To those who haven't attended a party in the field of a quaint little village in the Shire, those who have attended one likely pity you. For there is no better place in all of Middle Earth to be, or at least Frodo thought so. He was still a stranger to the vast, giant world around him as well as the burden that would soon be bestowed upon him, he still loved his simple place of living. Though he would not realize how much he did love it until that burden came to him, he did understand his love for one aspect of it. Another hobbit, rather than a physical part of the village itself.
Samwise Gamgee, his gardener, and his friend. Sam went to all the same parties as Frodo did, well, everyone went to the same parties no matter what, everyone seemed to know each other somehow. But he and Sam often went together, even if they didn’t actually arrive together, they always found each other in the midst of the lively, usually slightly drunken crowds. For that, among many other things, Frodo loved Sam quite a lot.
Probably more than he should for a gardener, or even for a close friend. It was also because Sam was so kind to him, even if much of that kindness he showed to Frodo was through trimming the vines at Bag End, or watering the snapdragons, he was kind to Frodo all the time. Sam was funny too, even if he wasn’t trying to humor Frodo. Sam could be a bit awkward at times, like when he means to be punctual, and straight to the point, he comes across as nervous instead, but charmingly so. He hoped that Sam felt the same way about him, but Frodo had a feeling that he didn’t, and if he did, it wasn’t as much as he felt for other hobbits.
It was the times like these that Frodo cherished, sitting beside Sam at a table during the party, chatting with him, laughing together, discreetly examining his features as they spoke. He cherished it because it was brief, and it was never long enough because he didn’t want Sam to go at all, but he couldn’t keep Sam at his side for the entire duration of the party. Especially if Sam didn’t like him as much as he liked Sam. Frodo would notice the way Sam looked at Rose Cotton at certain points during the parties. Except he wasn’t just looking at her, he was gazing at her. Frodo understood completely why someone would gaze at Rosie. She was immensely beautiful, she had green eyes, perfect golden spirals that sprouted over the top of her head and poured down to her shoulders, and a smile that could make anyone melt.
When she danced, she exuded something Frodo could not. He thought that maybe it was because she was a skilled dancer, or because she wasn’t afraid to be the only one dancing. Maybe it was confidence she exuded, but Frodo knew what it really was. It was femininity, womanhood. Frodo didn’t want to be a woman, but he wanted something women had, something Rosie had. Only then would Sam ever even consider looking at him the same way as he did Rosie, or he did Sam. Frodo tried not to dwell on it, it felt pointless to let it get him down. Besides, he was here to have fun, have an ale or two. Not to sit around longing for his friend’s attention that he probably would not get. Frodo couldn’t have much fun if he was just going to sit here, watching Sam watching Rosie. Admittedly, as childish, and selfish as it sounded, he just couldn’t bear it. It didn’t make sense to wait for the day Sam actually did something about his perpetual gazing, it would be easier to just help speed up the process, soften the blow just a little.
“Go on Sam, ask Rosie for a dance.” Frodo suggested eagerly.
“I think I’ll just have another ale.” Sam said, looking worried. Frodo almost took it as a sign to be persistent, or to start persisting, he hadn’t persisted in anything but befriending him. But Frodo knew his optimism was as pointless as his sorrow in this situation, and so, he persisted in another way.
“Oh no you don’t.” Frodo said, grabbing Sam by his broad shoulders and thrusting his body toward Rosie, Sam stumbled into her with his eyes wide with shock, and Rosie greeted him happily with open arms. Together, they danced as beautifully as ever now that it was the two of them, two very beautiful hobbits. But if you had asked Frodo, it was Sam who was the captivatingly gorgeous one, it was Sam that entranced him the way Rosie entranced Sam. Despite throwing his dear Sam into the arms of another in an attempt to overcome the crestfallenness that accompanies having to accept rejection, he could not help but wonder if Sam would look as handsome if it were not Rosie he danced with, but him instead.