Author: Mirrordance
Title: Love, War
Summary: The War brought them together, but the peace will tear them apart. How much is a man willing to pay to keep a friendship, and how much is a friend willing to lose for revenge? Slash.
TIMELINE: the story happens about a year or two after Return of the King— the exact year is immaterial really, just as long as certain future events operate as a given: one, peace is yet to be attained with the Eastern tribes of Middle-Earth. Two, Ithilien is already restored and Legolas lords over the elven colony there, just as Gimli is lord of the Glittering Caves. Three, Eomer is already engaged, as is Eowyn and Faramir. Four, that Elrond and Galadriel have already sailed away to Valinor. The fic is generally faithful to the book and the movie with respect to the major events, although some factors about it may be considered as an AU; the irrepressible Haldir, for instance, is very much alive in this piece.
ORIGINAL CHARACTER GUIDE:
The Sang-age Tribe: a tribe name created from Latin roots which means 'belong to blood.' They a creation of the author and is supposed to be one of the multitude of Easterling tribes, not particularly powerful but also influential. excuse any possible inconsistencies haha.
King Nathaniel: the King of the Sang-age tribe.
Prince Nicolo: Heir of Nathaniel, a renown and vicious warrior.
Danielli: the king of another Easterling tribe, and a dear friend and ally to Nicolo.
Princess Nadina: Nathaniel's daughter, Nicolo's sister, and Danielli's wife.
Rebekah: Nadina's personal maid.
Dorjan: Nadina and Danielli's son.
Lilian: Legolas' murdered betrothed. An elf from Lothlorien.
Adriano: Nicolo's impulsive young aide and valet.
Jonah: an old Easterling warrior.
Jaron: an Easterling soldier
PART TWO: Possibilities
Chapter Fifteen: Fathers, Mothers, Daughters and Sons
The Land of the Sang-age
The fastest rider had been sent ahead of Elrohir's party by Nathaniel. Though this was the case, just to ensure they wouldn't be, say, shot on sight!, he and Adriano rode side by side at the head of the group, bearing the colors of the Easterling tribe, Rivendell, Eryn Lasgalen, Lothlorien, Gondor, Ithilien, Rohan and the Glittering Caves as a representative of the entirety of the western alliance.
They shouldn't have feared, really. As a matter of fact, Elrohir was quite surprised by the ease of their travel. For one thing, the men were getting along reasonably well, and their Sang-age riders knew the best ways back toward their own kingdom, such that the dessert routes were quick, not as flaming hot as he first predicted and also well-mapped by water sources.
As in many dessert communities, that of the Sang-age revolved its life about a water source. An almost perfectly round oasis was carefully routed to provide irrigation to the tilling fields and water lines into the houses of the King and other prominent members of the community. The first houses the party passed belonged to the lesser folk. They were beautiful and strange, dome-shaped and made of smooth clay that was intricately and painstakingly embossed with carvings of vines and flowers. The houses lined neat, rock-paved streets. Occasional palm trees towered over their heads, providing some shade although of course, not enough to stem the heat or keep from the all-encompassing sight of the yellow, sandy wastelands around the settlement.
The people stood just outside of their homes. Most of them were women and children, for their men had gone off to fight the war. A few soldiers remained, and they peppered the area here and there. The parade made for an uneasy, silent one. The golden-skinned Sang-agen were understandably wary of the new arrivals. Their exotic faces were framed by rich cloths in deep colors. The rest of their clothing was carefully layered in the same material, to protect them from the sun.
Once in awhile, Adriano would find a familiar face and wave, or nod in acknowledgement. So would the other Easterlings in the wedding party. But mostly they just rode ahead toward the house of King Nathaniel.
The sight of the King's home was strangely daunting. It was not particularly large; Elrond's House was much more outwardly overwhelming. It was just… the misplacement, Elrohir guessed, such extravagance in a hungry land. The King's house was found at a slight incline, and of all indulgences in the thirsting dessert, it was lined by carefully cultured grass in a beautifully sculpted garden. There was even a fountain! that was of course, guarded by one sentry. The palace was dome-shaped too, with a round, circular orientation. Elrohir suspected the figure had some practical uses in the heated, sandy, windy dessert. The main dome was cast in an unadorned, blinding white and it towered over the smaller domes of an earthier red, intricately carved and painted, that surrounded it.
Adriano signaled for the party to stop at the main entrance, where the servants of the King were waiting to receive their noble guests. Everyone dismounted their horses, as Elrohir stepped forward to take the position of the leader.
Adriano said something to the servants in the local dialect, and then turned to translate for Elrohir. "I've introduced you as the envoy of the kingdoms of Gondor, Imladris, Eryn Lasgalen, Ithilien, the Glittering Caves, Lorien and Rohan. I told them you have been sent, with the blessings of Nathaniel our King, to fetch his daughter Nadina for the purpose of treaty-marriage."
"Thank you," Elrohir murmured, "And where is the lady?"
"She is inside," Adriano replied, "I will arrange for your men to eat and take some rest, and for your horses to be stabled. Your people will be well-cared for and safe, but to ease your heart, I will also have sentries to guard over them, should any of our constituents be foolish enough to dare to hurt them."
"That would be ideal," Elrohir said gratefully, "I will be taking Lord Gimli and Captain Haldir with me."
"I suspected as much," replied Adriano, before turning to Jonah and ordering him to look after the Gondorian group. The old soldier nodded without second thought, and immediately set about accomplishing his duties. Elrohir noticed that only those who were in the King's service or his Household knew how to speak in Westron. The lower classes had not been instructed.
Adriano waved the two elves and the dwarf forward. They passed the grassy, fountained courtyard and stepped inside the entry hall of the King's house. It was exotic with rich cloths in curtains and pillows strewn on the ground. There was an herby, smoky scent that was pleasant, permeating every corner of the palace. In the King's house, the air was cool with the shade, and the space was spotless-clean with tireless servants that discreetly swept at the sand that ultimately made its way from the outside because of the slim windows. Random articles of rich wood furnished the quiet halls, some of which were finely carpeted while others were elegantly sparse with smooth marble. There was also a proliferation of bejeweled mirrors and accents. They caught the light once in awhile, and cast strange colors in the interior of the dome.
The main hall was a behemoth, Elrohir decided. The King's court was the large dome that he had seen from the outside, and the smaller domes that surrounded it must be the living quarters and other rooms. The main hall had a single wooden throne on a raised dais, next to which a very young woman with a noble bearing stood, her face was half-covered by a rich black cloth such that only her eyes could be seen.
Beautiful eyes, Elrohir mused, but they were not as blue as was promised. Beautiful nevertheless. Tendrils of her waving black hair peeked from her hood. Beside the young girl was a taller woman with an equally elegant stance. Now her eyes were a stunning, frosted blue. They were also older and colder than the young princess'; Elrohir was sure she was not royalty, by her humble attire of wan cream with less layers.
Adriano's eyes widened a bit, but he bowed, and the three Westerners found it wise to mimic his actions. The young Princess Nadina stepped down from the raised dais and bowed to them deeply as well.
"Welcome, my lords," the older woman next to Nadina said to them in heavily accented Westron. Her voice was heady and rich and textured, despite the muffling of the cloth that covered her mouth.
Elrohir was quite pleased to discover that the face-shielding was but an initial formality. Nadina and her servant, one named Rebekah, had lowered the cloths to their necks the very breath they stepped out of the King's hall into a smaller dome that was the dining room.
They removed the cloths like troopers, as if it was a hindrance. And when they walked forward, they walked like purposeful men, taking up their own space, leading the way, but no less of graceful ladies.
Nadina's face was very finely sculpted. Her skin was flawless olive, her lips upturned in a pleasant young pout. Rebekah her maid was less striking, weathered slightly by the sun and the wind because she was slightly older than her royal charge. Such nuances however, only lent her face more mystique and character. Her eyes shone like jewels.
They all sat on the ground amidst carpets and pillows, for the table was low. Nadina left the head of the table bare, as if in reference to her absent father, and between Rebekah and Adriano. The three guests sat across from them.
"I understand my lady has been given up for marriage once again," Rebekah said at once, not mincing words as the food was served around them.
"That is true," answered Elrohir, glancing at Nadina, "To Legolas, Heir to the Kingdom of Eryn Lasgalen, and Lord of the Elves of Ithilien."
Nadina stared wordlessly at Haldir, who sat between Elrohir and Gimli for a long, quiet moment. Rebekah glanced at the princess, reading her mind.
"I suppose that would be you," said Rebekah to the Lorien elf.
"Excuse me?' Haldir asked, confused.
"Princess Nadina is to wed you, is my understanding correct?" the servant asked.
"I am not Legolas," Haldir informed her.
"But you have a magnificent head of golden hair," Rebekah pointed out, "A warrior's stance. And a dwarf by your side. No other elf has a dwarf."
"I am not some identifying accessory!" Gimli exclaimed. But Haldir smiled, because he found the mistake was quite a reasonable one to make after all.
"Your assumption is understandable," he said to her evenly, "But false. Prince Legolas is in his kingdom, making the proper arrangements."
"Hm," Rebekah said thoughtfully, shifting in her seat and looking down at her tea. "I suppose King Danielli is truly dead then."
"Yes," Elrohir said, turning to face Nadina and wondering why she was not speaking at all, "We are truly sorry for your loss."
"You aren't," Rebekah told him coolly.
Elrohir looked at her with narrowed, measuring eyes. "I do believe I was addressing the princess."
"The Princess does not speak with the kin of her fiancée intil they are wed," Rebekah retorted, "Look up the culture before you venture into your complaints, master elf."
Elrohir set his jaws, quite deeply annoyed.
"But no matter," Rebekah said quickly, hardly missing a beat from the transition between tirade and the next thing that popped in her mind, "We appreciate the lie. Just as King Nathaniel and many like him appreciate the circumstances. Peace for Lord Danielli's life… I suppose the price is not so steep. It is but one life after all."
A lull fell about the room. The widow Nadina was a cold one, and as was her servant girl. Elrohir supposed the harshness of the dessert and the time of war made folk quite practical.
"We were told Princess Nadina has a son," said Haldir, "Where might he be?"
"He is in Danielli's land," Rebekah replied, "Or should I say, the land that is now Prince Legolas'? When news of Danielli and Nicolo's death was made known to us, Princess Nadina was spirited away here, to her father's kingdom."
"Why is that?" asked Gimli.
"To prevent wife-theft," Rebekah answered, as if it was obvious, "If neighboring tribes got wind that she no longer had the protection of Danielli, they could steal her away."
The dwarf's brows furrowed. "These are very strange."
"It is not your way?" Rebekah asked.
"Oh no," replied Elrohir, "Our women are not stolen unless they want to be taken away."
"That is very interesting," she said, "So all your wives had to choose you?"
"None of us are married," Haldir said.
"Ah," she said, and her eyes lit a bit at what that could have meant, "No one wanted to be taken by you, then?"
"We're all very busy," Gimli said quickly.
Rebekah smiled a little. It was rare and pleasant, and all too quickly gone. "My lady's son is a beautiful boy. I know that according to this treaty, he now belongs to Prince Legolas, along with the Queen, all of their lands and properties. But I mean to ask… that is, because it is not quite specified…" she hesitated, "The Queen deigned from bringing her son here upon word of the treaty because she feared you might have him killed. According to our laws, if Prince Legolas willed it so, he is acting within his rights if he had poor Dorjan killed. But… but he is a beautiful boy."
"That is not our way either," Gimli assured her, but he was looking at Nadina, the boy's young mother. The Princess just nodded at him.
Elrohir could not sleep.
Not that the quarters given him were uncomfortable, they were just… intoxicatingly foreign. How could one bear to close one's eyes, he wondered, when the scents were so strange and invigorating, when the land outside was a vast eternal dessert that stretched like the sea and reached up to the skies? The very air had a strange kind of beat that wasn't the whipping of the winds; the dessert looked empty, but this was a land alive. It was more alive than the people who lived in her, for they stood perpetually at her mercy.
He sat up in bed. He wondered if it was safe to walk around.
Probably not, he chided himself. But he was wide awake and impatient. Besides, he reasoned, there are guards everywhere. I won't be sneaking around, and they won't let me go where I am not allowed to be.
He rose and wore his formal robes, in case he ran into anyone. He made for the door, and was not surprised when a young Easterling soldier opened it for him smartly. Adriano had apparently ordered him to be guarded as well.
"Is there anything you need, my lord?" asked the soldier haltingly, his accent heavy. Elrohir liked listening to these people speak.
"I couldn't sleep," Elrohir confessed.
"We have all sorts of herbs for that," said the soldier enthusiastically.
Elrohir laughed, a bit nervous about that idea. "No thank you. I prefer to seek my relaxation with a bit of wind. Tell me… is it quite all right for me to wander into your courtyards?"
"I will escort you," the soldier said, booking no arguments, "But we cannot walk on the grass."
"Of course," Elrohir smiled, "Of course."
The pair walked on, and Elrohir learned that the young soldier was all of fifteen, and his name was Jaron. They passed several soldiers, exchanged polite greetings before stepping out of the palace and into the dessert night.
Elrohir closed his eyes in pleasure. The wind was cool and strong. The land looked different at night. The moon showed bright and high over their heads, and the stars were countless. He traveled here thinking perhaps the land would be impossibly hostile. But so far, the experience was proving to be a very rich, enjoyable one. Even the people he'd once regarded as enemies were warm and welcoming.
"Your home is very beautiful," Elrohir told Jaron.
"Thank you, my lord," said the youth, "Is it anything like yours?"
"Oh no," replied the elf, "Quite different. We are rocks and cliffs and trees and rivers and waterfalls."
"Water. Falls…?" Jaron repeated uncertainly.
Elrohir smiled at the realization that Jaron, or most anyone from the East had never seen one. "It is what it sounds like, I suppose. Water falling off the edges of large cliffs, over rocks and down to pools. It is very beautiful."
"I cannot begin to think it," Jaron said, awed, "So much water that it just… falls. Water falling. How strange. What are your people like?"
"People everywhere are just… people," Elrohir answered, "We all just try to make a beautiful life for ourselves the only ways we know how. Some of us go to war. Some of us plant trees and flowers. Some of us write poetry and music. We are more alike than we think."
"You fought in the war?" Jaron asked.
"Yes," answered Elrohir, "I have."
"Have you ever killed any of us?" the youth pressed, after a moment of contemplating if he was first, overstepping his bounds and second, tackling a subject he'd rather not get into in afterthought.
"Yes," the elf said simply, "I have done that too."
Jaron stared at him a long, quiet moment. "My father and brothers died in the war."
"I'm very sorry for that," Elrohir said, wondering if the lad was seeking an apology.
"They must have tried to kill you too," Jaron said, "It is just war, I suppose. I'm glad it's going to end."
"Me too," Elrohir said wistfully.
The rustling of skirts and approaching footsteps caught their attention, and both gentlemen turned to the servant Rebekah walking toward them.
"Jaron," said she, "You are excused."
He bowed at her and scurried away. She barely spared him a nod, so intent was her look upon the elf, who suffered her measuring gaze with a bit of a wry smile.
"Do you not sleep?" she asked, breaking the silence, "Your road here was very long and yet you are tireless."
"Elves need very little rest," he informed her, "But thank you for your concern."
She nodded, and looked away from him toward the horizon. With her face open and her hood lowered, her dark hair was whipping with the wind. She looked contemplative, and he wondered if she preferred to have him go away and leave her in peace.
"What is Prince Legolas like?" she asked him, before she could stop herself.
An interesting question, he mused, Especially lately.
"Or I suppose it's immaterial," she said quickly, "He did not bother to know Princess Nadina before going into this treaty business, did he? And it will push through whether or not she wishes it. It's just that… he is her brother's killer. And the man who killed her child's father. Who tried to kill King Nathaniel as well. Our people have only ever known him as a foe. And now he is to be my lady's husband. The idea is almost laughable."
"He is much loved, Lady Rebekah," Elrohir said, "You only know the surface, you only know his outermost skin, the image of the warrior-prince. But in his deepest heart he is a friend, and a leader. He is a son, a lover, a brother. He will not harm your princess or her son. He will treat your people fairly."
Rebekah shrugged, turned to other subjects. Elrohir picked up her habit of subject shifting from that first meal they had together earlier that day.
"We leave for the West tomorrow?" she asked.
"Yes," he replied, "Toward Gondor, where the last touches of the treaty are being made, and where the last hostile forces of the East converge against the West. Prince Legolas will meet us there, for the wedding in his lands in Ithilien. These lands are his own, so the first of the celebrations are to be held there. And then in Eryn Lasghalen, his entailment, where he is heir of the King. And then in the lands of Danielli and Nicolo, to be joined under his rule. Your customs will be followed then. We have respect for your culture." Elrohir's lips twitched, "Though my careless words from earlier may have led you to believe otherwise."
She smiled, before commenting, "So much celebration for a union without joy or love. I think you folk are stranger than we are."
Elrohir smiled back, appreciating the wry humor. "That is very fair of you to say."
"And…" she said haltingly, hesitating, "I am very pleased to find that you are not… aren't quite as… as vile as I first thought our foes were supposed to be."
He chuckled. "Well ma'am. Neither are you."
Eryn Lasgalen
Legolas set his jaws, and stared back at the King stubbornly. Thranduil was looking at his son in that all-too familiar way, as if he didn't quite know what to do with him. Father and son had the King's hall all to themselves, Thranduil up on his raised throne and his son standing defiantly before him.
'You will marry a woman sired by our lifelong foes,' Thranduil said flatly, repeating what his son had just said to him, 'Not only is she not an elf, but one of the cursed Easterlings too. Have you no idea of how much blood has been shed between us? How many lives-'
'I am not unfamiliar with that, ada,' said Legolas, 'I know all too well just how many. I know all too well exactly who. I know all to well just how much that blood meant to me.'
'Then what is this madness?' the King snapped, 'Or have you forgotten what it is like to be one amongst your own people?'
'You are being intentionally hurtful,' Legolas retorted, 'You know I've always offered my blood and body to this land. Why do you say these things?'
'Because I do not want you to wed a cursed Easterling!' the King thundered, 'No half-Eastern spawn of the devil will inherit this seat of mine, rule over my people, walk these lands as if he owned it. I will die first!'
'I came here not for your permission,' said Legolas edgily, 'But only for your knowledge. I have my own lands in Ithilien, my own people. And I've also just acquired two significant territories in the East. I thought you'd want to know. You are my father still, and I your son, after all.' He said the last sentence with more than a tinge of acid, as if to stress that the conversation was quickly unfolding into a mockery of that statement.
'Legolas…' his father breathed, 'dear gods, boy. Get your head on straight. You know I have no other heir but you. Why bother with all of this? You do not even love her. Her kin killed the only woman who had ever laid siege to thy heart. Lilian.' The King looked at him intently, 'Lilian. You might as well spit on her grave-'
'Lilian is dead,' Legolas said bitterly, 'her damned problems are long over, ada. And they are no longer mine.'
His father gasped, so struck was he by his son's hurt, blazing eyes. The harshness finality in his tone, his dismissal of that woman who once had such claim to his heart.
'Think about it, my lord,' Legolas said, numbly now, as if it was a well-rehearsed speech, 'The size of your land doubles, your constituents as well. We can open the roads for commerce, they have considerable riches in the East too. We will leave these lands soon, that is our destiny. But the edain heirs to this throne will still have your blood coursing through their veins. The throne will not be lost to our family. For all these advantages, we also manage to help a desperate land attain a much-longed-for peace, keep a people from destroying themselves. I see no ill-side.'
The King stared at his son for a long moment. 'I do not question the practicality, my son. And our people will see this through alongside you. They hate our foes, but they love you more and will follow you to their deaths. You've certainly given them your life, you are right. They will find no fault in your judgment, and we all do tire of warring.'
'What do you question then?' Legolas asked, dreading the answer.
'Your heart,' Thranduil replied, 'I am still your father and you are still my son. Believe it when I say that I love you. I am father before I am King. I see the value of the alliance. But 'tis this marriage that binds you, and why you truly do it that stabs at my heart.' He took a deep breath, seemed to want to calm himself except he wasn't quite succeeding.
'You do all of this for Elessar,' the king seethed, apparently unable to calm or stop himself, 'Elessar, who's contaminated you with all these… these… impossible ideas that have torn you from me, torn you from your people, torn you from your destiny. Your love for him will kill you and cease you from being who you were born to be!'
Legolas' body shook, and his eyes glistened.
'A father knows,' Thranduil said, his tone softening, his gaze searching his son's earnestly, 'A father knows. You came home to us after the war and you were much changed. And then I told you Lilian was dead, and you tore across these lands in anger- far more anger than there was grief, far more hatred than there was loss. You were different, and your love was different. And you hated yourself because she was dead. Because you hadn't been here to save her or be with her. But more because you didn't want to be. You were elsewhere, and you did not regret being there. A father knows. You were different, and your love was different, and you wanted little to do with any of us who knew you for what you once were. You fought, you toured, you left, you built a kingdom elsewhere. A father knows.'
'Ada…' Legolas said brokenly, unsure of what to say.
'I do not love you any less for loving a man,' said Thranduil, his eyes and tone softening, 'How many times have the old adages advised us that love was beyond the body, love stabbed straight to the soul? What does it matter if he's an adan and that you're an elf? That you are both men? The soul finds rest where it does. I cannot fault you for loving. But my son,' he sighed, 'Why do you give your happiness for his people's peace? You wed this woman whom you loathe to purchase them their happiness at the expense of your own.'
'Her life is short,' Legolas said quickly, swiping away angrily at a tear that had escaped the desperate grasp of his eyes, 'Mine is long. I can find another…'
'Your life is not that long,' Thranduil said to him mildly, 'Heed an old man's counsel, Legolas. Do not kill yourself for Elessar.'
'I've only lived my life to be a credit to your name, my lord,' said Legolas stonily, 'All my deeds belong to you, and to my people. The reason is I love you. Let my deeds belong to those I love, and let my love belong to me. The acts are yours but the reasons are mine. These are the only things that are truly mine, and I cannot yield them to you. My marriage will give Aragorn his peace, and you your riches. But I get to keep to myself, first that I wish to leave you these as your son, and second, I wish to give him his peace as… as one who loves him.'
Thranduil looked at him sadly, helplessly. He rose from his throne and stepped toward his son. He held Legolas' cold face in his hands, stared at the eyes that averted their broken, screaming gaze from him.
'Look at me,' the King implored him, 'Son. Look at me.'
Legolas' body shook. Thranduil could feel his tremble and his desperate struggle to still, to calm. But he followed as the king bid, and stared back at his father.
'I do not love you any less,' Thranduil told him softly, 'Do not forget that. Do as you will, with my blessing. But I so wish for you to be happy.'
Legolas blinked, and more of his tears slipped past his eyes, down his cheeks. He tried to swipe away at them, but his father's grip upon his face was insistent and lent him not room. His face crumpled, failing at last this war he had made with himself- not to cry, not to break. A strangled sob escaped his throat, and father held son close to his breast as he cried, and they sank to the ground together.
Minas Tirith,
Gondor
He had long, strong legs that he was quickly and tirelessly making use of. The boy liked to run, and the only thing he liked more than running was probably his mother and father, whom he attacked at a warg-like maul and embraced to half his little life. The sun was playing with the short, dark waves of his hair, and his eyes were light and dancing. His laughter was musical.
Aragorn watched his son play, from the strategic vantage point of his study window. An absent smile touched his face.
I will live and die for you, he thought.
Say what people will about all the deeds of his life, but this one… this living, laughing, screaming child was his greatest entailment to the world.
Aragorn was not a regretful man. He's lived life quite fully, and even if he died that very moment, no one could have ever said he had lived an empty one. He had a thriving kingdom, a wife, a child and friends and people who loved him.
No, he did not regret. But he often wondered, how things would have been had… had he not yielded his heart, had he yielded this throne and this life instead. It was not the same as regret, no, really it wasn't. It was just… a thought, he supposed.
You were right, my friend, he thought up to Legolas, The death of she whom you loved and our friendship are hard to divorce. They created possibilities and hurtful dreams that we do not wish to think of.
What-might-have-been's weren't regrets. They were just… possibilities. Those that were long gone, irrecoverable.
It sounds a little bit like regret, he chided himself, but his eyes settled on Eldarion once more and he knew, for a certainty, that he did not regret the road to this life, the road that had given him and Arwen their son.
It's not regret, he decided, It is just remembering that the price I paid to get here was very high.
Legolas, he thought with a wince, The price we both pay is still very high.
I will do it if you ask, the elf had said. And he asked. And the elf said 'let it be done.' And then they parted. Again. The brand of parting that belonged to tragic romances. How many such partings must they have in one lifetime? The first one had been difficult enough.
Aragorn guessed that two should be enough. This time should be the last time. After all, their first goodbye ended when the elf had given him his wife in marriage. And now… he was giving the elf a wife too. The idea was actually quite perverse. And also strangely appropriate.
This next time that I give you up will be the very last time.
To be continued…
HEY GUYS! thanks for the c&c's. keep 'em coming if you can, they are always welcome, and i'll keep on trying my best also. hope you had fun, and 'til the next post:)