Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings, all characters, places, and related terms are the sole property of J.R.R. Tolkien's estate.

Tale as Old as Time

I.

He steals her breath away the first time she sees him, late one Thursday afternoon. She freezes while wiping down a table in the Green Dragon Café and instead stares through the window at the four young men across the street standing in front of Bag End Bookshop. Frodo Baggins, Merry Brandybuck, and Pippin Took are a familiar sight to her. Every morning at 9:00 on the dot they come in for their black coffee and cranberry muffins, ordering a tea to go (delivered by the trio to their Uncle Bilbo, busy preparing to open up for the day) before they head to class at MEU.

But him…tanned, dirty blond hair catching the sunlight, smile wide as he ducks his head… No, she has never seen him before.

Marigold's calling pulls her back to the task at hand, and she reluctantly turns away from the window. But it is some minutes before her heart ceases its racing.

II.

It is not until the following Tuesday he accompanies the three cousins to the café. She makes no attempt to hide the delighted smile that lights her face when she spots him at the back of the line with his friends. After exchanging greetings with Frodo, Merry, and Pippin, she extends her hand to the newcomer.

"Hello, I'm Rosie Cotton!" she introduces herself. (Of course now her cheerful outgoingness returns after deserting her on Friday so that she had been unable to summon the nerve to ask the cousins about their friend then or yesterday.)

A large, strong, rough hand grasps hers, offering a gentle yet firm handshake. She looks up into the warmest pair of blue eyes, and she is sure she is lost.

"S-samwise, Samwise Gamgee," he replies, lowering his eyes as he withdraws his hand.

"Samwise…I like it," she proclaims with a nod and bright smile. Taking pity at the hot blush that rises in his cheeks and the nervous shifting of his weight from one foot to the other, she squashes the urge to ask questions and instead takes his order. She manages to wish him a good day before he is dragged away by Frodo to the group's table in the corner at the front.

He gives her a brief nod amidst the cousins' waves when the four leave. And she cannot stop beaming for the rest of the day.

III.

It has been almost two weeks since he first entered the Green Dragon Café. And during that time she has had much opportunity to observe him. He is a quiet, shy fellow. The way he ducks his head to hide behind his bangs, stumbles over his words, and blushes so easily is beyond adorable. With his friends he loosens up some. He listens to their chatter with interest, sharing his own story here and there. He smiles at their antics and laughs as Pippin ropes him into their plans. His kindness, cheerfulness, and loyalty shine through his words, looks, and actions, and she secretly swoons behind her cash register.

To her he is always polite ("Good morning, Miss Rosie") and bashful. So she allows herself only one question each morning when he comes in. ("How are you?" and "What do you think of the weather?" do not count.) And she attempts not to ramble too much.

In this manner she slowly learns some things about him: (1) He is a grad student at MEU. (2) He has known the Baggins family all his life ("Practically part of the family!" Merry once joked). (3) His favorite hobby is gardening; he actually is responsible for the lovely flower boxes which grace the bookshop's front. (4) His favorite color is yellow. (5) He enjoys listening to the Annie Moses Band and The 5 Browns. (6) He works at Bag End Bookshop. And (7) he dreams of opening his own flower shop someday.

It is a start; yet her wish to know him better simply grows by leaps and bounds.

IV.

"You should slip him your number on a napkin, or ask for his," Tom whispers, watching along with her the young gentlemen file out the door. Sam is tucked into Frodo's side and Pippin into Merry's, all laughing heartily.

"Not a chance," Marigold hisses at her elbow. "The four of them are peas in a pod. He barely gets a chance to answer her questions before they make off with him. Not used to seeing Merry and Pippin that protective."

She sighs hopelessly, dreamily. The napkin idea had once crossed her mind, but she had instantly rejected it. Call her old-fashioned, but she is uncomfortable at the thought of making the first move. Tom's voice catches her attention.

"Maybe they are like that because they know or suspect something?" he suggests, arching an eyebrow.

Could it be? she wonders, eyes brightening with hope. Today Samwise had asked her a question after answering hers, much to her surprise. "Are you always this happy?" Of course, before she could do more than laugh with delight at this tiny step forward in their acquaintance of twenty-one days, he had been moved along by Pippin. He has never spoken to her first, let alone ask questions. And to ask something so meaningful, personable (nothing like the cheap pickup lines that has been tossed her way), maybe…

"No way," her friend nips the idea in the bud. "Samwise is simply the sweetest, most humble guy in the world. Almost makes me want to protect him! That's all there is, him having three friends watch out for him. And, honestly," Marigold's voice drops so only she can hear, "I'm not getting any vibes that he is interested," she confesses regretfully.

This time she sighs in defeat. Marigold is probably right; the girl knows a lot more when it comes to flirting and picking up on someone's interest than she does. Samwise is sweet, with a sense of vulnerable innocence about him. Sadly, while she has never bumped into him on campus, other classmates have commented on how he acts just as shy and proper around them as with her. No, it is nothing but more wishful thinking on her part. And anyway, why would Samwise fall for someone like her?

V.

Seven weeks. That's how long it has been since she first took his order, gazed into his eyes, and fell hard and fast. (Not that she is keeping count, not really.)

They have something of a routine down now. He is always the last of the four to order. They exchange greetings and questions and answers – hers for the previous day's question, his for today's. Sometimes she makes him laugh; other times he unexpectedly gives her a sweet dimpled smile, and she nearly forgets to breathe. He does not seem as scared of her as he was in the beginning (slowly warming up via little comments about his gardening, classes, family, or the group's latest scheme), to her vast relief. Shyness lingers about him, and he can still have difficulty meeting her gaze. She finds it endearing. This is him and she likes him, quirks and all.

"Have a good day, Samwise!" she says, sliding his cup across the counter to him.

He hesitates stepping away from the counter, and his nose scrunches up. "Please, just call me Sam. All my friends do," he requests quietly, darting a glance at her from under his eyelashes.

She blinks at him twice. "Only if you will drop the 'Miss,' please," she blurts out without thinking.

It is his turn to blink at her, startled. "All right…Rosie," he says slowly, uncertainly.

"Thank you, Sam," she nods gravely, her lips twitching.

Their gazes hold. Something new, unidentifiable, flickers in his blue eyes, and then it is gone as he turns away with a hurried nod, summoned by Frodo's insistent calling.

She barely can contain herself until he is safely out of the café, leaving with a wave. Tom holds up his hand for a high-five and shakes his head at her as she does a jig. She doesn't care. He wanted her to call him Sam. And he just may have officially labeled them as friends.

VI.

It is a particularly ghastly day some weeks later. A huge thunderstorm unleashes its fury outside this Wednesday morning. The café is more packed, busier, more chaotic than it typically is at this time, making it difficult for one to hear the customers' orders, let alone one's own thoughts. And she is in the middle of a nice cold, with stuffy nose, dry throat, and possibly a slight fever.

Today Frodo, Merry, Pippin, and Sam all pass in a blur. Her greetings and smiles are happy (always) yet it is hard to focus, dashing from one thing to another. Vaguely she senses the cousins' distractedness, and notes Sam's concerned look as he pays. He may wish her a speedy recovery - she is not positive.

It is touch and go the next fifteen minutes, and a big headache is building. Finally, the storm dies down outside, and people spill out onto the sidewalk and hurry on their way, late. She and the other baristas behind the counter take a deep breath of relief. Her relief changes to disappointment when a glance towards a table at the front reveals it to be empty. Barely seen, now gone like a mist. There is tomorrow. The reassuring thought fails to comfort her.

She moves down to the end of the counter to refill napkin containers when suddenly a shadow falls on her. Looking up, her heart skips a beat.

"A family," Sam states simply.

"O-o-oh?" she stutters, feeling off balance. Where did he come from, and what is he talking about? The faint blush spreading over his face helps ground her.

"The line to order was so long…I did not answer your question," he clarifies, running his fingers through his hair nervously.

"Oh, I see!"

"What I dream to do with my life is to get married and have a family. I grew up in a large one with many siblings and tons of extended relatives. They have been an important part of my life, still are. I've always dreamed of finding someone to share my life with, to have a family of my own," he shares, wistfulness in his tone and a soft expression on his face.

"How wonderful," she whispers, longing twisting her stomach.

He regards her for an instant, gaze shy and curious. Faintly shaking his head, he coughs into his hand. "Anyway, I, I wanted to tell you before I left." In embarrassment he ducks his head.

"Thank you, Sam." She manages a smile. "You best be getting along; you'll be late for class." As he turns away, she adds, "See you tomorrow."

He spins back, a strange look on his face. Wordlessly he opens and closes his mouth. For a moment his gaze roves over her features as though to – what? There is a sort of sadness in his eyes as he says, "Goodbye, Rosie." Then he is gone.

Dazedly she returns to her tasks, her mind lingering on his dreams for the future – mine, too, the thought brushes her mind as softly as a sigh – and how her stomach filled with butterflies as he stared at her. Tom and Marigold speculate on this development. Yet she finds herself oddly depressed. Later that night, for reasons she cannot fathom, she cries herself to sleep.

VII.

Friday he sweeps back into her life without warning just as when he walked out of it that stormy day.

The last ten months she has had nothing to grasp as a lifeline, except for the thousands of tiny memories of him (like grains of sand), and the lingering, fading dreams she keeps close to her heart. And a desperate belief, a hope, that he is alive, has a job to do, and will return someday. As soon as he is able to, he will be back. Despite no word, no contact, no phone calls, no e-mail, no text messages, no sightings...nothing.

There have been numerous rumors concerning him, Frodo, Pippin, and Merry. Yes, the four of them vanished without warning and seemingly no trace. Yes, the queer tall fellow known as Gandalf had been poking his nose about weeks before they left. Yes, they had withdrawn from all their classes. Yes, they had not seemed quite their usual selves in the days leading up to their disappearance. Yes, Bilbo Baggins had sold Bag End to those dreadful Sackville-Bagginses, and retired to somewhere in the country. Yes, a number of odd-looking strangers had come to town asking about the four's whereabouts just after they took off. The friends were on the run, were out of the country on a secret mission, had been kidnapped, or worse.

It had been awful.

But now… The morning's Hobbiton Inquirer on the end of the counter proclaims on its front page "MEU to Give Former Students Heroes' Welcome," accompanied by an old photo of the four young men who has caused such an intrigue of mystery here. The details were few and vague. Mainly the four were back in the area and would be honored for their role in saving MEU.

She senses a charged excitement in the air. The Green Dragon Café is again fuller and busier than usual. The supposed return of the four young men is quite the topic of conversation, many trying to unravel the mystery. Personally, she is unable to stop her hands from shaking and her heart from pounding nervously.

At 9:05 a series of shouts and exclamations fills the air, and she looks up to see the four of them enter, trailed by an entourage of friends. Amongst the celebration she can only stare at them, no, him. Noting the strong muscles that have developed in his arms (and the scars which have not completely faded), the short beard covering his cheeks and chin, and his blue eyes (innocence gone, replaced with understanding and a dull light). And her heart breaks for him.

She can barely hear herself speak over all the noise, so she tries to convey her feelings through her face as she silently rings up their orders, not having forgotten after all this time. They look so old, tired, thinner, paler, a little lost here. Caught under the café's bright lights, surrounded by the customers' laughter and jokes as though they have been away for simply a day and everything is just the way it was.

The smiles they give her in return are awkward, strained. Just he lingers a second after accepting his coffee, his eyes studying her intently as though ensuring she is well. (Yet she is not the one who has been away almost a year on an unknown quest.) It is her turn for her smile not to reach her eyes, her heart settling on her sleeve. But he does not see either, because some of the girls who followed him and his friends shepherd him away.

And when he and the others leave with no nod or wave, surrounded by people offering support and demanding answers and extending invitations, she tells herself it is enough that he lives, is back. With his newfound popularity he likely will not be coming back, at least not anytime soon. He will be busy with other things and other people. A hero he is now, apparently. (At what cost?) It is enough.

VIII.

She returns later after her classes are done for the day. Now the café is nearly empty, the calm before the evening rush. The quiet helps her to relax, for the whirlwind inside her to finally slow down, and she sets to work wiping down tables.

"Hello, Rosie."

The low greeting causes her to freeze. Disbelieving, slowly she turns around.

"Hello, Sam," she replies with difficulty, faintly surprised to see him alone.

A long pause stretches out between them, with him stuffing his hands into his jeans' pockets, and she fiddling with her damp rag.

"I knew you would return," the words slip out without her permission. She barely glimpses the widening of his eyes before she turns away to resume cleaning the table with a vengeance. A faint touch on her arm halts her movements and gently coaxes her to face him again.

"Thank you. That means a lot. That you didn't give up on us," his voice cracks.

She shakes her head. "No, how could I? You had a job to do; Frodo and the others needed you."

Instead of shying away from her gaze as was his habit in the past, he looks steadily back at her. Faint color dusts his cheeks, and his eyes lighten a little with warmth.

"I thought of you often while we were gone, Rosie," he confesses quietly.

Her breath is stolen, and she searches for words. "I missed you, Sam," she admits, in turn, with a tiny smile.

A glint of determination enters his eyes and he steps closer. "The last morning I was here, I could not ask you the question I wanted to. Perhaps if I had asked it the day I first met you instead of letting my uncertainty win out and keep putting it off…, " he trails off.

Hesitantly he reaches out for her hand, and she does not refuse him.

"Now I would like to ask my question, if I may."

"Yes?" she encourages, her voice a whisper.

He presses her hand gently and looks down at her. "Rosie, would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow night?" he asks quietly.

"I would love to, Sam!" she answers with a joyous smile.

A huge, happy smile lightens his face, chasing away the lingering shadows from his eyes. "Great!" he breathes.

Impulsively, she leans up to kiss his cheek but he twists his head, and there are his warm, soft lips brushing hers, his beard scraping her chin. Drawing back, startled, her wide eyes meet his. She blushes at the tender look he gives her, and her heart soars. Sighing, she rests her head on his chest. His arms wrap gently, protectively around her. Now she feels she is home.

THE END