Come here, little one. Oh, you're so tiny, lass, I'm a little afraid of holding you, to speak plainly, in case I might hurt you. It's silly, I know, because I would never let any harm come to you, little girl, my daughter.
What name should we give you, maidenchild? Your hair is dark, like your mother's, I don't know what colour your eyes are, because you never stay awake long enough for us to see! Should we give you an Elvish name like your sister? Maybe not, for 'tis plain to see you and Elly are like night and day. I think it is only fair that your mother have a say, bless her: after all, it was she who gve you life.
It has only been a few days, lass, since you were born. I looked at you in disbelief that a third beautiful child was born of us. I held you, sang to you, counted all of your perfect fingers and toes over again, like I did with your brother and sister. We waited long for you, lass, and now you're here.
Wait until you meet Elly and Frodo-lad, my dear, your big brother and sister. They were just as excited as we were to have you, and I'm sure they'll love you as much as we do. Elanor is a sweet girl, fair as the fairest of Elves, and that's saying a lot, dearest. She will take care of you and play with dolls or dress-ups or make-believe.
Frodo is a rambunctious lad, bright and full of beans, too curious for his own good, getting into mischief. I can tell he's going to be like Masters Merry and Pippin in their younger days, and I hope they don't mind me saying that.
Oh! You're awake! Oh, look at your eyes, lass! Brown like the purest fresh-tilled earth, forgive me for using such unbeautiful words for them. I thought you would be wanting your mother now, but no, lass, you seem quite happy sitting with me, your silly Sam-dad. Elly and Frodo are in bed now, we won't be disturbed. Good, lass. Your mother needs and deserves her rest.
Can you hear me, my dear? You seem to. Maybe you remember me telling you stories while you were still inside your mother. I shall tell you a great story, my love, of Frodo the Nine-Fingered and the destruction of the Ring. But when you're old enough, lass. You're too young now to understand. But you will, one day.
What are you smiling at, lass? Looking at you now, you are the image of your mother, right down to the dimples in your cheeks. You have the same smile, the smile that made me fall in love with her in the first place. I know I should let your mother have a say, but, lass, I think I have your name. Rose.
Do you like that, Rose? Yes, you seem to wear it well. Of course, how could I forget? Mr Frodo said it would be your name, when we last met at the Havens. I wish you could meet him, Rosie-lass, but he has sailed across the Sea, forever. I miss him so, Rosie-lass. But, of course, you still have me for a very long time, don't you worry your pretty little head.
It's time to sleep, Rosie-lass. It's very late, and I can see your little eyes are tired, as are my not-so-little eyes. Quietly now, your mother's sleeping. There we go, Rose, are you comfortable? Of course you are, you're already asleep. Sleep well and may you have the sweetest of dreams, Meril vain nin, as the Elvish folk would say. My beautiful Rose.
What name should we give you, maidenchild? Your hair is dark, like your mother's, I don't know what colour your eyes are, because you never stay awake long enough for us to see! Should we give you an Elvish name like your sister? Maybe not, for 'tis plain to see you and Elly are like night and day. I think it is only fair that your mother have a say, bless her: after all, it was she who gve you life.
It has only been a few days, lass, since you were born. I looked at you in disbelief that a third beautiful child was born of us. I held you, sang to you, counted all of your perfect fingers and toes over again, like I did with your brother and sister. We waited long for you, lass, and now you're here.
Wait until you meet Elly and Frodo-lad, my dear, your big brother and sister. They were just as excited as we were to have you, and I'm sure they'll love you as much as we do. Elanor is a sweet girl, fair as the fairest of Elves, and that's saying a lot, dearest. She will take care of you and play with dolls or dress-ups or make-believe.
Frodo is a rambunctious lad, bright and full of beans, too curious for his own good, getting into mischief. I can tell he's going to be like Masters Merry and Pippin in their younger days, and I hope they don't mind me saying that.
Oh! You're awake! Oh, look at your eyes, lass! Brown like the purest fresh-tilled earth, forgive me for using such unbeautiful words for them. I thought you would be wanting your mother now, but no, lass, you seem quite happy sitting with me, your silly Sam-dad. Elly and Frodo are in bed now, we won't be disturbed. Good, lass. Your mother needs and deserves her rest.
Can you hear me, my dear? You seem to. Maybe you remember me telling you stories while you were still inside your mother. I shall tell you a great story, my love, of Frodo the Nine-Fingered and the destruction of the Ring. But when you're old enough, lass. You're too young now to understand. But you will, one day.
What are you smiling at, lass? Looking at you now, you are the image of your mother, right down to the dimples in your cheeks. You have the same smile, the smile that made me fall in love with her in the first place. I know I should let your mother have a say, but, lass, I think I have your name. Rose.
Do you like that, Rose? Yes, you seem to wear it well. Of course, how could I forget? Mr Frodo said it would be your name, when we last met at the Havens. I wish you could meet him, Rosie-lass, but he has sailed across the Sea, forever. I miss him so, Rosie-lass. But, of course, you still have me for a very long time, don't you worry your pretty little head.
It's time to sleep, Rosie-lass. It's very late, and I can see your little eyes are tired, as are my not-so-little eyes. Quietly now, your mother's sleeping. There we go, Rose, are you comfortable? Of course you are, you're already asleep. Sleep well and may you have the sweetest of dreams, Meril vain nin, as the Elvish folk would say. My beautiful Rose.