Author's Note: Yes! Another chapter at long last! I had most of the outline for this chapter while I was at camp, but didn't have time to write it until I returned home. I also believe the writer's block is finally beginning to end, so I should hopefully update more often.
I hope this chapter is worth the long wait, and reviews are welcomed!
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Chapter Seventeen: Reawakened Heart, Shattered Heart
The table is completely quiet, with the occasional scrape of a fork on a plate, and the slight thud of a mug being set down on the table. The four hobbits are barely aware of the bustling activity around them. For now they have a few moments of peace and mostly privacy. But the mood around the table is far from pleasant and merry as it has been so the last few nights.
Pausing in their eating, Frodo, Merry, and Pippin exchange puzzled and concerned looks before glancing over at Sam. His plate sits nearly untouched before him; he gazes blankly at the twirling dancers, a strange, thoughtful expression on his face. He has been very quiet and thoughtful since last night. The other hobbits have had no success in discovering the cause for this mood; Sam has not opened himself to them. The silence is shattered when Sam suddenly springs to his feet, bumping the table, causing the plates to rattle. Startled, Frodo, Merry, and Pippin raise their eyes to their friend. Sam's cheeks are the shade of a rosy apple, and his jaw tightens. He excuses himself and then rushes off. Frodo stares after him while Merry and Pippin look at each other in bewilderment.
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Rosie glances about the tent, fully alert, keeping an eye out for the flock of lads who had been following her about all evening. She had not been able to do anything, being surrounded on all sides by them. She had been by the dance floor but did not linger; she does not feel like dancing the night away. She just wants to enjoy the festivities by herself. And it will be easier to try to catch another glimpse of Sam without being surrounded by a crowd of lads longing for her attention.
Right now she sits alone at a table in a corner of the tent, eating a piece of pie along with a cup of cider. She keeps her head bent down. So far no one has taken any notice of her, for which she is relieved.
"May I sit here?" a voice asks.
Rosie whips her head up and fights to keep her mouth closed, though her eyes widen in shock. She finds herself drowning in deep pools of blue. Her heart begins to pound painfully, and her mouth goes dry. "Oh, yes…of course," she answers a bit breathlessly.
She watches, unblinking, as Sam sets his pie down on the table and sits himself across from her. He fusses a little longer than necessary with his napkin, and Rosie notices the color slowly mounting in his cheeks. Now she cannot keep a small smile off her face as she recognizes this familiar sign of shyness and uncertainty from Sam.
"Are you Mister Samwise Gamgee?" Rosie asks, feigning ignorance.
He meets her eyes. "Indeed I am," he answers softly.
There is no light of recognition in his eyes as he gazes at her; he regards her with the polite curiosity of a stranger. Rosie sighs inwardly, in relief or disappointment she does not know; nor does she linger on it. She smiles cheerfully at him.
"It is a pleasure to meet you."
Sam nods and then studies her silently for a long moment.
"Is something wrong?" she asks a little uncomfortably, shifting a little in her seat.
Blinking, Sam shakes his head. "No, I… I am sorry." He lowers his head in embarrassment.
Her heart fills with pity. "You should eat your pie before it gets cold. It is very good," Rosie tries to put him at ease.
Sam gives her a quick glance before tasting the pie. Rosie glances about the tent again and realizes how many empty seats there are at some of the tables; it is her turn to blush. Did he want to sit here…with me? she wonders, her heart jumping in her chest.
Sam sneaks another look at the lass across the table from him while her attention is drawn elsewhere.
He was surprised at his boldness and determination that had landed him in this position.
The festival was passing in a dreadfully slow blur to Sam, his thoughts far from the present. He had been abruptly brought out of his state when he spotted her, the girl whom he had been unable to chase from his thoughts since last night. He had left his companions and hurried to the spot the girl had been, only to discover she was gone. He then had searched through the crowds and stands and tents almost desperately for her without success. He was on the brink of despair when he had poked into a final tent and searched the faces without finding the one he sought. He had been about to leave when he studied the tables a second time and then noticed the one lone hobbit seated at a table in a corner. It was she! Victorious, Sam at first wondered how he should proceed now that he had found her. He had grabbed a piece of pie and then went up to her and requested to sit with her.
So here he is now…
"Good?" Rosie says, an amused twinkle in her eye towards his empty plate, bringing him out of his thoughts.
Sam gives her a small smile. "Good," he agrees.
A short silence passes between them.
"Do the festivities bore you?"
Sam looks at the girl in surprise. "Is it that obvious?" he asks, chuckling lightly.
She shrugs. "I am surprised that one of the four Travelers is staying away from all the crowds; you are one of the guests of honor here, I believe."
"It is the same thing every night," Sam confesses, glancing down at the table, "People hope to grace my presence. Wave upon wave of lasses throw themselves at my feet. I crave for this all to end…. Sometimes I wish I could just be Sam, not Samwise the Brave. But here that is impossible." He sighs.
Rosie watches him thoughtfully, unable to find words.
Sam turns his gaze to her face. "And you? Why do you seek solitude?" The corners of his mouth twitch.
She laughs and beams at him, causing his heart to race. Once again he wonders why this mysterious girl has such an effect on him and why he cannot control these wild sensations which come over him.
"I do not often get to attend such parties," she answers. "I have no friends here; so I enjoy this by myself, watching others."
Sam is silent for a moment; then, looking the girl in the eyes, he extends his hand and says, "Would you pass the rest of the night with me? We can just stay here, or walk about a little, look at some of the stands, listen to the band. Would you, please?"
He watches astonishment fill her face. Then a light of wonder crosses her face, and Sam is breathless at how lovely she looks at this moment. She smiles and places her hand in his.
"I would love to, Sam," she says quietly.
Sam cannot look away from her gaze as a new emotion flows through him. She had called him "Sam." Not Samwise or Mister Gamgee, just plain Sam. As they leave the table, he feels as though he is walking on air.
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Sam casts a look of admiration towards the girl at his side. She has completely put him at ease and has stirred in him a renewed interest in the activities surrounding him. How long has it been since he invited her to spend tonight in his company: a few minutes, a couple of hours? He does not know.
They had danced earlier, yet currently they are simply walking about the Party Field; they do not pass many hobbits, for most are at the dance floor. Sam is surprised by how honest he has been able to be around this girl. She has not looked at him with starry eyes as many have, seeing him as a famous figure who is high above her; instead she sees him simply as another hobbit, understanding that he does not desire all this attention and honor. And he is very thankful for that. In her he has discovered a friend who likes him for who he is, not for what he has done.
"Sam," the girl says, gently laying a hand on his arm.
He turns to her and meets her sad eyes. "What is it?" he asks.
She lowers her head. "I have to go."
"Now?" Sam asks, suddenly feeling very dismayed. "Can you not stay a little longer?" Unconsciously, he takes her hand.
"I must," the girl says, also reluctant that she has to leave. She makes to move away from him, but Sam moves in front of her and places his hands on her arms.
"Please, I want you to stay," he begs her.
"I am sorry, I must leave now."
"Will you come tomorrow night?" Sam presses.
The girl looks up and is almost speechless at the intensity of his gaze. A moment later she regains her senses. "I, I will try," she answers.
Sam is not completely satisfied with her reply, but he allows her to step out of his grasp. After giving him a final glance, she turns and hurries away. He does not move for several moments before finally returning to the crowded dance floor and rejoining his companions.
Now the excitement of the night slowly slips away, and Sam begins to wonder how he could have acted so. Confusion and shame creep over him.
The last time he had spent time at a party with a lass like tonight was with Rosie Cotton; only ever with her had he shared such happy times and deep conversations. But tonight it had not been Rosie Cotton he had laughed with, talked with, and danced with in his arms. Tonight there had been emotions stirred up in him, emotions which in the past only Rosie Cotton had been able to awaken.
Sam drops his head into his hand in troubled perplexity; he cannot bring himself to guess what this revelation can mean…
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Rosemary stumbles toward the Old Oak. No light from the festival touches this part of the field, and the moon is covered by a dark cloud at the moment. She is late for her meeting with Fosco. She had been glued to her sister's side for nearly the entire night. She somehow lost her sister after being sent to buy a fruit tart for her. She had then been obliged to eat her sister's tart and then head out to the Old Oak.
As she goes on, Rosemary picks up her pace and half-runs until she is nearly at the large tree, hoping Fosco is still waiting. She starts stepping around a large bush when she hears movement nearby. Startled, she ducks behind the bush and listens closely. She faintly hears the sound of voices, but cannot make out any words or identify whom the voices belong to. Soon she hears nothing. After sitting still for a bit in silence, Rosemary ventures to peep around her hiding place. A couple of yards before her looms the large oak tree. It seems deserted.
Softly, she rises to her feet and silently walks forward. The moon appears, bathing the field in a pale light. Rosemary halts, now able to see what at first she missed in the dark.
Close by the oak is a couple, arms wrapped around each other, in the middle of a deep kiss. Rosemary stares, shocked. She recognizes that pale orange dress…Lily! She turns her attention to the lad, and feels the color drain from her face as she gazes on the familiar reddish golden curls Lily runs her fingers through. Rosemary sways, and the world tilts from side to side. She brings a hand to her mouth, but not quick enough to silence her cry.
Quickly she turns and flees from the scene as fast as her legs can carry her. But the image of what she witnessed is burned into her mind: Lily kissing Fosco, Fosco kissing Lily. Tears burn Rosemary's eyes, blurring her vision, but she does not slow down. A sob escapes her throat, and a great stabbing pain fills her heart. She does not return to the festival but instead runs around the tents. She crashes into someone, causing her to stumble. She rapidly regains her footing and goes on, not paying heed to the hands which offers help, nor noticing the person call "Rosemary!" after her. She flies on until under the cover of a patch of tall grass, she throws herself to the ground and weeps long and hard, her heart shattered.
