Author's Note: Greetings, all!! Welcome to my first ever fanfic!! *Hurray, throws confetti* Well, maybe it's not that momentous of an occasion: I guess you'll all be the judge of that. Anyway, thanks for stopping by, and be sure to review on your way out! I hope you like it. @---Luv, luck, and all things hobbit-ish, ~Lemondrop~

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            It was the first of May, and everyone in Hobbiton agreed it was a splendid day--one could not choose a more perfect day for a wedding. The hills of the Shire buzzed with the palpable anticipation of hundreds of Hobbits, all giddy with fresh air and ale. Under a near sapphire blue sky the halflings mingled merrily, scurrying to and fro with pastries and food, ribbons and flowers. It had been five months since the unexpected return of Frodo Baggins and his companions, and in that short time the Shire had been blessedly returned to its normal state. Well, almost its normal state, for as resilient as Hobbits tend to be, the memory of dark days past was not easily shaken. Today, however, was not a day for such depressing thoughts. The only celebration more important than birthdays in Hobbiton was weddings, and this was the wedding of the very Hobbit responsible for the quick recovery of the Shire. But in all the hustle and bustle of last minute preparations, no one thought to worry about the groom...

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            Samwise Gamgee was pacing back and forth across his sunlit room in Bag End, absently rubbing his calloused hands together. He was wearing his nicest trousers, paired with a cream linen shirt, which was coming half untucked at the waist in his pacing. His vest lay forgotten on the floor.

            "Come on, Sam, you've faced much worse than this."

            "Aye," he answered himself, "but the worst came with the best of hopes. Now you've got the best and it comes with the worst. What if you let her down Sam? What if you're not good enough?"

            He began another preoccupied lap around the room. "I'll die before I let her down," he said to himself fiercely. "She's worth two of me, whichever way I look at it."

            "She shouldn't have said yes," he retorted miserably. "She deserves much better. Why did she ever agree?"

            "Because she loves you."

            Sam jumped at the last and turned to find his dearest friend standing in the doorway. Frodo was looking splendid in his feast day clothes, and even in his fretful state Sam noted that his master looked more like Mr. Bilbo than ever. Frodo smiled and went over to Sam, scooping up the forlorn vest from the floor and shaking it out.

            "Why are you so worried, Sam?" Frodo chuckled, holding out the vest so Sam could put his shaking arms through it. "This should be the happiest moment of your life."

            Sam slipped the vest on and tried to make his fingers work the buttons; he failed miserably. "It is, Mr. Frodo, it is. But I can't help wondering if I'm doing the right thing."

            "The right thing?"

            "For Rose, I mean. This is a long term decision, if you take my meaning."

            Frodo stopped for a moment and gazed at Sam thoughtfully, as if puzzled by what he was hearing. Then he helped Sam with the last button and brushed the final wrinkles from Sam's front. "Have you spoken to Rosie about this?

            Sam shrugged and wandered to the open window. Outside, in the near distance, he could see his friends and fellow Hobbits immersed in the preparation of the coming wedding. His wedding. Their wedding. He propped himself with his arms against the sill and sighed deeply. "Truth be told, sir, it hadn't crossed my mind until this morning."

On impulse, he leaned out over the ledge, picking one of his carefully tended roses from its bush. It was plump and red, bursting with lush beauty. Sam lifted it to his nose and was immediately struck lightheaded. His senses rushed with the very essence of his Rosie; her smell, her gentleness, the soft brush of lips like petals against his own. Her goodness, her kindness...pure perfection. Somewhere beyond the border of his senses, Frodo's voice reached him.

            "Hadn't thought of what?"

            Sam exhaled, and sadly remembered that all of the reasons why he loved her were also all of the reasons why he shouldn't have her. He looked at Frodo and shook his head slowly. "I don't deserve her."

            Frodo crossed his arms and looked Sam, amusement and seriousness battling for domination of his face. So this is what has got him so troubled.  "Samwise Gamgee, you mean to tell me that a fine lad like yourself does not think himself worthy of such a lass as Rosie Cotton?"

            Again Sam shrugged, lost in the intricate form of the petals in his hand.

            Frodo sauntered over, his eyes never leaving his best friend's face. "Tell me, Sam: what is the one thing you want? More than anything in the world?"

            At first, Frodo was not sure Sam had heard him, but then Sam raised one pudgy gardener's finger and traced the rose nestled in his palm.

            "And this thing that you it within your grasp? Is it almost yours?"

            Sam did nothing. Frodo grimaced as he met the wall of Sam's doubts, but quickly pulled back for another blow.

            "Can you imagine life without her, Sam?" he pressed, his voice lowering to a whisper.

            Sam shook his head. His eyes remained steadfast on the crimson flower. Frodo quirked a smile.

             "Have you thought about the children?"

            Sam made a slight choking sound and his eyes shot to Frodo's face. "Now Mr. Frodo," he began, blushing deeply.

            Frodo laughed and put a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Listen to me, Samwise. For years you have given me your devotion and your love, and you will never know how grateful for that I am. But it's time for you to give that love to someone else. Someone you desperately want to give it to, and someone who desperately wants to recieve it. And there is no lass in all Middle Earth who wants your love more than Rosie Cotton. You deserve her, Sam, just as much as she deserves you. Don't ever doubt that."

            Sam looked at Frodo, his dear, sweet master, and knew that Frodo would not tell him wrong. A wash of gratitude swept through him and he pulled Frodo into a one-armed hug, still cradling the rose in his other hand.

            "Thank you, Mr. Frodo,"

            "Of course, Sam."

            Pulling away, Sam's eyes traveled once again to the open window. The sky was an incredible forget-me-not blue. I wonder when the last time was that I saw a sky like this, Sam thought. He suddenly had a dire need to be out under that bright canopy, to be in the fresh air. His head was filled with so many thoughts and revelations that it seemed his small room in Bag End could no longer handle them all. He gave Frodo an apologetic smile.

            "If you'll excuse me, Mr. Frodo, I've still got some thinking to do. Do you mind if I step out for a moment or two?"

            Frodo gave him another pat on the shoulder. "Without question, my good lad, so long as you return by midday. I don't think it would do to be late for your own wedding."

            With a thankful grin and a nod, Sam moved to the door. He opened it and began to step out, then stopped. "Mr. Frodo?"


            Sam looked at the flower in his hand sheepishly for a moment before continuing. "We have thought about the children, since you mention it. We mean to name our first after you." With that, he turned and left.

            Frodo stood in silence for a few moments, letting Sam's words run their course. Then he turned back to the window with a contented chuckle, just in time to see Sam walking merrily down New Row.