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The Lord of the Rings : Oneshot
Samwise Gamgee x Reader
Word Count: 5927
Warnings: This is the sweetest bucket of candy 🍬 just a ridiculous amount of pining and the most gentle Samwise
Request: "Hi I know you probably have a lot of requests but I was hoping you could write a samwise x reader fic or prompt about sam wanting some alone time with the reader but always getting interrupted." Anon
***
When Samwise got reminiscent of his marriage to the lovely Miss. (Y/N) (Y/L/N), he always sat the children down and told the tale of how he courted her. It was an elaborate story of the many failed attempts to get (Y/N) alone long enough to say his feelings and intentions.
He would sit in his armchair, one child on his lap and another on his toes, as he described a half dozen attempts to convey his love for (Y/N) in their youth. He spoke of how only persistence and sheer dumb luck brought the pair of them together.
(Y/N) sat braiding their children's hair, only rosy cheeks and small laughs adding to the story. She adored hearing his side of things, as she was completely oblivious to his affections when they were younger.
And the map of failed attempts was told in the following order.
~
Attempt #1:
"You can do it Samwise Gamgee." The hobbit was talking to himself as he strolled the path towards Bagshot Row. "Just invite her for a drink."
He fussed with his hair and tugged at his vest, the idea of speaking with (Y/N) already making him red. Just that morning, giving himself a pep talk, Sam was so confident everything would go according to plan. But now, pulling at long reeds of grass as he walked, the idea that (Y/N) would reject his advances seemed like a very real possibility.
He had to continue talking to himself just to keep himself from turning around. "It's just a drink. A drink to let her know I'm interested. She... she would give me a chance. I think..."
The path led to the first hobbit holes, smoking chimneys and flourishing gardens. Sam tried to distract himself with the new blooms, seeking any sort of comfort from the growth. They reminded him of days in the surrounding fields – ones where (Y/N) joined the gardeners in collecting plants for the hobbit gardens.
Because that was who (Y/N) was. Though not a gardener herself, (Y/N) was a friend to all and never refused to help when she saw it needed. Perhaps it was then that Sam knew he had to tell her of his feelings.
Or perhaps it was when (Y/N) stood on his doorstep holding two pink flowers and wished to settle a disagreement among friends. Which flower was a peony, and which was a dahlia? He was able to distinguish the pair immediately and was gifted the peony from a radiant (Y/N).
"I knew it!" she had said, "I told Fatty Bolger so when he tried to give me the dahlia and called it a peony. I needed some professional help to prove him wrong," she winked at him. "He just knew I preferred peonies but had no idea what they looked like. The sorry fool."
Sam had accepted the flower barely speaking two words the entire interaction. But by the racing of his heart he knew he couldn't keep the love he had for her quiet much longer.
Perhaps he decided to express his feelings when (Y/N) came pounding on his door bearing a large blueberry pie.
He reddened immediately but ignored it to question her heavy breathing, "(Y/N)? Are you alright?"
She panted, wiping at her sweaty brow with the back of her free hand. In the other she displayed the fresh pie, "I've stolen the Sackville-Baggins' prized pie." She gave a toothy grin, "And I need to lay low – do you mind if I come in?"
Sam raised his eyebrows but moved to the side to let her in.
"Thanks," she smiled, "I only just got away."
"Why would you steal a pie?" Sam asked, leading the way to the kitchen, "For a bet?"
(Y/N) sat, "No, those greedy Sackville-Baggins were teasing young Tolman Cotton something awful. The poor boy was nearly in tears before I led them away. The only way they'll win at the town fair tomorrow is with this pie – serves them right to lose it. You know how they treasure their trophies."
"You rescued Tolman Cotton?" Sam felt his heart lift, "Why?"
She shrugged her shoulders, finding the nearest forks and handing one to Sam, "It didn't seem right." She dug into the pie without cutting a slice.
Sam cracked a smile, "That was very kind of you."
"It was the right thing to do. Now are you going to share this victory with me, Mr. Gamgee? If you don't I might just eat this whole pie myself."
Sam smiled at her full cheeks, grabbing a forkful of the pie.
Perhaps Sam knew his heart was fit to burst when she offered to help trim an overgrown garden one day.
With a gardening apron and basket of tools, Sam knelt in the earth to pull away unwanted grasses and weeds, only to discover dying plants hidden beneath. He sighed at the neglect and thought of the new plants he could replace them with.
A sudden presence near his shoulder caused him to jump, "(Y/N)! How long have you been standing there?"
"Long enough to see you mourn a few flowers." Her smile was gentle, holding less of its usual mischief, "Want some help?"
"Oh, no – that's all right." He brushed dirt from his hands and stood to meet her, "But... but I wouldn't mind the company." His heart leapt into his throat.
Time slowed for Sam as he awaited her answer, "I'll grab a trowel."
His face split into a grin, "You don't have to help. I just want a friend to pass the time."
"I'll start under the window." She went for the ground, kneeling and immediately getting her hands dirty in the dry earth.
Sam shook his head in wonder, "You don't have..."
"I know," she said simply, cutting him off. "Tell me what these are."
Sam's chest felt aglow with a burning he couldn't explain. He knelt beside her, "That was a beech tree sapling. Without proper care it dried out." He became painfully aware of how dirty his hands were pointing out the plant.
He hid his hands, trying to wipe them clean on the dry grass beneath them. (Y/N) noticed and promptly plunged her fingers into the dirt, successfully burying them. As if ensuring soil had coated every nail and knuckle, she gestured, "Could you hand me that trowel?"
Sam met her gaze with dazzling eyes, amazed at her actions – the lengths she went to ensure others were comfortable were astounding. He blindly found the garden trowel, too busy watching (Y/N) smile at him.
When their hands met, Sam could've sworn the world went quiet to watch.
She left her hand laying on top of his for a second longer than necessary before closing her fingers around the trowel, "Thank you."
Needless to say, Sam was anxious to pursue those feelings. After months it seemed necessary to make his intentions clear as any other hobbit could beat him to courting her all because he wasted time being flustered in her presence.
And as he walked to her bright yellow door, he found it quickly opening to reveal a bounding (Y/N). She held handfuls of gear as she jumped down the stone steps.
"Oh, hello Sam!"
He lost the ability to speak for a moment.
"Are you alright?" she asked.
Sam blinked hard a few times, "Yes – yes, of course. Where are you off to?"
"Fishing," she smiled, "Care to join?"
Yes, he thought, and while on the boat together he could express his feelings for her. It was a rather romantic idea – he smiled at his luck – rowing them out together and admiring the water before admitting how in love he already was with her.
"Sounds like the perfect way to spend the afternoon."
"I quite agree," she beamed, "There should be enough room for all of us."
Sam's smile fell, "All of us?"
"Merry and Pippin are coming too. Merry's got a boat near Bucklebury Ferry."
As if on cue the mentioned hobbits came outside, both with their own fishing gear and completely oblivious to how they ruined the chance for (Y/N) and Sam to be alone.
Holding back his sigh of defeat, Sam mumbled, "I'd have to borrow a pole and fishing line."
~
Attempt #2:
A few days later Sam was determined to uphold his confidence in confronting (Y/N). He stood outside her yellow door, rolling his shoulders and closing his eyes. He concentrated on what he was going to say, mumbling aloud.
"Hello, (Y/N)... good morning, (Y/N), how are you?" he rubbed his hands together, "The suns out today. No, that's ridiculous. Um... it's summer! She knows that already, why would I open with that?" he grimaced. "(Y/N), I was hoping you were home. And clearly, you are – and I wanted to ask..."
"Sam?"
He snapped his eyes open, turning to find (Y/N) poking her head out of the kitchen window.
"What have you got your eyes closed for?"
"Oh, well..." his tongue stopped working, "The – uh, the sun hurts my eyes." His mouth tightened into a thin line as he listened to his own poor excuse.
(Y/N) seemed to think it endearing, thank goodness. "Right. Hey, would you care for a sweet summer treat?" Her smile was contagious.
"Do I always," he smiled back, "What did you have in mind?"
She lifted her arms out of the window to show a bowl and whisk in her hands, "I was just whipping some cream. The strawberries are ripe for picking this morning."
Sam felt his mouth water instantly. The first of the strawberries and cream that season. "Sounds delicious – how can I help?"
She fell back into the kitchen and met him at the door without the whipping cream, "We can gather the berries together!" She grabbed his hand and led him around to the side gate, "They're just over here."
Sam stared at their clasped hands, his feet growing heavy at the thought of (Y/N)'s hand in his. It was working out better than he thought – the incident with the fishing trip a forgotten memory. He could envision (Y/N) and himself buried among the strawberry bushes, picking handfuls of the red berries. He would try to toss a few into her mouth, and she would perch one on the top of his nose. She'd make a competition on who could pick more, and Sam would offer to carry her basket.
And when they were laughing and smiling and snacking on delicious summer berries would Sam confront her. He'd offer her a strawberry stained hand and tell her everything.
"Hello, (Y/N) dear."
Sam stopped in his tracks, (Y/N)'s hand falling out of his.
"Hello, mum," she replied, "Look who showed up to help."
(Y/N)'s mother popped her head up from between the bushes, "Oh, goodness Sam. Don't you have enough gardens to tend to as it is?"
He swallowed bitterly at another unexpected guest to his planned love confessional. "I'm always willing to help a friend. I learned that from your daughter."
(Y/N) beamed before gasping, "Oh, I forgot to ask! Why were you at the door? Did you need something?"
Sam looked towards the ground and fought to suppress the disappointment that rose in failing to share his feelings. "I wanted to be in your company. I was going to ask if you didn't mind being in mine for the day."
Her grin was heart stopping, "I love your company, Sam. Always have."
~
Attempt #3:
Sam was not going to give up.
He grumbled as he sat in The Green Dragon, occupying a table with his closest friends. While they ate and drank and laughed merrily, Sam slouched in his seat, hand wrapped around an untouched tankard. He stared at the flickering candles in the hanging chandeliers, mindlessly following the trails of melted wax.
Frodo clapped a hand to his shoulder, "Come, Sam. Why the long face?"
"His mind is stuck on a certain hobbit lass," Pippin grinned mischievously, stuffing his mouth with bread and cheese.
Merry picked at his smoking pipe, "You should have seen him on our fishing trip." He whistled, "Furious, he was. Wanted (Y/N) all to himself."
"(Y/N)?" Frodo grinned, "Is this the hobbit you refuse to name? She clearly has your heart – why should that make you sulk?"
"Because he hasn't had a chance to tell her yet," Pippin said through a full mouth.
Sam sighed out his frustration, wiping a hand across his face, "This is my heart we're discussing, shouldn't I get to speak on its behalf?"
Merry and Pippin shared a look. Frodo couldn't contain his smile, "My dear Sam, you're besotted."
He groaned, "And what is she? Carefree and unburdened by this feeling." He pawed at his chest, "I feel sick just thinking about her. How do I get her alone long enough to get it off my chest?"
Merry filled his pipe with tobacco, "Well, don't look now, but she's just entered through the back door."
A quick jerk to look behind him unbalanced his tankard, ale spilling over the edges, "Oh, let the earth swallow me up, please."
"No, here's your opportunity," Frodo urged, "While it's on your mind, go talk to her."
"It's always on my mind," Sam mumbled, sipping his remaining ale and following (Y/N) with his eyes. She went to speak with a group of musicians in the corner.
"We believe in you," Pippin said mutely, stealing Sam's portion of the meal, "Tell her to care and be burdened by the feeling."
Sam swallowed hard, standing abruptly and sending his chair flying to the ground. The clatter couldn't be heard much above the chatter of the merry drinkers and Frodo assisted him in straightening the chair.
He flexed his hands, feeling his fingers go tingly as he tried to think of something to say to her. He was nearly to her shoulder when he said loudly, "Evening Miss. (Y/N). I was wondering..."
But when she turned around a fiddle was in her hands, and she was playing a jolly tune. She was beginning to sing a traditional drinking song, her brows furrowed when she spotted Sam behind her. But her voice didn't waver as she questioned him with her eyes.
"Ho! Ho! Ho! To the bottle I go; to heal my heart and drown my woe."
Sam shut his mouth tightly and waved her off as if to say, "Don't mind me. Forget I was ever speaking. Better yet, forget you even saw me here gawking at you."
She began bouncing on her feet, playing the fiddle expertly and singing with a radiant voice, "Rain may fall and wind may blow, and many miles be still to go..."
The pub joined in, raising their mugs to the dancing (Y/N) as she flitted between tables and drinkers, serenading them with her merry fiddle.
Merry and Pippin went as far as to climb on top of their table. Frodo remained in his seat, though he clapped along with the tune. He met Sam's eyes across the room and shrugged his shoulders.
Sam pouted, sighing out his defeat once more, but he couldn't help but watch as (Y/N) sang and played and danced. Her curls bouncing around her rosy complexion. The beauty and merriment in her face was making that feeling in Sam's chest burn brighter in a painful turn of events.
The task was proving more difficult that he expected.
"... but under a tall tree I will lie, and let the clouds go sailing by!"
It didn't stop him from complimenting her song afterwards or offering to buy her a drink or sharing an evening talking and laughing with all of their friends.
~
Attempt #4:
"Sam!"
His head popped out of the gardens, a weed or two stuck in his curls, "(Y/N)?"
She was carrying a woven basket, cheeks freckled from the summer sun. The sight of her bouncing up the path made him think of all the things he loved about the Shire.
Golden light and green hills and summer berries and wheat fields. Of sun warmed faces and fresh tilled earth and of homecooked meals and the comfort of having someone's hand in yours.
He stood quickly to his feet, messing with his rolled up sleeves, "Are you alright?"
"Of course," she breathed, making it to the garden gate, "But I need your help."
"Anything."
She smiled at the speed of his response, "I need flowers. Lots of flowers." She leaned over and pressed a finger to his sun kissed cheek. "And I figured I know just the gardener to help me."
His face split in a dazed smile, "Do I know him?"
"You! You foolish weedwhacker." She held up the basket, "For the Old Took's party. I need flowers to make into crowns and necklaces."
Sam untied his apron, "There are the meadows of the East Farthing. We could start there."
"Oh, I didn't mean to interrupt your work," she rushed out, watching him lay his apron across his garden tools. "I thought I'd help until this yard was done and then we'd go."
"Don't you pay any mind to that," he scolded, "Let me help you for a change."
They rounded the corner and practically holding his breath, Sam offered his arm to her. (Y/N) smiled, wrapping a hand around near his elbow.
Sam exhaled and cleared his throat, "How has the party planning been?"
"Time consuming," she huffed, leaning into him, "Which is why I need help with this flower picking business. I'd be hopeless if I tried to do it all by myself."
All by themselves, Sam noted, feeling that familiar burning in his chest. He pictured them sitting between the long grasses, the wind gently playing with her hair. They would sift through the leaves to find the biggest blooms, filling their basket. Sam would offer his favorite to her and watch her weave it into her curls. (Y/N) would collect the fallen petals and decorate the top of his head with them. They'd practically be nose to nose as she giggled at the soft color speckling his hair.
"There," she'd say, "Ready for the party."
"But not you," he'd reply, "It's your turn." And he'd place small blossoms between the coils of her curls, framing her face with soft colors of white and purple and pink.
"(Y/N)," he said quietly, "I've been thinking..."
"Hmm?" she hummed, holding onto him tighter.
He paused as if to wait for an inevitable interruption, "Have you ever thought about... about settling down?"
"Settling down..." she repeated slowly, trying to understand him.
"Planting some roots, I mean," he continued, "Have a place of your own maybe."
She nodded hesitantly, confused as to where the conversation was heading. "Of course – one day – but I'll stay with my family until..."
"Until... you have someone to settle down with?" Sam asked hopefully. With each word his heart was rising higher and higher into his throat.
"Yeah," she said, "I wouldn't want to move into a hobbit hole all by myself." She laughed and Sam had to focus on his big clumsy feet.
He remained quiet as he asked, "So you've thought about finding someone?"
"Why all the questions, Sam?" she asked playfully, "What are you not telling me directly?"
He didn't respond right away. (Y/N) noticed.
She stared at him as they walked. Her smile fell and her eyes grew wide. She watched as Sam struggled with his next words.
"(Y/N), I've been meaning to talk to you about something."
She spotted the dusty rose color flooding between his freckles. It made her brow crease to see him so pink. And a strange warmth grew in the pit of her stomach.
"I want to tell you how I..."
A squeal of laughter split through the air behind them. The pair of them broke apart and turned towards the noise. Scrambling down the path was a group of children, all barefoot and curly haired.
They screamed with laughter, "Miss. (Y/N)!" they cried, "Miss. (Y/N)!"
Sam backed away as the children surrounded the love of his life. That suffocating disappointment entangling itself with his overflowing heart.
"Good morning, my hobbits," she said, picking up one toddler and placing them on her hip. "Are we ready for an adventure today?" She poked the child's pink nose and relished in the giggle it produced.
Sam had a hand to his stomach, attempting to staunch the confession that had just begun to spill. "What's all this?" The smile he gave was much more of a grimace.
"Our reinforcements," (Y/N) replied, taking hold of another child's hand. The look she gave Sam was rather sympathetic – she could see the frustration clear on his face.
"Well, then," he sighed, "We've got flowers to pick, don't we." He opened his hands for a child and placed them on his shoulders.
(Y/N) watched him tromp onwards, leaving her to herd the remaining children. She gestured for them to follow as she caught up to her upset friend. She held the little hobbit on her hip as she asked, "You were saying, Sam?"
He barely reacted to her question, "Oh, nothing important. I've been looking into some available hobbit holes near Bagshot Row. I thought you might be interested in helping me look."
(Y/N) had the thought he wasn't being truthful. "Of course, Sam. Whatever you need."
~
Attempt #5:
"(Y/N), I'm not sure about this."
The hobbit in question was currently on the furthermost branches of a mighty oak tree. On her tip toes she reached for the birds nest above her.
"Almost there!"
Sam had his hands outstretched as if he could stop her from falling, "Let's just get a ladder!"
She barely managed to tip the lost chick into its nest, "Got it!" Then a crack split beneath her feet, "Uh oh."
The branch snapped in half, sending (Y/N) tumbling down. She squeaked and squealed as she barreled into each branch beneath her. She landed in a pile of leaves and twigs on the forest floor.
"Ow," she grimaced.
"(Y/N)!" Sam yelled, meeting her at the base of the tree, "Are you alright?" He grabbed her hands and pulled her from the roots.
She winced, "Yeah, ow... I just fell out of a tree."
"You did just fall out of a tree." There was a smile in his voice, but his face was nothing but concern. "You've got a scrape right here." He pointed at her shin.
(Y/N) sighed, pulling up her skirts to get a better look at her leg, "I have a feeling I'm going to have a few bruises tomorrow."
Sam swallowed hard, pushing down her hands to release her skirts, "I've got some bandages in my gardening bag – stay right here." And he went back to the forest path to reach his fallen tool kit, which he dropped upon seeing (Y/N) high up in a tree.
"You keep bandages with you?" (Y/N) laughed, spotting more cuts and scrapes on her limbs.
"I've cut myself a few too many times snipping roses," Sam said, returning with some rolled cloth bandages. "I told you we should've gotten a ladder."
(Y/N) watched him kneel beside her, "Maybe I should listen to you more." The warmth that started a few weeks ago began to simmer again. For a while now she had the suspicion that there was something Sam wasn't telling her.
Sometimes she'd catch him staring at her at The Green Dragon. And at the marketplace. And while walking through Hobbiton. He was always quick to look away, grabbing the nearest object to distract himself.
The funniest instance being when he grabbed a drying fish and was harassed by the seller to pay for whatever he touched immediately.
"I'm listening now," (Y/N) said quietly, watching him gently wrap cloth around her leg. "No more interruptions."
Sam paused and in doing so revealed how shaky his hands were against her skin. "There does seem to be the annoying habit of interruptions whenever we're together."
She gave a short laugh, "Yes. It's unfortunate."
He tucked the bandage, grazing her ankle as he pulled away, "Why unfortunate?"
"Because I do so love when it's just us together."
The speed with which he stood caused his curls to bounce, "You..." He stared at her with lights shining in his eyes, his brows flown into his hairline.
(Y/N) felt her heart pinch. But his enthusiasm fell instantly.
He let out a breath before tilting his head down, suddenly serious by the line that developed between his eyebrows. "You don't mean that."
(Y/N) gave a second of pause before gasping a laugh, "Of course I mean it. And I wish you would believe it."
He gave a shy smile, "You've always been so kind."
"Sam," she said softly, "Saying that isn't a kindness. I'm saying that because it's true." She reached for his hand, taking a step forward. But putting all her weight on one leg sent a shock of pain through her body. "Oh!"
Sam caught her outstretched arm and kept her steady, "Woah, I've got you. That fall got you good."
"Just a bit," she hissed a laugh, wrapping an arm around his waist. "Would it be terrible to ask you to walk me home?"
His mind was narrowing in on her hand around him, but he managed to say, "No, I was going to offer to walk you anyway."
She smiled though the crease in her brow suggested she was still in pain. "I don't believe I'll be getting out of bed tomorrow."
Sam chuckled, threading his own arm around her waist, "Then I shall bring you breakfast."
"Really?"
They began to hobble back towards the path and to Sam's gardening kit. "And second breakfast. And elevensies, if my cooking's up to scratch." He took pride in making her smile despite the limping.
"Might as well include luncheon and afternoon tea."
"I make a delicious pepper-crusted steak with garlic potatoes. I could bring that for dinner."
"And I can simmer rabbit stew for supper," she laughed, "I can't have you cooking all day."
Sam grinned, though his heart tugged, "I don't suppose you'll have your mother to take care of you."
"Yes," (Y/N) said, holding onto him for support, "But I'd still like you to come see me."
And while Sam kept her upright, thinking desperately for a way to pour out his pent up feelings, he dreamed of the perfect time.
A time when she wasn't hurt.
"I'll be there," he said, thinking of what he'd say once she felt better. Of how she'd jump into his arms and hold him tightly. Of how she'd return the sentiment with joy and love in her eyes. Of how he'd lean in, and she'd kiss him so willingly.
It was suddenly very warm – the space between them burning.
~
Attempt #6:
Sam was still pursuing his endeavor to find a hobbit hole of his own. It had been difficult when the real deciding factor was whether or not (Y/N) liked the home.
And now, as he sat in the sparsely furnished living room with a for sale sign in the round window, he stared at the fireplace. He was imagining beautiful things. Impossible things.
The logs lit and simmering a pot of cranberries, orange slices, and cinnamon sticks. An old bowl of stew meat and vegetables sat beside him from supper. Festive corn stalks and wheat bundles decorated the windowsill. The fall harvest was just around the corner.
And he could see the kitchen table laden with pumpkins – the insides out and prepped for pies. A tray with dozens of pumpkin seeds ready to be roasted sat next to the spiced apple cider.
When he closed his eyes he could almost hear the patter of little hobbit feet. Could almost hear their squeals of laughter and pleas to help plant the root vegetables. Carrots and turnips and radishes.
He opened his eyes, chin resting in his hand. When he looked to his right there was another chair, pushed to the side when the other owners moved out. The tug of his heart made him rise to move the armchair adjacent to his.
It was plush and sage green. Complimentary of the burnt orange chair he occupied.
When he retook his seat, and peered at the other, the tugging on his heart imagine more beautiful, dreamy things.
(Y/N) sat there, cross stitching a pattern into a woven fabric. She thread her needle with strands the color of red wine. She hummed one of her bar tunes as she continued the pattern of a round hobbit door, surrounded by all the things that grow.
She was rosy and content and subtly smiling like she was the happiest she could ever be.
Sam stared and stared as a burning crept up his throat.
He wanted it bad. Really bad. Everything he saw in his head. The feeling of (Y/N) by his side – sharing the space – making it a home.
He couldn't stand the burning any longer. He launched himself from the chair and through the red wine door. He skid past the picket fence and down the dirt road.
He mumbled frantic words of love and dreams. Local hobbits out for an evening stroll jumped out of his way as he stumbled past. He leaned over the edges of the road to collect flowers along the way, arranging them as he practiced his speech.
The same speech he'd been working on for months now.
It was clearly an act of desperation, he realized. But he was miserable – completely and utterly miserable. And the only one that could put him out of his misery was (Y/N).
He was desperate for (Y/N).
And within minutes he stood stone cold in her front garden. The sun was quickly setting, near twilight. The tall grasses and feather reeds became illuminated by fireflies, twinkling their silent support.
He could've sworn the frogs were singing in the nearby pond and the clouds turned lilac and blossom pink to encourage a beautiful evening. He sought the comfort of the flowers trembling in his hands.
And a split second too late he noticed the front window glowing with candlelight, the curtains drawn, with (Y/N) watching him.
Worry was plain in her face as she went for the door. "Sam?" She had a shawl around her shoulders, and she pulled it closer as she stepped into the garden. "You've been standing there for five minutes."
"Have I?" It sounded like he was out of breath, "I'm sorry."
She attempted to smile past the worry, "That's alright. Is something the matter?"
The candlelight from inside was illuminating her figure, making Sam's heart hammer, "Um... yes, something's the matter. It has been for months now. Maybe even years."
"Goodness, Sam," she muttered, "That's quite a problem you have."
He nodded, "And the only hope I have is you."
"Me?" (Y/N) said, "How can I help?"
He suddenly remembered the flowers in his hand, "Oh – I, uh... picked these for you." He thrust them into her hands and noticed regretfully how the stems were bent where his fingers clutched at them. "And I have something to say."
She preened and picked through the flowers, deciding to rest them against the doorframe, "What is it, Sam?" she asked softly.
He felt like he was choking on his own tongue. He paused – waiting for her mother to interrupt or friends to intervene or children to distract – but nothing came to stop him. "It's funny, I've been practicing this talk for months and I still can't get it out right."
(Y/N) watched him warmly, silently encouraging him as the crickets began to play their nightly tune.
"Do you remember last Yuletide when it snowed? It rarely snows in the Shire and the few times it has it's gotten so cold the Brandywine freezes. And the last Yule days were just full of fear. Fear for a frozen winter. Fear for wandering timber wolves. Fear for festivities canceled because of the weather. But you know the one thing that wasn't full of fear?" He smiled like he was seeing something faraway, "You."
"While everyone fought for firewood and yarn to knit blankets – you were dancing in the snow." His face felt hot, "You were catching snowflakes with your mittens. You were teaching children to ice skate. You were selling hot chocolate and peppermint candy. And it was so refreshing."
"I remember," (Y/N) whispered.
"I had volunteered to make a supper for families in need, and while peeling dozens of potatoes you came to my door," he laughed, "You came with pink cheeks and chattering teeth and brushing snowflakes out of your hair. 'Hello, Mr. Samwise' you said, 'How many hobbits does it take to peel a town's worth of potatoes?' and I said, 'One Miss. (Y/N) – I'm very good at peeling potatoes. But I wouldn't mind a visit.'"
(Y/N) laughed with him, "That was a good night."
"It was," Sam cleared the emotion from his throat. "It was such a lovely night. And while it snowed, and the wind blew, and the townsfolk grumbled... we drank apple cider and laughed until we cried. I never stopped thinking about that night. How we juggled apples and told wild stories and stuck cinnamon sticks in our hair."
(Y/N) nodded, feeling the nostalgia pull at her.
"It was that night I knew I had to marry you."
She became still, not even drawing a breath.
Sam eyed her tentatively, "I knew I needed to keep you in my life. Because if life with you could be snowflakes and cinnamon and laughter and warmth, then I wanted it." His shoulders felt heavy, "From that night on I did everything I could to show you I could be the one. That though I'm not the perfect choice, I would do anything for you. Because just being next to you makes me happier than I ever thought possible."
"Sam," she whispered, "That was almost a year ago. For a year you've been trying to... court me?"
"I was just trying to show you that you wouldn't regret giving me a chance. But the last month or so I've wanted to come right out and say it. But no matter the circumstance, there was always someone or something interrupting us."
(Y/N) had a few fingers over her mouth, "Sam, is this a marriage proposal?"
He was staring at her with wide eyes, "It can just be a proposal of courtship?"
It was a few seconds of tense silence. Sam could feel everything he had riding on this next response. (Y/N) finally removed her hand from her mouth, and she was... smiling.
"Yes," she said.
Sam blinked a few times, "Yes to... to which proposal?"
"Yes!" she cried, flinging her shawl aside and bounding from the door. She wrapped herself around Sam and if it weren't for the garden fence beside them, they would've toppled over. "To whichever – to whatever you want now – to both!"
Sam was choking on his own laughs, holding onto her with the warmest sense of relief, "I love you, (Y/N). I don't want to go a single day more without you knowing that I love you." It was pouring out of him, positively overflowing – the warmth and happiness that came as he held her.
She leaned away, fingers finding the curls on the back of his head, "I love you, Samwise Gamgee. I think I have for a while now. Not quite since Yuletide," she laughed, "But maybe since picking flowers for the Old Took's party."
And she pulled him in and kissed him.
~~~