingly meets Frodo's eyes, which are dancing with gentle amusement. They exchange a smile.
"Do you know her?" Sam asks as they both watch the girl in question accept a lad's offer and join the dancing.
"No," Frodo answers softly. He pauses, watching the couple closely. "And yet..."
"What?" Sam presses, tearing his eyes back to Frodo.
"There is something about her that seems familiar," he says thoughtfully.
Sam resumes staring at the couple. "She reminds you of someone?"
"Perhaps. I'm not sure." Frodo shrugs his shoulders. Leaning back against the table, he takes note of many other young lads watching the unknown girl with keen interest. He chuckles slightly and turns his attention to his ale.
A silence falls between the two hobbits. Sam's brow furrows as he studies the girl. He sighs; he cannot place her at all. As the girl and her partner pass close by, Sam is bombarded by a thought: I wish it was me she was dancing with. Sam freezes, shocked. Now where did that come from? You have hardly minded sitting out on the dancing and now... You had plenty of lasses throwing themselves at you whom you did not care for in the least, but her? A part of his mind bashes him. Jealous, are you? Of her partner and all the others who want a dance? What has gotten into you? You don't even know her; yet she fascinates you. Sam silently groans. What has gotten into him? Why is this strange feeling of envy washing over him? Why has his heart not ceased beating fast? Why, why, why? And what about Rosie? another part of his mind asks in a whisper. That does it.
In one graceful, swift movement Sam is upon his feet. "I think I shall take a walk about." I need to take a walk. "Will you be all right without me, Mister Frodo?"
"Of course, Sam. Go and enjoy yourself. I shall be fine. If need be, I'll hunt down those two cousins of mine, whom I've seemed to misplace once again," Frodo sighs and with an expression of mock disapproval and annoyance, looks about the scene, which is indeed lacking a certain Took and Brandybuck.
Sam cracks a smile. "Very well. But please get me if you really need me," he says seriously before going off.
"I will, Sam," Frodo quietly promises to the hobbits retreating back.
Unlike her younger daughter, May wants to know as much as possible about the girl everyone seems to be talking about. She listens very carefully as Lily tells her what she knows. Nothing goes by May.
"...Her dress is not as elegant as mine, nor is she wearing any fancy jewels or had her hair all done up. And her hair...it is wavy, a bit unbecoming, I dare say, since curls are the common fashion. But there seemed to be some sort of glow about her. Oh, Mother! You should have seen the way everyone was staring as she went by! At her, and she must be low-class," Lily goes on, scowling.
"Don't worry, my precious, about her social status," May soothes her daughter. "Did it seem like anyone knew who she was?"
Lily shakes her head. "No one seems to have seen her before or know where she's from." She notices the deep concentration on her mothers face; the wheels in her head are turning. "What are you going to do?"
"Right now, I want us to go and see if we cannot find this girl. I'm very interested in seeing her," May says. "It is only a little after twelve, and the festival will not start winding down for at least another hour. It is quite possible she is still about."
And with that, the hobbitess and her very similarly tempered daughter set out on their quest.
Sam drains the last of his ale and excuses himself as he leaves his Gaffer and his companions. He then lets his feet carry him where they will but does not wander toward the dancing. It is now probably very crowded, for the dance floor is usually very crowded the last hour or so before the festival closes for the night. It would be exceptionally noisy and such.
When he had left Frodo, he had at first walked around, visiting some tents and stands, but everywhere he turned, talk drifted to his ears regarding the strange young girl who had made an appearance. He then was forced to seek solitude and quiet by leaving the festival and walking a little in the unoccupied part of the field. His mind did not become peaceful; instead, his wonderings became more and more intense. And more and more questions came about. He returned to the party more disoriented than ever.
Sam now observes the many hobbits having a good time and the many couples walking hand in hand; he feels an ache in his chest as old memories are stirred up in his mind. He politely nods his head to the couple of hobbits who greets him. He pauses by a tent and watches several lads play a game of horseshoes. Lazily he leans against a wooden post with a lantern atop it and crosses his arms over his chest as he watches them. He stiffens slightly as the hairs on the back of his neck stand up on end. Slowly he sweeps the area with his eyes. Unexpectedly, his blue eyes clash with soft brown eyes with a hint of gold -- her eyes. (I needn't tell you whom I mean by her.) Her eyes widen in surprise. A second later, she ducks her head, a blush creeping up her cheeks.
Sam returns his attention to the lads, feeling his own cheeks gain color. He sneaks a quick look towards the girl, who admires items at a stand, and then looks away. Sam nervously shifts his weight to first one foot, then the other. He feels a sudden desire to approach her. But does he dare? Would she possibly giggle at him, or flirt, like so many of the other lasses he has encountered? She seems to be by herself. Yet there are many hobbits about, perhaps also spying on her just as he himself is; and if he did go to her, the gossip mill would be afire, for had not he already heard many talk about this girl tonight? He would rather have neither flirtation nor gossip happen; but there would be nothing to keep the latter from happening, for it would. Sam swallows hard.
Slowly, his embarrassment gives way, and he thinks about her eyes. They were beautiful, yet haunting, with shadows in their depths. Sam frowns, concern welling up. Why should one who seemed happy be...? What had he seen in her eyes? Fear? Nervousness? Sadness? Unease? Was there more to her than met the eye?
His wonderings about her eyes full of shadows cause a determination to burn in his heart, and courage takes hold. He raises his head, deciding to approach her. But she is not at the stand when he turns his gaze that way. Indeed, she has disappeared. He hastens toward the stand to ask if either of the two women overseeing it took note of which way the girl went. But he fails in his mission.
"Sam!"
Sam whirls to find Merry and Pippin coming towards him. "Merry, Pippin," he greets them.
"We've been looking for you everywhere! Where have you been?" Not giving Sam a chance to answer, Merry goes on, "The Mayor desires to see you, Pippin, Frodo, and me."
"Now?" Sam questions, feeling disappointed.
"Aye," Pippin says.
Sighing inwardly, Sam follows the two cousins. His eyes race over the faces which pass by them, but there is no victory. And for a reason he knows not, his heart sinks.
Lily eventually stumbles across her sister deep in conversation with her fiddler, their heads close together. Rolling her eyes in annoyance and envy, she interrupts them. "There you are!" she proclaims, making her presence known.
"Lily!" Rosemary says in surprise, blushing and jerking away slightly from her companion.
Fosco nods to her politely in greeting, though looking slightly displeased.
After giving him a bright smile and a flutter of her eyelashes, Lily turns to her sister and reaches for her arm. "Mother sent me to find you, Rosemary. It is time to go."
"Already?" Rosemary asks sadly. At her sisters affirming nod, she turns to Fosco. "I must go." She curtsies, thus missing the disappointment which flickers in his eyes. "I enjoyed meeting your mother." It is Fosco's turn to flush slightly; he runs a hand through his hair in a nervous gesture and gives a small smile. Rosemary takes a step away from him as Lily starts to pull her away. "Good night." She turns to go but halts when Fosco lays a hand on her shoulder.
"Wait, Rosemary...," he starts.
Both girls turn back.
"Meet me," Fosco says softly, leaning towards her, "by the maple tree at eleven o'clock tomorrow night." He pulls back, eyes shining with hope.
Rosemary's eyes stare up at him full of questioning, but she is only allowed to nod in consent before she is dragged away by her sister. Fighting to keep up with her sisters brisk pace, Rosemary does not notice the cunning expression on Lily's face; she also heard Fosco's request, and her eyes glisten brightly and sharply.
