Disclaimer: All the ages of Ea don't belong to me.

Dedication: For the wonderful people at Henneth-Annun Story Archive.

Warning: Note that I took some liberties in writing this fic.

1. In Which Our Heroine Proves She Has A Lot of Growing Up To Do

Elenya, Urime, Year 20 of the Fourth Age

Minas Tirith, Gondor

Sweet Eru.

My tutor, complaining of my my loud mouth and revolting penmanship, gave me this empty book and ordered me to write in it at least thirty minutes everyday. He said that I needed a place to channel my mouthiness and learn to write better. So I am forced to write everyday in a stupid book in a stupid study when I could be doing something useful. I could be listening outside the door of the council chamber so I can learn how to manage a realm or in the archives looking up useful lore. I could even be in the training fields, practicing my swordplay. Not that I'm much good at it, but practice makes perfect, they say.

Curses, why is my life so miserable? You would think that a princess would have a lot more fun and freedom. Instead, I am stuck in a stuffy room, slaving to curl my T's just so while peasants run around doing whatever they wish. Gah, life is so unfair.

Oh dear, my tutor was looking over my shoulder. He told me to quit whining and start writing something of value down. Let's see, what would be of value enough to please my oh-so picky tutor and the rest of my father's oh-so picky advisors?

I might as well start with my name, age and place of residence. I am Elwing of the House of Telcontar, Princess of Gondor and the third daughter of King Elessar and his queen, Lady Arwen Undomiel, formerly of Imladris. I am currently thirteen years of age and reside in the King's House of Minas Tirith with my parents, my four sisters, and my younger brother who is my best friend in the whole of Middle-earth.

My tutor has just nodded and declared this entry enough for today. He then told me that I must be very careful with this book; otherwise, something terrible may happen to it. Perhaps it will fall ACCIDENTLY into a fire and be burned to ashes, rendering it totally useless. And it will all be an ACCIDENT, won't it?

That is all for now.

Anarya, Urime, Year 20 of the Fourth Age

Minas Tirith, Gondor

Curses, I wasn't able to burn this last night. My mother watched me like a hawk the entire night - I wish that Elven eyes weren't so sharp at times - so I couldn't toss this without her noticing. My mother wholeheartedly approved of my writing in this book daily. She said that it would organize my thoughts. My thoughts don't need to be organized. I'm probably the most organized of all my sisters and brother. At least I don't leave handkerchiefs in the gardens like Celebrian or my sewing basket under the chamber pot like Gilraen.

All right, my chamber could be a little neater - my father used to rough it and expected us to do the same - but my clothes are always clean. If you don't notice the grass stains on the skirts, that is. At any rate, I don't need this book. Really, I don't!

My mother is currently staring at me. I swear, she can look right through the cover and see what I'm writing. Oh well, I might as well write something about myself here in case Mother or my tutor reads it. Otherwise, I'll be forced to do something unpleasant. Perhaps something like being forced to sew dozens of samplers. Anyway, let's start with my family.

My father is King Elessar or Aragorn or Wingfoot or Strider or Longshanks or Estel or Thorongil or whatever you want to call him. He's, as you know, King of the Reunified Kingdom and therefore, is busy all the time holding our land together. Unfortunately, I see him, oh, TWICE a week at the most since yet another problem with Corsairs harrying the falas. Stupid enemies, always ruining our family life. You see, I love Father even though he sometimes forgets to take a bath after coming home from war so I end up with mud on my gown and a nasty smell in my nose, but that's Father for you.

My mother, on the other hand, is quite different. Seeing as she's THOUSANDS of years old, she seems to know absolutely EVERYTHING, and I mean EVERYTHING. Like the time Eldarion and I hid a frog in Gilraen's basket which ended up frightening her so much, she landed in a fountain. The court thought it was hilarious. Mother did not.

Even though there were PLENTY of suspects within the court. I mean, ever since Father became king, there has been a positive boom of children - at least that's what Ioreth at the Houses of Healing told me - so there's no end of buckets of water and spiders and frogs crawling about the place. Yet, Mother simply zoomed in on us and forced us to stay inside for a week, polishing WINDOWS. We have servants to do our bidding, and we still have to polish WINDOWS. Like anyone cares if the glass is streaky.

Joy, we have just been called for dinner. I'm glad I can stop writing. I'm SO looking forward to tomorrow's entry.