Author's Introduction:This first chapter of this fic was written for RS, who requested a story about Aragorn dealing with his daughters when they were teenagers, but I was inspired to write more. It is mentioned in the Appendices that Aragorn had daughters, but it does not say how many. In my imaginings, there are four, and you will meet them all in this fic. Each chapter is 500 words, and shows one of the daughters in their teenage years. This first chapter is for Idriel, born in Fourth Age 17.
Fourth Age 30
Aragorn looked smilingly at his family as they ate. Arwen had not only given him beautiful children, but they were so easy-tempered as well. Perhaps Silmarien had a bit of attitude at times, but not much, especially for a child of seven. Then there had been that trouble with Eldarion—but he was a boy, and boys were different. Besides, that was all over, and the family was back to its amiable self.And then—oh dear. Aragorn realized that he should have remembered not to think such things, for they attracted bad luck. "Is something wrong, Idriel?" he asked tentatively.
The unexplainable scowl on his eldest daughter's face did not move. "Nothing," she said.
Aragorn frowned. "Are you sure? You appear out of sorts to my eyes."
"I'm fine," she said, but as if through clenched teeth.
Aragorn looked to Arwen with question in his eyes, and noticed that her soup spoon had halted halfway between bowl and mouth. His eyebrow rose as he saw that she had just realized something, but what it could be he knew not.
"Idriel," she said calmly, "will you not tell your father what is wrong?"
"Oh, just that he never lets me do anything," said Idriel, crossing her arms but attempting a light tone.
"What does that mean?" asked Aragorn, bewilderment clear in his voice.
"You wouldn't let me go to the academy, would you?" she accused.
Aragorn looked to Arwen. "What?"
"She wants to be an intelligence officer in the Citadel," explained Arwen calmly. "I did discuss this with you, but did not use her name, so it is no wonder that you do not remember."
"Exactly," said Idriel.
"Intelligence officer!" exclaimed Aragorn. "Of course not! You are only thirteen, Idriel, and royalty would never be accepted by the academy."
"You could change the law," said Idriel, "but you wouldn't, because you hate me."
"I do not hate you," said Aragorn, his ire rising at such an accusation.
"Yes, you do!" she cried, tears flying from her eyes. "You don't want me to do anything I want, but just to grow up and marry some stuck-up prince!" She stood up and pushed her chair back to the table with such force that her glass spilled. With a sob, she then gave him a hurt look before dashing off.
As her wild sobs faded away, Arwen rose calmly. "I will be back soon," she said.
"What is all this about?" demanded Aragorn, the confusion becoming too much for this King.
"She is thirteen, my love," said Arwen, and then departed the way Idriel had gone.
As this was clearly supposed to convey everything he needed to know, Aragorn pondered her words. Suddenly it came to him that the age was the problem, and he then realized why Faramir had spent so much time in Minas Tirith the year before, the year that happened to be when his younger daughter turned thirteen. Dear Valar, thought Aragorn. I have three more daughters after Idriel!