September 25, 1483 SR. It is a year today since I last saw my dear Father. My heart still aches, and the tears still come. I miss him so.

From the hill top I can just see the Sea, and maybe a sail, but I know he will never be sailing back to these shores.

I was reading through the Red Book today. Father left it in my keeping, with a lot of other papers. He wasn't much for writing, but he had made a few notes in it, and he left me all his letters, the ones from King Elessar, and my brother Pippin in Far Harad, and two boxes of odds and ends, Mother's will and so on. Well, I inherited Mother's gift for organization, and I will spend this winter sorting and arranging, and in the spring I'll go to Rivendell to see Elladan, and continue working on the book we began five years ago. He has most of this material, of course, but he will be eager to read the Red Book again. Uncle Bilbo's handwriting looks like spider tracks, and Uncle Frodo's isn't much better, but I'm quite used to reading it now. I also came across the my diary from the years when I was with Queen Arwen. I look in the mirror and I see my 62 year old face and I wonder if I was once really that silly girl, sent off at the age of 15 to wait upon a Queen. How hard that must have been for Mother, and Father, too, to let me go. And how hard it was for me. That part I do remember. Only the thought of Father kept me going. The determination to live up to what he thought of me.........