Strolls up to computer

reads reviews

hides under computer desk quivering

Hopefully this will placate. I did say it wasn't an AU!

Thanks for staying

love forever

nenny xx

Chapter 9 - Diversion

"Elladan, I can see him. Legolas."

"By all that's holy…where is he? Can he see you? Can you-"

Elrohir was shaking.

"Elladan…he's dead."

"What?" he asked, blankly.

"Dead. He's…dead."

"He can't be." Elladan reacted automatically. "It's not him."

"Elladan. I can see him. There's nothing we can do. We're too late." Elrohir desperately tried to keep in control of his spiralling emotions.

"Stop it. Stop it! I don't believe you."

"Elladan, I'm sorry…" Elrohir broke off.

Elladan slammed his fist into the tree's trunk before grief overtook his anger. He slowly leaned forward to press his forehead against the bark, his eyes tightly closed. Aragorn didn't need telepathic abilities to read the look on his brother's pale face and he turned away, unable to bear his expression anymore. They had failed. The prince was dead. The young man felt empty, as if he had lost something. Not in the same way he had felt when his mother died, not like losing a person, but more like…losing a chance. The twins stories had shown Legolas to him, and now he felt cheated, as if something, a friendship had been irrevocably snatched away. It was all wrong. That feeling at the forest gate. He had known Legolas was alive, and now…this. He looked at his grief-stricken brother and a deep anger burned inside him, invading all other feelings. How dare these creatures invade this land, murder its people, and cause his brothers so much hurt?

He carefully walked back along the branch to Elladan, and embraced his brother closely. The elf was taken momentarily by surprise, but returned the hug tightly. Aragorn spoke quietly to his brother's bowed head.

"We shall avenge him."

The elf raised his head and looked at his mortal brother with pain filled eyes. He said not a word, but gripped Aragorn's arm in silent thanks, before turning and moving off again through the trees. Aragorn followed him. Elves and men. We really are not so different after all.

The twins seem to have come to some decision between them that they would meet up somewhere near the southern end of the camp, but Aragorn didn't ask for clarification. Elladan's face, though normally pale, was white as chalk, and he looked exhausted. Aragorn knew that the sailing of the twins' mother had badly affected them, and he for the first time he wondered how many other friends must have been lost to the shadow. How would they get over this?

The sleeping orcs remained unaware as their enemies moved through the trees above their heads. Every so often, the pair would pass a watchful guard, but thankfully none of them looked up. The brothers' elven stealth and garments made them invisible in the arboreal darkness.

After a time, they moved away from the edge of the camp, further off into the forest, until they could no longer hear the crackling watch fires and orc snores, and the smell grew somewhat more bearable. Without warning, Elladan began to descend the trunk of an ancient oak, and Aragorn followed silently behind. The elf sank to the ground at the base of the tree, without a sound, and his head in his hands. Aragorn stood by in the tree's shadow, helplessly. He diverted his eyes from his brother, and, looking about the tiny moonlit clearing, wondered if this was the meeting place arranged with the others. Now he was standing still, the ache in his shoulder intensified, and he suddenly realised how tired and hungry he was. He pushed the thought away angrily, rubbing his arm. His brothers' friend was dead and all he could think about was his stomach. He looked at the silent Elladan with fear, wondering what he would say Elrohir. Anger surged through him again. He felt so useless!

Suddenly, there was a movement in the darkness above, but before Estel could react; the two other elves dropped to the ground in front of him. Elrohir looked as pale as Elladan, but his face had an ill, green tinge. The young man just had time to note Elrohir's blood soaked sleeve before the elf fell beside his brother, and was drawn into a tight embrace. Aragorn looked across at Glorfindel, who was watching the twins with a saddened, wearied look. Aragorn got the impression he had seen too many scenes like this in his long life. The warrior walked slowly across the clearing to the twins, and knelt beside them, laying a comforting hand on each shoulder, murmuring quiet words of consolation.

Aragorn stood awkwardly to one side, watching the elves' grief and pain unfold, but unable to share in it or ease it, however much he wanted to. He felt lost. Everything was the wrong way around. All through his life, his brothers had protected and comforted him. The twins were always there to hold him when he was hurt from a fall or frightened by a nightmare. He was the one who had needed comfort. He was the one who had cried.

He couldn't watch anymore, feeling like an intruder on their grief which he had no part of. He walked off a short way into the trees, and, sitting in the damp hollow at the base of a twisted oak, glared into the dark. What would they do now? Go home? Go to the Mirkwood palace? Bring the hopeful king news that his only son was tortured to death, and they had been too late to save him? Aragorn felt sick to the bottom of his soul at the very prospect. The body. At least they could return his son's body to him. The young man stood up, brushing the leaf mould from his cloak, before pulling it tightly about him. Shivering in the darkness, he slowly walked back to the others.

"A diversion. Here." Elladan pointed with his stick.

By the time Aragorn had returned, one of the twins had already scratched a rough map of the orc's encampment into the dirt of the forest floor, and the three elves were leaning over it, planning. Grief not forgotten, but temporarily put aside.

Glorfindel shook his head. "It's too obvious. They would realise it was a trap immediately, and head straight back to the prisoners." He gestured to a leaf, which apparently represented the orc's hostages.

The young human was secretly relieved that the twins looked more angry than upset now. Anger he could cope with. He just hoped they wouldn't do anything rash. From the look on Glorfindel's face, so did he.

"Not if there were two diversions…" Elrohir said slowly.

Aragorn sat down quietly next to Elrohir, and used the opportunity to get a closer look at his brother's injury. His shirt sleeve was soaked in old blood, but the arm underneath was well bandaged, and there didn't appear to be any new bleeding. The young man decided to let it lie, as Elladan continued the debate.

"Brother, before you start getting too ambitious, do remember there are only three-"

"Four!"

"Alright. Four of us."

Aragorn leaned in, and studied the map. "That's not necessarily a problem," he mused. "If the first attack, one elf, comes from here, by the entrance to the camp, and the second…'Ro, lend me your stick…two of us over there on the opposite side, then those orcs not taken in by the first, will be dealing with the second diversion, and miss the actual raid, which is executed by the fourth person here." He circled the leaf with a flourish.

The twins looked at each other doubtfully, though Glorfindel looked impressed.

"Could it work?" Elladan asked his brother in his mind, apprehensively.

Elrohir was feeling rash. "Probably not. Let's go!"

Aragorn rapped Elladan on the knee with his stick. "Out loud please," he commanded. Elrohir almost smiled.

Elladan coughed. "Would that work?"

"Who cares?" shrugged Elrohir

"I think it's a remarkably astute plan considering the circumstances." Glorfindel said quietly. "I say aye."

"Then so do I!" declared Elrohir loudly. Elladan hushed him.

"Right," said Glorfindel briskly, after a surreptitious glance at Elrohir. "I will take charge of the first diversion, at the northern end near the road. Then, Elladan, Elrohir, you create a second diversion at the east side of the camp, away from the prisoners. Pick them off from the trees; they won't know how many of you there are. I'll join you if I can. Aragorn, mellon nin, that leaves you to rescue Legol-" he swallowed. "...the body…in all the confusion."

The twins looked at Aragorn doubtfully again. The young man sighed. He was getting rather fed up with that look.

"Are you sure-"

"Elladan! There is nothing whatsoever wrong with your young brother's skills or sense of responsibility," Glorfindel snapped. "He may be only a fraction of your age, but he has already proved himself capable many times over. Stop looking at him as the boy he used to be, and see him as the man he is now! I place my faith in him completely. Perhaps you two would afford him the same courtesy."

Elrond's sons looked at Glorfindel in amazement, and Aragorn felt himself colour with embarrassment. The blonde elf stood up. "Thank you! Now, if that's settled? Let's go."

Aragorn shifted uncomfortably and stared into the darkness across the camp. As per instructions, he was crouching in a blackened beech on the western side of the oval camp. The others had vanished into the darkness about half an hour ago, Glorfindel to Aragorn's left and the northern road; the twins, heading to the eastern side of the camp, had disappeared into the darkness on Aragorn's right. Nervously, he relayed the plan over in his mind for the hundredth time. He had never seen so many orcs before. He had, of course, heard the stories of Mirkwood during the dark time under the Necromancer. Being just nine summers when the evil was driven from Dol Guldor had meant he had always thought that somehow the orcs would have just left too. Clearly, that impression was entirely wrong. There were more orcs than ever.

The darkness is growing again. The vision of the black-clad man and the screaming trees rose to his mind and he shivered.

This night seemed to have gone on for ever, each second containing a slow eternity. The chill bit through his clothes, and his fingers were numb on rough bark. He had eaten half of one of his three lembas breads, but the stench of the orcs had quite put him off the food. He glanced at the moon anxiously, and then to his left across the still slumbering camp. There were barely two hours of darkness left before dawn. Glorfindel's diversion was late. Estel's insides contracted with worry. He hoped nothing had happened.

Glorfindel slipped through the trees, agile as a cat, and silent as a shadow. Below him at the entrance to the camp, three orc sentries, quiet and still, gazed watchfully into the darkness. Most ordinary people in Middle Earth seemed to have been stuffed with the rumour that orcs were stupid. They were most certainly argumentative, selfish and smelly. But stupid? Oh no. Orcs were cunning, backstabbing, and extremely dangerous. The Dark Enemy was not such a fool as to create mindless servants. It was true; your average orc did not exactly top the scale intelligence-wise. But it certainly did not pay to underestimate them. Especially when the ambush in question has you outnumbered by about two hundred orcs to three elves and a human boy. That, of course, was the reason behind the double bluff with the diversions, although, despite his encouraging words, even Glorfindel was beginning to have second thoughts on that subject.

He crouched low on a branch, training his keen eyesight to the ground ten feet below. A diversion...but how? He had confidently told the others he would improvise something on the spot. But it was going to have to be something fairly impressive, if this plan was to work. Shooting a couple of orcs and then disappearing into the trees was not going to be enough. A cloud passed from across the moon, and the pale light illuminated a small mound of dry grass running across the side of the camp, and a couple of stacked wooden barrels leaning against it. The elf's eyes gleamed.

Aragorn shivered; cold, tired, cramped and desperately worried. It was now an hour since the others had vanished into the darkness, and nothing was happening. The waiting was driving him mad. All he had to do was to shiver, ache and count his own heartbeats. He supposed he would know if the others had been caught by some commotion in the camp. At the moment, all was still and silent.

He ran through the rendezvous plan in his head again. He would meet with the others to the North, where the orc road met the forest path and where they had left the horses…was that really only this morning? So much had happened. If the plan failed somehow, they were to travel on to the forest gate, and meet up with the rangers. It soundedas if nothing could go wrong. Knowing my luck, Aragorn thought gloomily, that means that probably everything will.

Just then, a flash of light across the camp caught his eye, and he spun round, staring desperately into the dark, heart thudding. Was this it? Was something finally happening? He strained his eyes. Nothing. Disappointed, he decided he had been imagining things. Suddenly, a second flash of light streaked from the trees to the ground. Like miniature lightning, it was so fast; you'd miss it if you weren't looking. Aragorn grinned. Fire arrows. He wasn't quite sure what Glorfindel was up to, but he was quite sure it would be memorable. And it was at that precise moment that three barrels of pungent orc liquor, pierced by the fiery arrows, exploded, covering the nearby sleeping orcs with boiling alcohol, and setting fire to the camp.

The leaves of the darkened tree rustled in the chill breeze. Behind its whispering branches, two darker silhouettes were faintly outlined by the shimmering moon. Neither spoke and they barely seemed to breathe; two identical statues carved in stone, one crouched and one standing. Suddenly across the camp, a small explosion blasted bright flames into the sky, followed swiftly by shouts and harsh cries. The camp burst into life and confusion as the fire devoured the dry grass and burning orcs shrieked and ran, panicking. The golden light of the fire flickered through tree branches, picking out highlights in raven hair, and glinting in dark eyes. One twin gave a slight nod, and the two sped away into the darkness.
Aragorn watched tensed, as the commotion in the camp unfolded before him, his heart racing in his chest. He quickly stretched his arms, knowing he had to be ready to move the moment his signal came. Below, orcs scalded by the burning liquid ran shrieking, trying to smother their burning garments. Others leapt forwards to the flames trying to rescue their own possessions. Another clump of dry grass burst into flames, but Aragorn knew there wasn't really any danger of the fire spreading. Forest fires could be hugely destructive, but he knew it was too damp under the trees for it to spread away from this clearing. An orc commander began shouting instructions, flaying about him with a leather whip and chaos ensued as orcs ran in every direction. Aragorn began to wonder if the second diversion would be necessary after all, when the commanding orc gave a harsh shout, brandishing his clenched fist in the air. Aragorn couldn't see what was held there, but he could guess. They'd found one of Glorfindel's arrows.

"A trick!" The orc howled in the common tongue. "An elf trick! Protect the camp to the east!" At their chief's command, tens of orcs broke away from the fire running back across the clearing, howling in anger. Right on cue, four elvish arrows zipped from the trees in front of them, felling the leading orcs instantly.

Aragorn's heart gave a jolt. Elladan and Elrohir had started their attack. Now it was his turn. He jumped down from the tree, and began to run round the edge of the tree line hunched low to the ground. His stiff legs ached but he ignored them, concentrating on the floor in front of him, so as to move as silently as possible in the commotion all around. He ducked under a low branch, and froze in his tracks as an orc ran past him not ten feet away. Only daring to breathe out once the orc had vanished into the fray, Aragorn silently thanked every Valar he knew that the smell of burning grog had masked his own sent from the creature. He ran on, and came to a halt at the edge of the camp. From here, he could see what Elrohir saw all those hours ago; the shadows of the bound prisoners on the ground, each group of five tied to a stake driven into the forest floor. There were camp fires and positions for orc guards around the prisoners, but thankfully, these had been deserted in the confusion. A sudden realisation struck Aragorn, as he finally noticed the flaw in Glorfindel's plan. He was the only one who had no idea what the elven prince looked like. He stared at the shadowy prisoners in panic. Elrohir had been able to see the Prince from the trees, but how would he recognise him? Well, he'd have to do the best he could.

Aragorn took a swift look across the camp. All the orcs were either desperately trying to contain the fire, fighting the invisible attackers in the trees, or were running around aimlessly. The head orcs were shouting hoarse instructions at their soldiers and generally adding to the chaos. The prisoners were being ignored, but probably not for long. The young man took a deep breath, drew his knife, and ran into the camp, ducking low to the ground.

He reached the first stake, and dropped to the ground, quickly reaching out to the first prisoner. His stomach turned in revulsion and, horrified, he snatched his hand away again. The young man had been dead for a long time; his blank, dark eyes stared up helplessly at the sky. Felling shaky, Aragorn quickly moved away, searching through the prisoners as fast as he could. Several were dead, and he could see some dying before his eyes. Most were unconscious, but Aragorn quickly cut their bonds in case they had a chance to escape later. As Aragorn bent over a blond haired man, he suddenly opened his eyes, and Estel jerked back in surprise. The man leaned forwards and grasped Aragorn's wrist. His eyes were wild. "Help me!" he croaked hoarsely.

"I'm looking for a friend," Aragorn began, but the man cut him off wildly.

"Free me now!"

"Please…be quieter! I'll help you and the others but I have to find my friend first. He's an elf-"

The man jerked his head. "Over there! Now free me."

"Alright, but you have to help me carry him." Aragorn fumbled for his knife, and cut the ropes. The man bounded to his feet and dashed away into the forest.

"Hey!" Aragorn whispered fiercely. "Come back! You said-" but the man was gone.

Aragorn looked around helplessly and it was at that moment, one of his distant brothers cried out in pain, and an orkish archer howled with delight. Aragorn's heart jolted, and he nearly ran to help his injured brother, but stopped himself at the last moment. He had to get Legolas's body away, and then his brothers could escape. There was nothing he would achieve by attacking the orcs. Aragorn looked up to where the young man had indicated. A single stake stood alone at a distance from the others. Aragorn dashed over the stake and dropped to the ground, his heart racing. A huddled form lay on the ground in front of him, a slight wisp of dirty blonde hair moving lightly in the wind. Realising his hands were shaking, Aragorn reached out and gently rolled the figure over. A pale, blood stained face reflected the moon light with a false imitation of life, and Aragorn gasped, his memory stirring. This could be no-one but Prince Legolas. Even through the dirt and blood, Aragorn could see the resemblance with Celussë which had struck him so strongly at their first meeting, even when he hadn't known why. He quickly looked the Prince over. His injuries had been horrible, and Aragorn felt sadness well up in him again. His pain must have been terrible at the end.

The young human quickly pulled at the rough bonds with his elven dagger, but the knots around the elf's wrists were too tight. Panicking, he sliced at the rope around the stake and crouched forwards to lift the prince in his arms. Suddenly, his instincts screamed at him, and he ducked; a blade swished over his head. Barely thinking, he rolled to the side, drawing his sword and saw the enormous orc which had sneaked up behind him. The creature growled and swung its scimitar down towards him. Aragorn just scrambled out of the way as the blade bit deep into the soft earth, leaping to his feet. The orc had already freed its blade, and swung heavily at his head again. Stumbling back, Estel just blocked the attack, his arms jarring with the impact. The orc didn't let up for an instant, and their blades crashed again. Desperately Aragorn's mind raced. The orc was too strong for him. As the scimitar slashed round, he stumbled to one side; the orc snorted with laughter, thinking his weaker enemy was beaten. Aragorn stepped out of the feint, swinging round impossibly fast and stabbed his dagger deep into the orc's gut. The creature gave a short scream of pain before Aragorn slashed across it's throat with his sword. The creature dropped to the ground with a thump. Breathing heavily, Aragorn looked up at a sudden shout of anger. About fifty orcs, hearing their comrades dying scream had turned and seen him standing sword drawn by their prize prisoner. It would seem the time for subtlety was past.

Aragorn dashed forwards, snatching the Prince up in his arms, the rope dangling from his wrists. The body was very light, and his head fell against Aragorn's shoulder. The young man quickly ran for the trees. Other prisoners called out to him, but he did not look back, though their cries stabbed his heart. He ducked under the branches and into the blessed darkness, hearing the orc cries behind him. At least his brothers would have a chance to escape now. If they weren't already to badly hurt. The trees crowded in around him, but he dared not stop, heading as westwards as he could. Estel pushed through the bushes, trying to put as much distance between himself and the camp as he could. He hugged the body close to him as he ran, distressed by the indignity to the poor elf of being lumped around like a sack. Aquista, díheno nin hir nin.

Soon he realised how loud his breathing sounded. The forest around had fallen silent. Looking back, Aragorn saw he had left a trail so obvious in his flight that a blind mumâk could follow him in its sleep. Cursing himself for every kind of idiot, he realised the orcs tracking him quietly could be upon them in minutes. He looked around desperately. The undergrowth was so thick he'd leave a trail whichever way he went, and he'd already come too far south. It would have to be the trees then. But orcs could climb and he couldn't, not carrying a body, however light it was. And Legolas was starting to feel less light by the minute. And there was pain of his own too in his sword arm, clamouring for attention. He must had been hit in the fight. That would have to be dealt with too.

Trying not to panic, Estel looked up at the nearest tree, a branchless pine, subconsciously praying as hard as he could. A beleg Gilthoniel ar Kementari, ae im veleth lîn, aquista tulu nin! He stepped forwards hopelessly, intending to carry on running, and at that moment, the ropes holding Legolas's hands tied together came untangled. The elf's thin hand dropped, brushing against the bark of the pine. Aragorn looked round in surprise as the tree seemed almost to shiver. He heard a rustle of leaves and glanced up as a thin rope ladder slowly unrolled down the tree's trunk, dropping sharply to the ground, its end catching him squarely in the eye. He lowered the elf's body to the ground, running the suspended rope ladder through his hands in amazement. He tugged on the end; it seemed strong. He looked up into the tree's foliage again but it offered no clue as to the origin of his salvation. It was either the magic of the woodland elves that was so strong they could communicate with nature even after death or…Or he really was loved by the gods.

The rope ladder seemed to stretch up to an impossible height, while all the time, Aragorn's sensitive ears began to pick up the sounds of the orcs moving closer. Throwing caution to the winds, Aragorn lifted Legolas again, somehow managing to hold him against his shoulder and grasp the hithlain rope with his other hand. The climb was deadly. The thin ropes cut into the palm of his hand, and the ladder swung precariously with every movement he made. He tried in vain to steady himself against the tree trunk. The muscles in his legs complained furiously, and every time he looked down, the ground seemed to heave giddily. He quickly closed his eyes, feeling sick. He'd never been good with heights.

Just as he reached the very top of the ladder, his knees gave way and he just managed to grab the edge of the wooden platform with his free hand. He felt as if his lungs would burst. Offering a silent regretful prayer of apology to the departed soul, he pushed the elf up onto the platform, rolling his body away before finally clambering up himself and collapsing onto the decking. There was no time to pause however, and he quickly grabbed the edges of the telltale ladder, pulling it up as fast as he could, and coiling the rope up where it was firmly knotted to the tree trunk.

He heard a noise below and, carefully crawling to the edge of the platform on his stomach, peered over. Thirty foot below on the forest floor, six orcs crept stealthily through the undergrowth. The leading orc, a tracker, stopped at the base of the tree and looked around into the dim forest with evident confusion. The orc glared upwards suspiciously, and Aragorn pulled his head back out of sight, although he wasn't sure if the orc could see him in the dense darkness of the pine branches. He lay on his back, listening to the growling argument of the orcs below, before finally the group turned and jogged back towards the camp.

Aragorn lay still for a few minutes, getting his breath and bearings back. The platform, he realised, was actually an elven talan, such as the ones the March Warden's built in the mallorn trees of Lothlorien. The man could tell this flet had long been abandoned though, from the dense pine needle carpet covering it. The tangy sent of pine resin rose from the tree all around him. Another coil of rope, an empty quiver, an oil lamp and a pile of mouldering blankets stacked neatly at the talan's centre were the only evidence it's once vigilant occupants. Perhaps all of these outlying watch posts had been abandoned when the shadow of Dol Guldor first began to spread.

Aragorn desperately wanted to lie there on that safe platform forever. His mind was filled with fear for his brothers and Glorfindel, and horror at the sights he had seen. His body ached with weariness, and he felt the first creepings of panic at his situation. For the first time in his life, he was totally alone. Bar the dead body of course. Ah yes. The body. The young man gently rolled the elf over, feeling desperately as if he ought to be doing something. Legolas's face was pale in death, his heavy eyelids closed over those blue eyes, the beautiful features marred with blood and bruises. Anger and helplessness washed over Estel. Why was this happening? Elves were not supposed to just die. But all over his beloved Middle Earth, immortal and human lives were being snatched away; tortured and murdered by cruel beasts intent on mindless destruction.

Aragorn lifted Legolas's hand. The thin orc bonds had been tied so tightly, that they had actually cut into the elf's thin wrists. Strands of the twine were still embedded in the wounds. Automatically, Aragorn grabbed a clean cloth and water bottle from his bag, carefully pulling the thin rope from the elf's skin, and washing the filthy cuts. He had a sudden memory of a moment years ago in Rivendell, watching his father working on a cut on Elladan's brow.

"You must always remember to keep the wounds clean, Estel. That is the most important point of healing. A healer cannot win in a fight against infection."

His father. And just thinking about Elrond made Aragorn miss him so hard it hurt. He needed his ada now to tell him what to do. He didn't know anything about Elven mortuary rights. It felt so wrong, so…disrespectful to see the broken body of the Prince of Mirkwood just lying alone in the cold dark. And how was he supposed to bring the news to the elf's family? Aragorn knew that relations between Legolas and Thranduil had not been wonderful, but they were father and son for Valar's sake. Losing another loved one might destroy the elven king.

Aragorn pulled his spare cloak from his pack, and folded it under the blond head. Then he lifted Legolas's hands, composing his limbs by his sides. King Thranduil should never-

Suddenly Aragorn stopped dead. He had felt something under his fingers. Could it be…? He dropped the elf's hand and scrambled forwards, fingers flying to the side of Legolas's throat. There it was again! He looked into the elf's face, hope and fear pounding into his heart in a second. He gave a sudden yell and sprung backwards as the blue eyes fluttered open.

He looked down at the elf in pure shock. The creature lay still, pain-filled sapphire eyes darting around the talan, trying to get his bearings. He slowly shifted his head, and looking upwards, noticed Aragorn. The elf looked at him in silence for what felt like a very long time, and Aragorn had a strange feeling of rightness, like the world had just fallen back into its correct path. He was even more surprised when Legolas's eyes cleared for a second, and theelf spoke to him, his voice rough with pain.

"Estel. You've grown."

Then the elf closed his eyes and passed out.

Translations:

A beleg Gilthoniel ar Kementari, ae im veleth lîn, aquista tulu nin! - Mighty Elbereth and Yavanna, if you love me, please help me now!

Aquista, díheno nin hir nin - please forgive me my lord.

...at least I hope it does! I'm not exactly an elvish expert...In answer to Raven's question, I downloaded an elvish dictionary from a website a while back, and most of the phrases I make up from that. (I have also used elvish from the film in places as well...) I really dont have any clue about grammer etc. If anyone can point out where I go wrong, I'd be grateful! Thanks.

I fear a bad case of Real Life is going round at the moment as Exams are marching along the horizon.Hopefully exam leave should just give me some more writing time...one can but dream. Cest la vie.

Until next time then. Oh, and watch out for that Real Life. I hear it's infectious...

namárië ar sérë, híninya

nienna xx