It's been half a year. Probably more. I can't believe it. Have I really changed that much?

My first excuse for no writing: I hated trying to rewrite this chapter, and eventually just gave up because of #2.

I started college, my dad left us, my first real love came and went, and among other innumerable shit my sense of humor just died. Oh, the cynical, sarcastic, raunchy sense is still there. That blossomed and grew. But the pure, enjoyable, hyper humor I needed to write disappeared. I still don't really have it back. But I feel guilty for being a runaway author AGAIN, so there you are. Also, my computer crashed several times and it took me forever to get my files. I don't have Word anymore, so writing huge pieces (such as this) is a royal pain in the arse. *complain complain*

I will keep up with this once the semester's over, I just don't know how quickly.

On the bright side, I've been writing a lot of poems, and am going to have five of them published in the school mag soon. Oddly enough, none of them are humerous...blech.

Kyon-kyon the kitty muse is malnourished. I gave him up for a poem-spirit. His name's Bob.

Short, and not that funny, but hey. Hope it's something. My apology (in the form of a long, tasty chapter) will come eventually.

EOWYN'S POV.

(A/N: Uh-oh, Eowyn's point of view. I have a feeling she doesn't like Cryseina too much.)

I hate this girl.

(A/N: See what I mean?)

I mean I HATE this little upstart. So much that I want to discover fifty new ways of dissecting a person's heart with a blunt spoon. I would say brains, but it appears she doesn't have any.

Why are you looking at me like that? Hello, Shield Maiden, we have a tendency to be violent. That's why Faramir keeps asking me not to...

Ahem.

Unfortunately, another trait one develops in training as a Shield Maiden, is the ability- no, the CURSE of being able to listen and distinguish between noises in my surroundings even when trying DESPERATELY to tune them out. So desperately, in fact, that I've been sitting here for the better part of an hour with two pillows pressed against my ears. And nobody's noticed.

Goes to show just how crazy those men all are.

What sound could I possibly be trying to obliterate? Believe me, Elrohir's girly voice is definitely something to fear.

As Ishe stood, Rosa saw, for the first time, the true beauty of the forest she was standing in. Gold sunlight filtered through emerald leaves, speckling the ground with shadowed patterns of tales not told, and lives not lived.

I growl quietly. When I get through with her, she's going to wish she never lived to tell this tale.

Aragorn scoffs at the attempted alliteration.

"Personally, I couldn't tell there was any attempt at all ," Legolas replies smartly. "I thought it was more of a horrid take on dactyl tetrameter."

"Dactyl tetrameter with a monosyllabic foot in between! How could you have failed to notice?" With a rather self-satisfied look on his face, Gimli jumps into what is quickly becoming a very out of character conversation for all involved.

Arwen spreads her hands.

"Actually, I'd say this all depends on the speaker's verbal interpretation."

"If anything it was a simple metaphor linking the aesthetically pleasing positioning of the shadows to the expected adventures she will have!"

"But if so, then how could one overlook the fact that the patterns were arbitrarily made by the wind? Would that not then make for a more engaging psychological discovery into the subconscious of the statement?"

I feel a dark presence growing in this room.

Legolas stubbornly insists on the dactyl tetrameter, threatening Sam and Elladan with disallowed entry into the kitchens if they contest his point again.

Faramir speaks out, instructively and deliberately.

"I believe that this statement is nothing more than a simple observation of a world in which this unfortunate has been cast, alone and helpless, with nothing more than a leaf-promise from Eru of things to come."

I gape at my husband for a moment before dragging him outside and smacking him upside the head. Has everybody fallen under some evil spell?! He takes a few minutes to recover, before coming in with me and helping to set everybody's psyche aright by means of a pan of particularly refreshingly cold water.

Needless to say, nobody has any idea why they were acting like that.

Of course.

Elrohir, visibly shaken, and very wary of whatever literary terms he might spout, mercifully forgets to narrate the Book as he was formerly.

The bark of the trees was smooth as oil over silk, and the squirrels' nuts were plentiful and large.

Not a few guffaws on this one.

The frogs jumped spryly- (WarriorgrlxluvsxLeggolas: WHATEV! Go to Appendix A if you want more on that stupid forest! –blows kisses-)

He and her were strolling gayly- chuckle quickly muffled by a member of the pillow army- towards Rievndelly, talking about the world, and her hair, and her losses, and her unfortunate days when she hadturnedemoandstillneededtoberescuedfromhersuicidaltendencies when suddenly they heard a groan.

"Hellpp…meee…"

Sweet Eru, please let it be an ambush just chock full of orcs with ragged blades that are infected with a multitude of pathogenic bacteria. Please. I'm begging you.

Turning around, Rose gasped delicately, in shock. Oh no! Jas! Her quick mind realized that she must have been in the car accident too and gotten teleported mysteriously to Middle-Earth also! She was the bane of her existential existence, her nemisis, my arch-enemy, her-

I nod, "Sounds like somebody I would like to meet." But existential doesn't-

"That ruthless rapist of writing needs to look up the meanings of a few words," remarks Faramir. I have to smile. Trust my husband to always be of the same mind as me. We're so perfect for each other; I love the way he rubs his chin absentmindedly when-

Ahem. You did not hear that.

Elrohir scans the page. "Well...it seems the rest of this is all about Jas and how she -gasp- doesn't believe in Middle Earth and -gasp- isn't in love with Legolas!"

This last part is said in a high, squeaky, Cryseina-kind-of voice again. OUCH.

"Damn you, Elrohir!" I mutter.

"Did you have to say it like that?" Aragorn wiggles a finger in his ear. "That sickeningly sweet, sugary coated, voice is worse than hearing ghosts in your dreams! I swear you sound just like her!"

"Oh I feel so wanted, I think I'll just go into that corner and develop an eating disorder," Elrohir says sarcastically. Pippin looks scandalized.

"You wouldn't! You can't!"

"And why not?"

"Because...because...well it's obvious, because..." Pippin fumbles for an answer, unbelieving that such a thing even needs explaining.

"Because then you would miss out on all the food!" Merry interjects wisely. Pippin nods. "Yeah, and you'd be hungry too!"

I think I just saw Elrohir slap his forehead, but I'm not sure. I was too busy watching Elladan banging his head into the wall to get a proper look.

…

"That sounded NOTHING like me!"

"A DAMsel in disTRESS! We must help her!"

"That was even worse!"

"A damSEL in distress! We must HELP her!"

"That sounded more like Rosa than anything else!" Legolas has taken real offense this time.

"And how would you know what she sounds like?" Arwen raises her eyebrow.

Pippin gets a maniacal look in his eye. "He has dreeeeaaaams!" the hobbit waves his arms in a wizardly manner.

"Legolas, you dream about Rosa! Really? You've only just met!" Merry punches Legolas in the shoulder. Of course, he has to stand on his chair to do so, but this only adds to the hilarity.

Elladan gets up and stands over Legolas, concerned. "Perhaps I should check for a fever. That sort of symptom could only mean that Legolas is madly in love with her. Ach, so sweet! Yet so tragic! For-" Another wave of ice water rinses away the elf's prose.

What took you so damn long, Gimli?

Elrohir merely huffs and complains that he can't please everybody with his artistic impressions.

Merry grumbles.

"You can't please anybody with impressions of her."

Recognizing a scapegoat when it's presented to him trussed and ready for slaughter, Elrohir cheerfully tosses the Book of Doom at the hobbit. "Okay, Mister-I'm-So-Smart-I-Killed-The-Nazgul, let's see if you can brave this!"

Technically, Merry wounded the Witch-King and I killed him, but we have other problems besides elves forgetting their history lessons.

Such as my favorite hobbit running around the room screaming; Faramir's eye beginning to twitch violently; Aragorn and Gimli sharpening their respective weapons, each muttering something about 'Self-protection from that hideous piece of devilry'; and Legolas curled up on the couch in the fetal position, wailing that he does not love that trollop of trials and thesauruses .

Me? Oh, nothing happened with me...

Nothing at all...