Midsummer it was when he met her first, a tiny hobbit-lass barely taller than the new-sprung corn, trailing after Young Tom with a doll clutched under her arm and a thumb stuck firmly in her mouth.
"Mama's having a baby," Tom had said in explanation of his shadow. "Dad says she's got to come along." Tom was weary as only a brother can be, but Sam was enchanted. He lifted her across streams and over hedges, and picked flowers for her until her golden curls were dripping with them. When the time came for home0going in the endless twilight of midsummer evening, he bowed low to her, gallant as a hero of old in the company of an elf-queen. But Rosie was as taken with little Ned as Sam was with her, and Sam did not see her to know her for many years after.
Midsummer it was when he next saw her, dancing merrily at a party above Bag End. She whirled round and round, hands clasped tight together with Dora Baggins, and as they twirled flowers fell from her braided hair. Sam picked one up and found that it was a rose, and that night, when even the thirstiest had drunk their fill and the hungriest were satisfied, he took it and pressed it between the pages of a small book Mr. Bilbo had given him, and treasured it.
Midsummer it was when they met by chance in the lanes of Bywater underneath the shadow of the mill, and he told her that he was moving to Buckleburry with Mr. Frodo.
"It's a fair bit away," he said, "and it might be a very long time before I'm able to come back, Rose." He looked worried as he said this, far more worried than a two day's journey across the Shire ought to warrant.
Rosie looked at him searchingly, perhaps even expectantly, but he said no more.
"Well, you look after yourself, Sam Gamgee," she said, "and don't you go doing anything dangerous with those Bucklanders!"
"That I won't!" he said.
Midsummer it was when Arwen Undomiel wedded Aragorn Elessar in the City of the Kings under the flowering Tree, but though the beauty of the Queen surpassed all that Sam Gamgee, Ringbearer, had ever seen, still the flowers in her dark hair made him think only of new roses in golden curls, and he longed for home.
Midsummer it was when Rose Gamgee came to him in the garden and took his hands in hers. Her eyes sparked and her cheeks flushed as red as her name. She brought his hands to her stomach.
"You're a dad, Sam," she said.
Sam laughed aloud and spun her around, and of all the great joys in his life he counted this the chief, for it was their joy shared together.
Midsummer it was when Sam stood in the door of Bag End and watched Rosie fix flowers in the hair of their little girl. Her hands were older now, but to Sam's mind only the more beautiful for that. When she had finished she took his arm, and they walked together behind Elanor as she ran to the arms of Faramir Took, and the two were made one.
Midsummer it was when he held those same hands in his own for the last time, and the were wrinkled and paper-thin with age.
"Don't—don't go," he begged. "Not without me."
"Oh Sam," she whispered, "you still have one journey to make, and I can't follow you there." Then she smiled, and her smile was the smile of the little hobbit-lass.
Midsummer it was, and Sam sat on the shores of Tol Eressëa, and he had rest.
I wrote this all in a burst late midsummer night with the light streaming through my window. It is my first summer in the North and as the sun lingered with no sign of setting I felt like I should write something seasonable. Then when I went to the Tale of Years in the back of Return of the King to fact check some dates I discovered that Rosie died Midsummer's Day and that just tied the whole structure of thing together (with a rather painful sort of cord, but there you have it). A bit late on the upload, but better late than never, right? I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I did writing.