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The making and keeping of traditions were very important to Sam and Rose, and they tried to teach their children well. Some customs were observed with great gusto and enthusiasm by the entire family year after year, but then who didn't want to help with making the Yule cakes and biscuits? The rewards were so immediate and sweet, not to mention delightfully sticky no matter what your age.
"And do you think you'll get any, you lazy thing?" Elanor teased Frodo-lad one year when she was bent over a tray of chubby little cakes in the shape of Yule logs. The tip of her tongue stuck out as she carefully applied the holly berries in bright red sugar icing.
Frodo-lad sniffed loudly and leaned over the tray so he was almost nose to nose with Ellie. "I'm supervising," he said. "Someone has to!"
Elanor laughed and squeezed a dollop of icing onto the tip of his nose before handing him one of the delicious things.
But when she looked back at that year, it wasn't the traditional Yule baking that came to mind or heart immediately, though it was one of each year's highlights. There was another tradition that was more deeply felt, born one quiet night in early October when she could not sleep and slipped through Bag End to Mr. Frodo's study. She knew in her heart of hearts what she would find there.
"Sam-dad?" she said after she opened the door to discover her father seated by the fire. It had burned low but red coals still sent out a little light and warmth into the dark room. "What is it?"
"Can't you sleep, my Elanorelle?" Sam asked. His eyes were bleary and his face seemed more wrinkled and his hair more grey than when Elanor had kissed him goodnight a few hours earlier. "Or is something wrong? Someone ill? Do you need me?"
The room was too cold, Elanor thought. No wonder her father's face looked so pinched. "Have you been sitting here all night without a blanket, then? Mother Rose won't like that!"
"Not if you don't tell on me," Sam said, looked down at the book on his lap and then closed it with a gentle hand. He splayed his hand over the leather cover, feeling with his fingers where its edges were worn and smooth. "Do I have your word?"
Elanor knelt by the chair. "I will if you tell me what's wrong. Though I think I know. This isn't the first time you've sat up all night at this time of year, is it?" Her eyes filled with tears and slipped down her face before she was able to sniffle them back.
Sam leaned close to her and rubbed his thumb against the sad little trail. "No, my dear, it isn't and I know I can't keep things from you. Especially now that you're growing so big and wise."
"I don't like to think of you so sad and alone here."
"Your mother joins me for a while every year though by now she's always gone to bed. She knows it's right for me to have my hours alone with my thoughts … as long as there aren't too many hours nor too many nights like this." Sam smiled. "She wouldn't let me get away with too much sulking and pining."
"Are you pining, Sam-dad?"
"Not exactly. It's my grieving time."
"Ohhhh …" No wonder his face seemed like it had aged ten years since he'd kissed her goodnight. There must be something she could do to help. It wasn't right that he sit there all alone and she wouldn't have it. But what could she do? She thought a moment and decided that the best thing to do would be to sit quietly with her dad and keep him company as best she could. She curled up against Sam's leg and put her head on his knee. After a moment he put his hand on her hair and stroked it slowly. Every now and then he sighed but other than that he made no sound for many long minutes.
Keeping still and quiet that night was one of the most difficult things Elanor had ever done in her young life; several times she almost spoke but managed to bite her lip just as she was on the point of opening her mouth. You've nothing useful to say, you little ninny, so why say anything at all? Such thoughts saved her though she could not help worrying that she should have something to say that would help disperse her dad's sorrow.
Eventually Sam said, "Thank you for sitting with me. You've grown wise indeed and made things lighter for me. Mr. Frodo knew what he was about when he said we ought to name you after Lorien's star flower."
Élanor sat up and beamed. "Have I?"
"Now off to bed with you."
"And you?"
"In a little while. I'd like to read a little more." He put his hand on the book.
"Will you read from a happy part? I know you're grieving but perhaps one of the happy parts will make the dark not press so close?" Elanor's voice cracked a little.
"Yes. That's a very good idea." Sam's voice grew distant and he opened the book even as he spoke. Eleanor walked to the door and watched him thumb through the pages until he found the passage he wanted. He looked up at her and nodded and motioned for her to leave him.
As Elanor closed the door very slowly and as quietly as she could manage, Sam began to read in a voice so soft that Elanor had to strain to hear him.
At the feet of the trees, and all about the green hillsides the grass was studded with small golden flowers shaped like stars. Among them, nodding on slender stalks, were other flowers …
In time, as the years passed and Elanor sat with her father on the night of October 6, the new tradition was born between them. Only one element changed in all the years they observed their special time together and that was in the reading. The passage never changed, but after that first year, instead of leaving Sam alone after they sat together quietly, Elanor stayed at her father's knee and listened to his sad voice. Even though he'd obeyed her and chosen a joyful part from the Red Book, nevertheless it still made his heart ache and Elanor was keenly aware of that. She understood that to try and cheer her father up would be wrong, but she still spent many an hour thinking on it all. One night, perhaps it was the fourth year and Sam's voice was very shaky, Elanor took the book from him and read out the sweet words. And that became tradition as well, that Elanor took on the role of reader as well as silent witness.
Though he never was able to put it into words and so usually settled for a tender kiss on Elanor's forehead when she was done, her reading soothed his sorrow as well as anyone could other than the treasure that had gone over Sea.
… Frodo felt that he was in a timeless land that did not fade or change or fall into forgetfulness. When he had gone and passed again into the outer world, still Frodo the wanderer from the Shire would walk there, upon the grass among elanor and niphredil in fair Lothlórien.