Author's Note: Eeep! Almost eleven months since the last chapter. I've been experiencing varying degrees of writer's block with this story. But I do hope, intend, to finish Cinder-Rose. Thank everyone who has been asking me to continue this and for being so patient.


Chapter Nineteen: Awakening

"I'm sorry the festival ends," Diamond laments, her arm linked through Pippin's.

"Well, I must confess I am glad it is done. Seven nights is quite tiring," he says.

The couple is walking in a huge circle around the outskirts of the tents. Now the tents are to their left and the road on their right at the top of the small incline.

"I suppose it has been for you and Merry and Frodo and Sam. Poor dears! But you all were such gentlemen, I thought, with all the fuss made over you," she says. Impulsively she leans up and kisses him on the cheek.

A dazed expression comes over Pippin's face as he blushes and stares down at Diamond. Her face is turned away in an attempt to hide her embarrassment. He opens his mouth only to close it. He then turns his eyes to the ground, thinking intently. A long silence falls over the two.

Pippin swallows nervously. "Diamond…," he starts.

The lass, wondering if she just saw a dark figure running with great speed along the road or if it was only her imagination, jerks slightly and looks at him questioningly. "Yes, Pippin?"

"I," for a moment his courage fails him. "There is something particular I would like to ask you." His eyes hold nothing but tenderness.

"Yes?" Diamond says breathlessly, her heart suddenly pounding, forgetting about what she had seen. "What is it?"

"Well, I would be most honored if, if you…"


Rosie walks with a calm ease through the crowd. She keeps her eyes downcast as she goes. A sigh of relief and sadness escapes her when she walks past the last tent and up the small incline; she allows herself one last look on the festival, so bright, so carefree, and so full of laughter and song. Rosie chuckles slightly. It seems to cling desperately to its final hours, she muses, turning away.

It is when she sets foot on the road, and checks to make sure she is alone, that she breaks out into a sprint. Her calm composure creaks, and the sobs come unceasingly. Her feet start to ache as they fly over the ground. Her chest swells with heartache.

She has done it: she has left Sam. For a moment she had nearly decided to reveal all to him. There had been such concern in his blue eyes. Yet the unexpected sight of Lily had frightened her, and she fled, not desiring to meet with her cousin.

To Rosie, the whole time she has spent with Sam at the festival has been bittersweet. They had been like strangers forming an acquaintance, while she knew they were really anything but strangers. Her mind had been delighted that she was not known there, while her heart wept that he did not recognize her.

She will always treasure these nights; they will give her strength not to break under her aunt's abuse. Despite what might happen in the future, she will smile as she thinks back on the pleasure she draws from these nights.

After an immeasurable time, Rosie reaches home. She stumbles inside and shuts the door, leaning heavily against the wooden frame. She gazes blankly about the hall. Must hurry and change, must change before the others return, she commands herself.

It is several minutes before her tears end and she goes to her small room to change. Slowly, almost in a dream, she takes off her gown. Before putting it away in her secret chest, she tenderly brushes her fingers over the purple fabric.

"The first and last time I shall wear you," she whispers wistfully.

Somberly she puts on her shirt and trousers. Absently she braids her hair and covers her hair with ashes, as well as her face. Cinder-Rose once more, she muses, as she carefully examines her appearance in the hallway mirror.

Rosie starts boiling some tea in the kitchen and then starts the fire in the sitting room. Suddenly feeling physically and emotionally exhausted, she lies down on the floor and drifts to sleep.


May drains the rest of her drink and sets the mug down on the table. She taps her fingers against the wood while her other hand cups her chin. Her thoughts are occupied with the mysterious girl whom Mister Samwise had seemed quite taken with.

She had finally seen the girl she had heard many speak of. She had wandered over to the dance floor and watched the dancing couples with disinterest. Her curiosity perked up, though, when she spotted Mister Gamgee come onto the dance floor. As soon as she saw his partner, she knew it was the lass whispered so much about.

She had stared at the girl intently. She thought her oldest daughter had been correct: the girl was not a raving beauty; there was a air of shyness and nervousness about her. Yet she had not been lacking partners.

May closes her eyes, a fierce frown on her face as she remembers how the lass looked. There was something about her that seemed vaguely familiar. The older hobbitess shakes her head, unable to come up with an answer. "It was the eyes," she decides. But that is the only clue.

"Mother!"

She opens her eyes in time to see Lily sit down abruptly at the table. The girl shakes her head unhappily.

"What is wrong, my dear?"

"That girl has him completely around her finger! I stopped to talk to him, and he was terribly rude. He pushed me aside and ran after his partner." She huffs.

"Where were they?"

"They had left the festival and were in the unoccupied part of the Party Field."

May taps a finger to her lips. "I believe it is time we should head home. I am tired." A sudden thought occurs to her as she starts to rise: Suppose she is the one Samwise was searching for in Deephallow? Before she suspected he had been looking for their Cinder-Rose; now she is not so sure. She frowns thoughtfully.

Lily is surprised not to have won any sympathy from her mother. "But, Mother, Samwise—" her whining is cut off mid sentence.

"Come!" May commands in a strong voice. "There are more important things to worry about than making a fine catch right now." She frowns darkly, then seems to notice for the first time her daughter's unhappy face. Her face softens to a degree. "Many a lad has fallen for your charms, even those who were already taken. Wait a little. I am sure Samwise will forget the girl. Do not give up yet," she advises. Her eyes flash dangerously.

The two rise from the table and go off arm in arm in search of Rosemary.


Fosco stares gloomily into the darkness as the carriage rattles down the road. Polly's head rests against his shoulder, lulled to sleep by the carriage's swaying. He shuts his eyes tightly and breathes in deeply.

He had not run into Rosemary the whole night. Brandy had shown him where he had glimpsed her, but she had vanished. Fosco groans silently as he recalls the dragging hours he endured; he had fruitlessly searched high and low for her (yet the crowds had been thicker than before, making it easy for her to remain concealed ), and his mother had talked him into dancing. He had humored her when she insisted he dance with three of his lovely cousins, but then afterward he had rejected her urges to dance. He does not want his mother's matchmaking.

"That was a lovely night," Poise breaks into her son's thoughts. At his silence, she goes on, "I longed to see that girl you introduced to us last night, Fosco. A dear sweet girl. I liked her very much."

Fosco opens his eyes and looks at her sitting across from him. His eyes can see enough in the dark to see his mother studying him. He attempts a smile. "I believe you intimidated her, Mama," he says.

"And where was she tonight?" she presses. "I was stunned to see you alone when you visited your sister and me. And you were low of spirits – and still are at this very moment, I might add. Do not think I have not noticed. What is troubling you, my son?"

"Nothing of significance," Fosco softly replies, returning his gaze to the dark landscape.

His mother frowns, seeing through his lie. "Did she turn out to be like many of the other lasses, hoping for a good catch? Interested in only your rank of society? A…oh, how did your cousin Pip refer to them, 'lower-class gold digger'?" she wrinkles her nose.

"No!" he says sharply. Polly stirs a little but does not waken. "No," he repeats, more softly. "She is not like them. She is pure and innocent. I would have known if she was like that."

"If you are sure and satisfied, my son. There are many other lasses out there. Isabelle can play several instruments. Ruby is a great beauty—"

"Isabelle may have a great talent, but she is terribly proud. And as for cousin Ruby, her beauty is at its best when she is adorned with jewels, fine dresses, and makeup; and you know she takes great pride in her beauty. I care not if Rosemary cannot play, for she is sweet and a delightful companion. And, furthermore, I consider her the most beautiful girl I have ever met, for she has a simple natural beauty, both inward and outward," Fosco protests, an edge in his voice. "I would thank you, Mother, greatly, if you kindly would stop your attempts at matchmaking. There is no need for them." He glares out the window.

His mother chuckles to herself and settles back in her seat, quite satisfied with her son's revealing answers. He is terribly in love, she sighs to herself. The sooner he settles down, the sooner I shall be at peace. "As you wish," she says out loud. "The next time you see Rosemary, let her know she is invited to the autumn dance we shall be having in a fortnight." She smiles as her son sputters.


Eyes opening sleepily, Rosie lies still, wondering what has aroused her.

"Rosie!" She hears the muffled call again along with several persistent bangs on the front door.

Scrambling clumsily to her feet, pain shooting through her numb arms and legs, sleep not wanting to let her go so easily, Rosie yawns and hastens to the door as quickly as she can and lets in her relatives.

"Well, Sleeping Beauty!" Lily's dark frown turns to a smirk when she sees her cousin's sleepy face. She follows May and Rosemary into the sitting room.

"Did we awaken you?" May questions, noticing with a frown that the carpet before the fire is dusted with ashes.

"Yes, Ma'am," Rosie says quietly with a small nod. Her aunt and cousins' cloaks now in her arms, she goes to hang them in the hall.

May gracefully drifts down into one of the chairs and props her feet up on the foot stool. Lily sits in the other chair while Rosemary seats herself on the floor. All three remain quiet. May returns her thoughts once more to Samwise's dance partner. Lily wonders how she might be able to catch Samwise. Rosemary sadly thinks about the short glimpse she had caught of Fosco tonight; he had been dancing with a lovely lass and had appeared to be enjoying himself.

Rosie, returning with three cups on a tray, pauses in the round doorway, uncertain what to make of the mood surrounding the others. She expected Lily to least be going on about the festival, but she looks very unsatisfied. Aunt May appears deep in thought. And Rosemary… Her heart goes out to her cousin at seeing the sadness in the girl's face. Bravely, Rosie enters the room. The light rattling of the saucers on the tray makes the others aware of her presence.

"How was the festival?" she dares to ask after she has given the tea.

"Too ridiculous!" Lily bursts out, surprising Rosie. "It was too ridiculous."

"It was a lovely night," May answers calmly, ignoring Lily. "There were more hobbits there than usual. I had a fine time."

"But seriously, Mother, what did you think of the mysterious girl?" Lily asks.

"What girl?" Rosie and Rosemary ask in unison.

Lily sighs and, as though speaking to a child, answers: "The girl whom everyone was talking about these final nights at the festival. I would call her highborn or a great beauty, but she had many admirers. And tonight Samwise the Brave kept her all to himself."

"She and Mister Gamgee seemed to know one another," May muses. "Perhaps she is the one he knows from Deephallow." Her eyes rest on her niece.

Rosie tightens her grip on the tray and, astonished, holds her aunt's gaze for a moment before averting her eyes with a small submissive nod. Does, does she possibly suspect…? she wonders uneasily.

Lily glances at her cousin. "It 'tis a pity the festival is over; otherwise you may have been able to allow me to point the lass out to you and you could judge her for yourself."

Knowing Lily is being insincere, Rosie lowers her head without a word.

"That is unkind, Lily!" Rosemary exclaims, looking over at her sister, her voice dry and a mixture of emotions burning in her eyes as tears start to well up.

Everyone looks at her in amazement. Lily regains her senses first. She laughs. "I unkind, dear sister? You are a goose. You have not been too kind to our darling cousin, Cinder-Rose, I might remind you; though I will admit, you have not been quite as bad as I. But really, must we start fighting about how to treat her? Or…," her eyes narrow, "or does this really have to do with your Fosco?"

There is something, perhaps mocking, teasing, victorious, smug, or gleeful, in her voice when she says, "your Fosco," that causes Rosemary to draw in a sharp breath. She flushes red, then turns pale. Shame, fury, and grief flash in her eyes as for a moment she looks at May, Lily, and Rosie. Quickly getting to her feet, she flees the room, hands pressed to her face as her sobs echo down the hall.

A short silence hangs between the three after the bang of Rosemary's door slamming shut dies away.

"Come, it is late," May says, standing. "We should retire for the night." She holds her empty teacup out for Rosie to take.

"Yes, I am tired," Lily says with a yawn, also standing.

Upset at their unconcern for Lily, Rosie bites her tongue as she takes their cups and picks up the third from the floor.

"Cinders, I shall need your…help," Lily adds over her shoulder as she heads down the hall from her room.

"Yes, Lily," Rosie says stiffly, leaving for the kitchen.

As she washes the cups and saucers, tears of frustration fill her eyes and her throat burns. "Oh, Pa, Ma, Tom, Jolly, Nick, Nibs…" she whispers hoarsely.


Sam lounges in the huge armchair in Bag End. He came here as soon as the festival closed and has not moved since. He is not aware of how much or how little time has past. He has simply stared deeply into the fire in the fireplace. His mind churns, filled with thoughts of the lass.

The image of her smiling at him appears in his mind's eye. The sadness shines in her eyes. His heart sinks. How he wishes he had insisted on helping her. He cannot forget the last look she gave him before walking away. He is filled with guilt and worry. Oh, what could be wrong?

Closing his eyes, he recalls memories of the last two nights they have shared: Her awareness of his dislike of being viewed as a hero. How he did not want her to leave when she walked with him about the festival. His smiling into her eyes as they twirled about in the midst of a dance. Her accepting his offered friendship but not his help. The kiss she gave him before leaving.

Slowly, Sam touches his cheek, tingles dancing over his skin as he recalls her kiss. Her lips had been so soft and gentle. So much like the kiss Rosie had given him at Bilbo's birthday party.

The hobbit blinks and tenses. Like Rosie's kiss… Suddenly it is as though fish scales have dropped from his eyes. She understood him so. She had the same freckles, the same honey-brown eyes. She alone was able to stir such feelings within him. Her face…was the same for all its weariness and sadness.

Sam presses his hand harder to his cheek, desperate to remember the sensation, the feel, the weight of her lips against his cheek. Only Rosie could make him feel such a way. Had not his heart leapt in joy when he first spotted her? Rosie.

"Samwise, you fool!" he cries soundlessly. "Rosie…"

So many months he yearned for her, dreamed about her. And she had been right before him all along. How could he have not recognized her?

Confusion and concern fill him. Why had she not revealed herself? Did she hope to remain so unknown? And the sadness in her eyes…. He is certain it was not all because of the festival ending or because of him. "I must face my fate alone." Surely it must be because of her circumstances. She was, is, in trouble! She must have been afraid of telling him all. But why?

He drops his head in his hands, tears in his eyes. "Oh, Rosie, am I meant to have enjoyed your company for a few precious nights only to truly lose you?" Oh, Rosie, forgive me for realizing too late… Sam weeps, brokenhearted and angry at himself.

He is unaware of another entering the room, great concern shining in his eyes when he sees his shaking form. It is not until a protective arm wraps around his shoulders that Sam realizes he is not alone.

"Sam! Sam, what is it?" Frodo's voice bridges on frantic.

He cannot speak – so hard is he weeping. Feeling Frodo tighten his hold, he realizes he is scaring his friend. He tries to answer. A sound like a humorless dry laugh escapes his lips, and he raises his head, tears streaming down his cheeks. He turns to Frodo.

"Sam!" Frodo cries.

"It was she! Rosie was here!" he exclaims in a high-pitched tone.

"Here? At Bag End? Rosie…Cotton?" his friend's brows draw together as he attempts to understand.

Another short strange laugh escapes Sam. "Yes, I mean no!" He wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand. "The festival, Rosie was there!" His arms wave about.

"The girl…Rosie…it was her?" Frodo's eyes clear, putting the pieces together.

Sam nods, another wave of tears spilling from his eyes. "Yes! Rosie Cotton. And I, I did not know her."

"Oh, Sam!"

The whole story comes out: about their leaving the festival, their conversation, his offer, his delay in going after her, she being gone. When Sam finishes relating all, a long sorrowful silence hangs over the hobbits, tears shining in their eyes. Frodo reclines on the armrest of the chair, his arm around Sam again, his head leaning against his friend's. Sam's red eyes gaze into space.

"What are you going to do?"

Sam blinks and glances up. "What did you say, Mister Frodo?"

"I asked what are you going to do." Frodo goes on at Sam's blank look. "Is this the end? You saw Rosie and believe you shall never see her again? Will you go on with your life, settle down?"

Sam shakes his head vigorously.

Frodo continues, "Will you forever remain a bachelor? Or…is there a chance you can still find Rosie?" Frodo's voice lowers to a near whisper.

Sam opens his mouth, then pauses, Frodo's words sinking in. For a long moment they look at each other.

"There is a chance," Sam replies in a wondering tone, a fire lighting his eyes. He searched for Rosie before. This time he will not give up until he finds her, and do all in his power to protect her. "There is a chance," he repeats in a strong, determined voice.

Frodo smiles.