Hello, everyone!

As some of you might know, I published a bunch of Lord of the Rings fanfictions on my other account, Lennith Brightfeather, which is now being taken down. I am trying to re-upload every story (with the exception of The Light of Dawn, which needs editing) and this is the first one (yay!) Thank you everyone who first reviewed 'Elanor'. You gave me lots of encouragement and the stamina to continue it.

Well anyways, here's the first chapter. Tell me if I make any mistakes!

I. The Red Book

Many hobbits said it started after the Red Book. (After all, Sam shouldn't have read it to his daughter at the age of seven, it was common sense not to.) Several, including the old gaffer, claimed it started after the departure of Frodo Baggins. (Samwise never really was the same and that made Elanor curious.) But Sam knew it began at the beginning, on the day of his eldest daughter's birth.

One afternoon in spring, about a week before the special day, Frodo Baggins found Sam in his garden, sitting under a tree, thoughtfully staring into the sky. Now, this had been a rare sight, for Samwise Gamgee was usually with his wife, helping her sweep (while humming a suspiciously Elvish tune deep in his throat). Frodo sat beside him under the shade of the tree and saw that his friend's eyes were troubled. Sam was in deep thought and concern, and Frodo knew not why.

'Sam,' said Frodo. 'What are you worried for?' It was a while until he answered.

'Rosie's set on having a little boy,' he said slowly. 'We're to call him Frodo-lad, that's settled, and our lad will come next week, for certain. But I don't know, Mr. Frodo, what does a father do?'

Frodo was surprised, and laughed. 'Don't worry! In a week's time it shall be sun, and no clouds. When the time comes I suppose you shall know what a father does. Why– when Bilbo took me in he didn't know a thing about little hobbits. But it all comes in time, Sam, don't worry.'

'Really,' said Sam quietly. 'It all comes in time…'

'Yes," said Frodo. 'And I think you shall be an excellent father to Frodo-lad.'

He left the garden, smiling. Afternoon sun shone upon the Shire. But if Sam had looked he would have seen a cold shadow cross Frodo's face and his master turn white as chalk.

Frodo fell ill, and Sam did not hear of it until evening when Merry rode past Bag End. Pippin was away at an errand, and Merry had come supposedly to visit (but of course he remembered the previous year in which Frodo was also ill).

'Master Samwise!' he called over the gate, and eagerly Sam welcomed him. They laughed and embraced, as hobbits do, and Sam marveled at his friend.

'I say, Master Meriadoc,' said he in suspicion. 'You have been growing, have you?'

'Nonsense,' Merry laughed. 'The ent-draught still has not worn out, but alas! I am still a smidgeon taller than our Pippin. Now–' he smiled, patting his pony, 'How does Frodo fare? Today is, after all, the anniversary of the poison-wound.'

'Mr. Frodo!' cried Sam in alarm. 'I say; I sat thinking for such a time I forgot the poison-wound!'

In haste Merry tied the reigns of his pony to the gate and both hobbits hurried into Bag End.

They opened the door (in his hurry Sam turned it the wrong way several times) and stepped into the house. Rosie was sitting in a chair darning several shirts.

She greeted them with her smile, but it was weary and tired and her hands shook even as she darned. 'Where lies Master Frodo?' said Merry.

'He came inside moments ago,' she said. 'With him I sent a pot of redcurrant preserves and poppy-seed loaf. I daresay he's ill again; his skin is paler than the last occurrence.' She looked at Sam. 'Well, I' been wondering where you went, Sam. Mr. Frodo needs you.'

Anxiously Merry and Sam went to Frodo's room.

He was, indeed, ill. Frodo's eyes were wide and unseeing, his hand holding the place where the Witch-king had stabbed him, and his face deathly pale.

'Mr. Frodo!' cried Sam. Merry quickly put his hand on Frodo's forehead.

'It's cold,' he said gravely. 'Where is his blanket?' Fumbling, Sam wrapped a blanket around his master. Together they helped him into his bed. The sunlight was fading and the room grew suddenly darker.

Frodo moaned in his sleep, and Merry went to find a hot water-bottle for him. Sam choked and felt his hand. It was still alarmingly cold, and it trembled like an autumn leaf.

Merry came and lit the fire. It roared and licked the wood, and that brought some comfort. Rosie had made them dinner, supper, and dessert, but both hobbits only finished the dinner.

'I wish Aragorn was here,' said Merry glumly. 'And perhaps his kingsfoil; he worked wonders with it.'

The evening turned into night and soon Merry left. 'Pip is waiting,' he said. 'I shall bring him tomorrow and see how Frodo is. Meanwhile have some sleep, Sam, if you can.' But Sam could not, though the moon shone bright and fair, and far away the wind sang. Rosie dared not sleep, for she was concerned for Frodo, and instead sat by the fire with another pile of clothes (mainly Elanor's).

Sam stayed at Frodo's side. Every so often he would touch his master's forehead and mutter something. Surely the was gone by now! The night wore on and Frodo became no better, and very soon Sam fell asleep.

The next morning, Merry and Pippin arrived. As soon as the sun rose, Sam awoke hearing a thump at the door. Rosie, who was already awake, was making bread rolls and butter. Sam opened the door and there was Merry and Pippin, both exhausted from the hard ride.

'I say, Master Sam,' said Pippin. 'You have grown quite short, or I am taller. But no time: may we see Frodo Baggins, please?'

'Yes, quite,' said Sam, who had not slept for very long.

'How is he?' said Merry. 'He should be better, I think.'

'No,' Sam said grimly. 'Most unfortunately he's worse. Shelob's poison is not forgettable, I reckon. Mr. Frodo's pale as anything and even the hot water-bottle doesn't warm him.'

They entered Frodo's room.

Frodo was paler than the night before, and breathing in short, shallow gasps. His skin was cold like frost and Pippin grew fearful. Sam was still gathering his wits when Merry spoke. 'I brought kingsfoil,' he said. 'Or athelas, as Aragorn would say. Pippin and I found a few flowering plants nearby. Will it help?'

Sam sighed in relief. 'I think it will,' he said. 'It's a good thing we have steaming water. Now– Master Pippin, do you remember how Strider used to prepare kingsfoil?'

'Aye,' said Pippin, whose spirits were lifting. 'Breathe on it quick and crush the leaves. Then cast the kingsfoil into a bowl of steaming water. (I hope I have not missed anything!) Anyhow I think that is what Aragorn did.'

With shaking hands Sam crushed the leaves. Merry helped him pour hot water into a bowl and he cast them in, all the while hoping that his master would awaken.

The scent of athelas arose from the bowl and filled the room. It was refreshing, light, and healing all at once and the soft smell calmed Merry and Sam. Frodo's face was still pale but some of its colour had returned, and his breathing regained its rhythm. Pippin sighed, and Rosie told Sam that their meal was ready.

There were warm buttered rolls and several rounds of cheese, along with milk and yesterday's redcurrant preserves. Hungrily they ate, as Rosie opened the window and let in the air. Both Merry and Pippin thanked Rosie for the meal and they went to Frodo. He was no longer pale, but his normal colour, his eyes were closed and he was dreaming.

'I hope he wakes soon,' said Pippin. 'I'd like to see how tall I am.'

'Pip!' said Merry. 'You shouldn't. Stretching almost four feet, I daresay, though Frodo would hardly be interested. After all, it was you who began to drink that ent-draught.'

'I suppose so,' said Pippin slowly, 'but nevertheless– say! I think Frodo shall enjoy his meal. Rosie is a wonderful cook, Sam, tell her that. And Merry, I'm sure he will be interested in my height.'

'I am interested in your height,' came a weak voice. 'It's just very difficult to see over your towering head, Pip. Lean down, could you?'

'Frodo!' cried Merry, and he smiled. 'Awake at last, and not too soon.'

'Yes,' said Frodo. 'I think I shall be better off after breakfast. Was Frodo-lad born before I woke?'

'No,' said Sam. 'It is but a day since you fell ill.'

'Well, Sam,' Frodo laughed. He stood and walked cautiously out of his room. 'I haven't said this for a while, not since the day before Merry's birthday party, but I'm hungry!'

Frodo was better, of course, and regained his strength in a few hours. Merry and Pippin returned to their homes in relief, after having afternoon tea with Sam and Rosie. Their laughter echoed around the bend leaving delightful traces. Rosie decided to visit her family while Frodo went to write once again in his Red Book. And the day ended happy.

The illness did not return that week, and soon it was the expected day. Rosie's mother came with her great-aunt, as did Farmer Cotton and the old gaffer. Rosie said she was feeling tired, and sat down, and Sam went to find water for her.

When he came back, Rosie was struggling to breathe. Sam shouted for Farmer Cotton's wife and she came running. 'Best stay out,' she murmured to her husband, and shut the door.

Sam could not stay still and instead walked back and forth. The gaffer was not very concerned, however, and neither was Farmer Cotton. 'It will pass, Samwise,' they both said. 'Children are difficult at this time.' And they were right, of course. Four hours later, the door opened again, and Rosie's mother smiled.

'Samwise Gamgee,' she said. 'Be happy, for Rosie is well and you have a daughter.'

The gaffer leaned his ear-trumpet in her direction while Farmer Cotton looked at Sam, pleased.

'A daughter!' said Sam. 'But what about Frodo-lad?'

'Eh, male hobbits,' his mother-in-law returned. 'Come and see for yourself. A bonny girl, that's what, and fair as an elf-child! Though,' she added, 'she screams mighty loud.'

Samwise cautiously stepped into his room, where Rosie lay sweating but smiling. She held in her arms a little child, no bigger than his arm. Rosie put his daughter ('My daughter!' thought Sam) on his lap.

Sam held the little girl in his arms. She was fragile, he could see, and very bright. Her eyes, both shining and grave, were not unlike his own. Her hair fell in curling ringlets, pale and fair and white-golden, and she seemed to stare straight into his soul.

Sam found himself saying, 'I think I wouldn't mind a daughter, Rosie.'

He was surprised at himself, but he knew it was true. Already he loved this little hobbit, and he remembered Frodo's words: it all comes in time.

Sam knew now. It did come in time. Fathers were for loving and protecting, and teaching and caring. That was what a father did. And he was sure– he would do his best to be a good father to this little hobbit.

He admitted to Frodo that the child was a girl. Frodo was not disappointed; actually, he was pleased. He helped Sam name his daughter, and she became known as Elanor.

Months passed like a blink of an eye, and soon it was nearly but not quite autumn. Sam once again sat under the tree in thought, and this time it was Rosie who found him.

'Sam?' she said.

'Rosie, Frodo wants me to come with him. He's going to Rivendell, see, because Bilbo's almost a hundred thirty-one and there will be some sort of celebration. At least, that's what I reckon. I also want to see Bilbo again, but I need to stay with Elanor.'

'Well, I think you should go,' said Rosie. 'My ma and my da will stay with Elanor and I, and of course Bag End is big enough for all of us. Bilbo shall be older than Old Took, I suppose, and that is an exciting thing.'

'All right, then,' said Sam. 'I shall go. But I will return in a fortnight!'

Rosie watched as Sam and Frodo rode away. The morning was fading into noon, and there were things to do. Elanor, who sat on her lap, sang happily of things to come. And of course, Farmer Cotton was coming around the bend of the road.

Two weeks came and went by, and Rosie heard the familiar sound of clip-clopping hooves. The meal she had prepared was set on the table, and the lamp was lit. She opened the door for Sam, and laid Elanor, who was almost asleep, in his lap.

'Well, I'm back,' he said.

'Sam, you look… sad. Where is Master Frodo?'

As soon as she said those words, Sam seemed to crumple. Rosie held him in an embrace and understood: Frodo had left on an inevitable journey and would not come back.

'He's sailed to the west,' said Sam heavily. 'His wounds bother him, he says, and there he will find healing at last. Mr. Frodo's left everything to us, even Bag End. I suppose one day I shall see him again, but that day is far, I'm afraid.'

'He will be happy there,' said Rosie, 'and you will be happy here, too. I know that one day you shall sail west too, and see him again. Now, Sam, Elanor must rest. Here is your dinner.'

Sam ate quietly and stared at the fire. Elanor slept soundly in her bed. When he finished, he took a quick bath and went straight to bed. Rosie wiped the windows and as she did, she smiled. The night came quickly, and Sam would recover. For tomorrow lay ahead and today was swiftly falling behind.

To be continued.