The wee small hours by firstamazon

The wee small hours

The orange-tinted light of dawn touched her skin, and Rosie closed her eyes as a chilly Autumn breeze picked up her hair. The sun was warm, despite the coldness of the day, and she smiled when a whiff of familiar scents reached her nostrils: wet dirt, crushed grass, and the wild roses that grew on her father’s garden. A bright giggle escaped her throat as she hopped down the stairs to sit on her favorite spot in all the Shire: a wooden bench beneath a canopy of trees that had the perfect view of the New Party Tree, the river, and Samwise Gamgee’s house up in Hobbiton.

Rosie’s smile didn’t waver as she thought of her brave, sweet fiancée, the greatest hero in all of Middle-earth – if the tales were true (and she believed them, for her Sam would never lie or try to win unwonted glory). She opened the book she was reading – an account of a great battle in which Mr. Bilbo had been present – and settled comfortably tucked under a blanket. As she turned the pages, a little surprise greeted her.

An enormous, white waterlily rested as a bookmarker, embellishing the book and still exhaling a lovely scent. Rosie’s smile widened when she thought of how Sam must have put it there for her to find and think of him – which, obviously worked (although the waterlily was an odd choice of flower for a bookmarker. It was so very like her Sam to do things out of the ordinary).

As the morning (and her reading) progressed, Rosie lost count of the hours. Finally, she was pulled out of the book when a shadow blocked the sun from view. She looked up, already knowing to whom the shadow belonged, and smiled up to the soft, brown eyes staring at her.

“Hello, Sam!”

“Hullo, Rosie,” he said and blushed. Rosie thought he looked adorable with that flush on his cheeks.

Sam held out a package, and the colorful sewing threads sparkled under the sunlight – they shimmered, and she realized they were woven with silver.

“Sam!” She cried, delighted, and jumped into his arms. He huffed a laugh into her hair and spun her around.

“Rosie, Elevensies are ready!”

They both looked at the door, where her father stood with a tray of a variety of cheeses, bread, and cold cuts. Sam’s eyes sparkled, his stomach grumbled, and Rosie laughed, tugging him by the hand towards their house. He hesitated for a brief moment.

“Come in, come in, Sam!” Tolman said, jerking his head. “There’s Green Dragon’s ale inside. We’ve got it just for you, you know? Rosie here said it was your favorite…”

Sam smiled shyly but followed. Rosie felt like the luckiest hobbit-lass alive!