Battleground, Pt. 2

Battleground pt. 2

Kai

§

Florie and I rushed to Odette, trying to talk over the shouting that we should be married immediately. I tried to convince her that it was a bad idea, that our parents would want to be there, that Father would want us to have the wedding in Highgarden, but she seemed to think that getting me married as quickly as possible was best for everyone. Rivenka joined us, helping to implore her, but it was not until Florie at last smiled at her and talked about how much more wonderful a wedding Odette would throw that the woman finally relented, and called to Lord Caswell to put a stop to it. Relieved, Florie and I returned to eating and drinking until at last she retired for bed.

In good spirits, and knowing that pursuing Florie this night was a lost cause, I excused myself when it got late and found three lovely serving girls to spend the night with.

Rula

§

Kai and Florie looked like a right proper prince and princess at the head of the table. I could see why folk wanted them married right away. I could see too why folk might think of ‘em as being more than a second son and a noble girl from Dorne. It’s a kind of dangerous sort of place to be in, and I don’t envy it at all. I was dressed as my brother, to more easily move about as a man, and we was set to guarding the festivities from any untowardness, but what we didn’t notice ‘till Azeline called us was that someone had got the drop on Quaynlis and put something on his arm. First it made him itch and swell, and then it spread, and Slaange took a look at it and said it was lion beetle venom, and if Quaynlis had eaten any, he’d be dead. As it was, he would be ill for a while, with pain and spasms that would start later. Slaange could ameliorate some of the symptoms, though, so we got Quaynlis up to his room. My brother first bathed the growing rash with a rag soaked in milk, then put a bit of tincture from the Free Cities known as hyrroyn, more potent than the soothing draughts of Westeros. It would make Quaynlis sleep, at least, and dull the pain. It was all we could do for him.

Azeline showed up shortly with Dynzyl Baratheon in tow. He kept asking what had happened, and got angrier and angrier with our evasions. He could not tell which one of us was which, and that upset him also. I raised my eyebrows to my brother when Baratheon dropped a hand to his sword, insisting to a protesting Azeline that she should be quiet. If it came to blows, I should pretend to be Slaange. But he shook his head a little. Azeline raised her voice again, and Baratheon turned to her with venom in his eyes. “I asked you once to be quiet, lady, I will not ask again.”

Slaange at last told Baratheon what he knew, though Baratheon was already snarling to Azeline about how she consorted with poisoners. Then he stormed off, leaving Azeline tearful. She mumbled that she was going to her room, and ran off. Slaange gave me an urgent look. “Go with her. Pretend you’re me, but actually be you!” I got his meaning well enough, and went to protect the girl, just in case. She was fuming over the dismissive way Baratheon had called her spirited.

“Spirited?” She growled. “I’m not a horse!”

I sighed. “To some of the noble men, I’m not sure there’s always a difference.”

“Between a woman and a horse? You don’t ride –” Her eyes widened suddenly, and her features twisted in disgust. “Ugh!” With that, she slammed her way into her room and threw herself on the bed after threatening to burn all her dresses.

The next day, we left to return at last to Highgarden. When Quaynlis recovered, he began to avoid us. He kept himself busy, always moving, never stopping to talk no matter how we tried to engage him. He was cheerful enough, but it didn’t take someone smart as Lady Florie to see he was snubbing the friends who’d saved him twice. Finally, the three of us got set on cornering him, so he couldn’t get away, and he nearly ran Azeline down in his attempt to run from our questions. At last, he gave her a hard gaze when she said something about him avoiding his friends. “We’re not friends,” he said, and stalked off. Azeline stared after him, in tears. I’m getting awful sick of men making that girl cry.

That night we drank, and we saw Quaynlis drinking too, far away from us as we could get. Round about the fourth glass of beer, it started to seem like a good idea to confront him that night in his tent. I don’t know what we was all thinking, but we all felt more’n a little put off by his behavior, and none of us believed his snapping that we were never friends.

We ended up stumbling to his tent, Azeline leading the way. She pounced on him and insisted we weren’t leaving until he admitted we were friends. I sank down, half-over his legs, and realized he was sleeping naked under the thin blanket, which shoulda made me blush if I was any kind of a lady. “We love you!” Azeline insisted, and Quaynlis tried to hush her. But she was half-blubbering, and wouldn’t stop. “We aren’t leaving until you say you love us, because we love you!”

“Stop saying that!” Quaynlis snapped, but his voice weren’t angry no more, just kind of panicked.

“But we /love/ you! You’re our friend!” Azeline was saying, and he pressed a hand over her mouth. I was starting to get a different picture of what was going on. He was scared, more scared’n I’d ever seen him.

He just insisted that we couldn't say we were friends. He wouldn’t say much more, and tried half-heartedly to insist that we leave.

But we didn't, we just piled on top of him like puppies and slept in a big undignified, improper heap.

Kai

§

I was in my tent, shaving. It was a late morning, and we would soon have to be back on the road or we might lose the day. I had spent a pleasant night before with one of the girls from the kitchen cart and I was feeling pleasant and refreshed. I gazed into the polished steel, checking for any rough patches, when I saw the tent flap pushed open by a slender hand. Florie stepped in. “Good morning, my love,” she said, and stepped close. I smiled, though I was puzzled. She did not usually come into my tent in the mornings. She slid her hand over mine and took the razor. “You missed a spot.”

She rinsed it in the bowl and settled the blade against my skin again. “Who is Melody?”

“I don't... recall,” I said, though I knew perfectly well which girl it was.

“She certainly remembers you,” Florie said, and scraped the razor down my neck. “I'm not entirely naïve Kai. But I won't be made a fool of.”

“I wouldn't dream of it,” I managed, though it came with some difficulty. She said something else, but I barely heard it, my mind racing. I had never really considered how much she might notice. And how much she might care.

She pressed the razor back into my hand. “So we are at an accord, my love?”

“I understand you perfectly, darling.” She smiled prettily at me and left. I stood there for a long time. She was named for the first Florie for her looks, but I know enough to know that the first Florie was also cunning. And vicious. And perhaps I had better be much, much more careful about my lovely bride-to-be.

Rula

§

I woke up with my head pounding and my head on Quaynlis's arm. The others were waking too, and Quaynlis was getting his face licked by Arun. He grimaced and pushed the dog away, only to have the furry face replaced by Azeline's sunny smile, almost as close. “Good morning,” she said cheerfull.

He stared for a while, and finally he just sort of shook his head. “You’re all in danger,” he said. “She killed the last one.”

I gazed at him. I knew this story. “Jealous?” I asked.

Azeline was confused, and Quaynlis looked a little embarrassed. “We were… involved,” he said. “You can’t say you love me.”

“You left.”

“I fell out of love,” he confirmed. “I thought Westeros was far enough away.”

We all left the tent so's not to draw too much attention to ourselves, but Slaange had that look in his eye that said he wasn't going to let the matter rest. “We have skills,” he said quietly. “Perhaps we should find her before she finds us again.”

I nodded, and promised to talk about it later. I went with Azeline, and she asked me, not for the first time, about love, and about what I thought of Quaynlis. I tried not to wince. She said she thought maybe it was him she loved. I told her, yet again, to be careful. I seem to say that a lot.

Ch. 9 - Battleground

Kai

§

A moon had passed and we were feasting frequently. I was doing my best to ingratiate myself to Lord Caswell, knowing that we were readying ourselves to force his hand about the toll bridge. I wanted to make sure he was as friendly as possible when that time came. As guests began to arrive for the announcement of my engagement, I began to drink more at the feasts because it gave me something to do besides eye all the very pretty girls who were beginning to show up.

One night, Caswell leaned towards me, and I had to move a bit to make sure the world wasn't spinning as he did. I knew I was drunker than I ought to be, but I couldn't do anything about it. He was talking about how, things being as they were, he thought Bitter Bridge should be exempt from the taxes on harvest until the snowfall began. It seemed entirely reasonable to me at that moment, but suddenly Florie was at my elbow, insisting that I dance with her.

I was happy enough to oblige, and as she drew me away, I saw pretty little Rivenka sliding in next to Caswell, with that smiling little way she has about her that usually means she's going to convince them of something. Too soon into our dancing, Florie all but pressed me into Odette's bony hands, and suddenly our steward was bullying me into bed. I went, because I knew that what she said was right – I oughtn't talk to Caswell in that state.

Rula

§

I noticed Quaynlis wandering out of the hall, and I caught my brother's eyes, seeing that he too had noticed the swaying, strange way that Quaynlis was moving. Said something that both of us were paying so much attention to Quaynlis, but I didn't feel much like examining that. Perhaps something in the smoke wreathing parts of the great hall had gotten to him. Either way, it didn't seem particularly wise to just let him wander, given our luck, so we left after him. It took us a few minutes to find him once we were outside – he had been moving briskly, if without any particular purpose. When we found him, he was leaning up against a wall, looking puzzled. Then we noticed the loop being lowered from the roof above him to rest around his neck.

Slaange's mouth dropped open. “They're doing a Bravosi necktie on him!” He hissed, and took off for Quaynlis.

I ran around towards the other side of the building so that I could scale it and try to find the attacker. As I passed, Quaynlis lifted a hand to the noose, which seemed to be swelling. I would have to trust Slaange to deal with it if I wanted to get up the building in time, though, so I ran on. I scaled the roof, but it was steep and slick, and as I hauled myself over the top, it took most of my skill to stay upright and quiet. A hooded figure stood at the roof's edge in front of me. He was wearing a loose, one-piece outfit and a turban with hanging decorations. I stared. Quaynlis's attacker was from the Free Cities, though I did not recognize the region the clothing had come from. As I made my way down the roof towards him, I heard a metal clang from below and he suddenly jumped off. I teetered at the edge a moment, just long enough to watch Slaange staring at a long, limp python sliding from around Quaynlis's shoulders with the sounds of metallic rasping. I jumped down after the would-be killer as he bent to pick up the snake. I landed lightly and began to draw my sword, but the stranger threw something at our feet and the air clouded with smoke. Cursing and coughing, I tried to go after him, but when I could see, he was nowhere to be found.

Slaange and I each got an arm around Quaynlis, who was talking nonsense. He had definitely had a dose of some kind of drugged smoke, but he didn't seem to be in any danger from it, and there weren't a thing we could do about it in any case. We took him to a quiet room and sat with him, and Azeline joined us a little later, fetching water and food to us, sweetly worried about our friend and the attempt on his life. She said she was going to tell Kai in the morning, but it was Rivenka who came to see us later in the day. Our cousin sat with us and asked if we were sure it had been a Free Cities assassin. We said we were, and then she gave us a knowing look and asked if we recognized the technique.

Some stories would have a man believing that you can't piss in the Free Cities without hitting an assassin of some kind, but truth is there's only so many people needing killing at any given time, and the schools are somewhat far between. Our mother sent us to the school she had been at, the Fellowship of Whispering Grass, where “quiet as a snake in the grass” and “quick as a snake” are the watchwords. Everyone learns to move, some silent like Slaange and some quick like me, and everyone learns to bite, one way or another. And we all learned that if you weren't the quickest, the brightest, the best of the assassins, well, there might be another assassin out for you. We studied the other schools, learned their ways. But if the assassin we had seen came from a school, it weren't one the Fellowship knew about. Both Slaange and I had seen, unmistakeably, a noose made of some kind of cord going around Quaynlis's neck. Then it had been a snake. A snake that made metal sounds when it was hit or moved. That wasn't just assassination, that was sorcery.

We lived close enough to the Narrow Sea most of our life not to see much, but you hear tell of magic further inland. When we came to Westeros, it seemed even farther away. Until now.

We told Rivenka everything we knew, but with Quaynlis still barely able to get two words out from his near-strangulation, there weren't much else we could say or do. Slaange and I agreed to keep at the edges of the engagement party, armed and watchful. Just in case.

Kai

§

Bitter Bridge was decorated beautifully for our engagement party. The feast was sumptuous, with roasted porcupines, dishes piled high with steaming pies of fish and eel and cheese, and every fine wine and cider The Reach had flowing like water. Baratheon had continued his favors towards Azeline, and on this night, she actually looked like the noble lady she is. Rivenka had gotten Tom the Harper all dressed up in clothes that must have cost near as much as one of her own dresses, and introduced him to the gathered guests as Tallan Harcourt. It seemed she was attempting to gain the surly bard's trust a bit more by giving him a more impressive persona and setting herself up as the personal sponsor of his talent. He played well, and it seemed to be working.

At the height of the evening, everyone seemed to be having a good time, and I took the lord's spot at the center of the high table and gave a speech. It was calculated to force Caswell to agree to the terms my father had laid out, to remind him of his place, and of ours, as his lords to whom he owed allegiance. I could see it playing out over his features – the protest, and the realization that with the crowd hearing this, he could not back out of it.

Then Florie pressed up to my side and smiled charmingly at everyone, and spoke of how strong The Reach was, and how even with winter coming and hard times ahead, we would show our unity, and never let anyone divide us. By the end, even Caswell was smiling a little, and the crowd cheered.

But then the wordless cheering became a chant.

“Bed them! Bed them! Bed them!”

Florie and I stared at one another. This was just to be our engagement, not our wedding. Neither of us wanted to be wedded here and now, in Bitter Bridge. Odette could stop this, we knew, but when I turned my eyes to her, I saw only a sly smile.

Ch. 8 - Last Reaping

Kai

§

I saw Rivenka talking with Tom the harper, and as usual, whatever she was saying made him look rather sour. She just kept smiling prettily, and afterward I learned that she was trying to determine why Dynzyl Baratheon was passing through this way in the first place. She told me that the servants wouldn't speak to her, though she was fairly confident that the servant girls, at least, would talk to Tom. He reported back to her the next day that he was traveling towards Long Table to visit his brother Methias, who he was very close to. We wanted to delay that as much as possible – Dynzyl's suspicions about Slaange would only be confirmed when he learned of the illness at Long Table, and the sooner the Baratheons had an idea of how boldly we had acted against them, the worse it might be for us.

We chatted about this for a while (OMG SO MUCH GAME TIME CHATTING), and Odette reminded us that as an anointed night with a passion for sport, he might take well to a hunting trip. We all agreed that at the least, putting him off for a few days would be good, and while he bore no signs of friendship for us, we thought that Lady Ivy would be a pretty enough oddity to make him curious.

We were right. Dynzyl couldn't wait to see a woman with such an interest in hunting. He didn't quite believe she even knew what she was talking about, but when we rode out and Azeline began her usual chatter about which places would be the best for finding game, boar in this case, I saw his expression starting to change. He was interested. And the more interested he was, the more distracted he would be.

Rula

§

I'll never quite understand the pageantry of the nobs and their hunting trips. Seems a right production for something that should be simple, but I suppose when it's one of the only ways you can get out into the world without being accused of idleness, it's got a bit more appeal. I wasn't sure what I thought about our noble friends tossing Azeline in front of the Baratheon man, but all's I could do was keep close to her on the hunt. I could focus my energy on that, too, and not have to worry about protecting my brother, as we left him back safely out of sight in Bitter Bridge.

Unfortunately, when Arun stopped and went on point, and when they went off after the boar, I couldn't quite keep up. I could see Dynzyl stop ahead, trying to get Azeline to stay back, and she looked a bit offended, but kept a little behind him. Then they were moving fast again, and when I heard yelling and crashing up ahead, I rather thought the worst, though I'm not at all sure who I thought it for. I got back into sight of 'em in time to see the boar, bloodied and with spears sticking out of him, charge Azeline, and charge right up the spear she thrust through him. The great beast fell on her, and Baratheon, bloodied and fearsome, hauled the dead boar off of her. He had a cut along his side, and Azeline was bleeding from her leg. Both of them seemed rather exultant, though, and he gave her his own kerchief to press to the wound.

We got her back to camp, and her noble cousins immediately fussed over getting her wound dressed and getting her bathed. Dynzyl was telling the story of her heroism in fighting the boar with such enthusiasm, no doubt they saw an opportunity. Odette enlisted me to help wash the girl, and you would have thought we were killing her. Odette wasn't going to be satisfied with her cleanliness until the water ran clear, and it was my unlucky job to hold her down while she got scrubbed within an inch of her life. “More hot water!” Odette kept commanding, until at last either there was no more water anywhere, or it was clear enough to satisfy the terrifying steward. I ended up soaked through and starting to shiver as evening chill set in.

With Rivenka and Florie fussing over Azeline, I stumbled away, and Quaynlis, who had been hovering rather closer than was proper to the bathing, came over and said I should get into something dry. “Should,” I muttered, though I didn't have any more clothes.

“Come, he said. I'll hold a blanket for you while you take your wet things off.” He did, and then wrapped the blanket around me and drew me close by the fire. Wearing nothing but a blanket and pressing up against him, it reminded me how long it had been since I'd been close to someone. I wasn't sure what to think.

I tried to keep my focus on Azeline, who was looking very pretty in a dress and being waited on hand and foot by Dynzyl. She introduced him to her baby falcon, now named Sheldyn, and let him pet Arun. They talked about horses, and about how he had been out at sea during Methias's hasty wedding. Quaynlis did his best to write a song of the hunt, but it didn't have its usual ring to it, and he gave up as everyone started peeling away from the fire and going to their tents.

He was staring at me, sort of strangely. I looked away. He slid his arm around my shoulders and leaned close. “You're just as beautiful as your brother.”

I protested, because it isn't true. Features that on him are handsome are mannish on me. But Quaynlis was so close I could feel his breath. “But... my brother.”

“Oh, yes. You can't tell him about this. He'll probably kill me.” And perhaps I should have pulled away. Should have insisted that he let me go, that he be truer to my brother. But I just stayed where I was, shivering a little although I was no longer cold. His lips curved as he looked at me. “We need to practice your... sneaking... more,” he said, and kissed me. Then he drew me to his tent, and with nothing but a blanket around me, it wasn't long before that fell away, and I spent the night in his arms.

Kai

§

Dynzyl insisted on staying at Bitter Bridge until Azeline was fully recovered from her injury. Rivenka and Slaange attended to her, but Dynzyl visited her often. Then Rivenka told me that Azeline had felt well enough to go walking, and she had gone into the gardens with Dynzyl. Rivenka sent Slaange after them, and he had reported that He had started off talking about she wasn't like her friends, and about her devotion to animals, and about her family... and how the way he looked at her changed visibly when he realized that although she was an Ivy, her mother was Susi Gardener.

At that, he stopped, and stepped in front of her, and peered down in evident concern. “Has something scratched you?” He asked her as he lifted her chin. She started to say that nothing had, but then he dipped his head and kissed her. “Forgive my deception,” he whispered, and then they kissed again. And again.

This is dangerous, but it could help us too. We have to keep Azeline close, and make sure that Dynzyl doesn't manipulate her. If he has genuine affection for our young cousin, it may be to our advantage.

Rula

§

Azeline burst into my room and told me, cheeks flushing, that Dynzyl had kissed her, and she wanted to know what came next. Mind racing, I tried to give her the best advice I could for what would be expected of someone of her station. She was so happy, I didn't have the heart to say the things I was thinking. This wouldn't be good. Someone was going to use her, and whether it was Dynzyl or one of our own, in the end, it would be Azeline getting hurt. But saying that now wouldn't do any good, so I just made sure she understood how much of her virtue she needed to keep intact, no matter how charming he was to her.

Ch. 7 - Bitter Bridge Pt. 2

Rula

§

We knew we probably didn’t have much in the way of time to work. We needed to get Slaange’s equipment back, but doing so right now would be death. My brother knows enough to know how to handle his poisons safely though, and he instructed us to get a quantity of oil, rags, and a wet canvas bag, all of which would help us clean it enough to keep from killing anyone else. I went around with Azeline, who had the authority to commandeer all of those things from various parts of Bitter Bridge, and I tried to distract her from thinking too hard about why Slaange’s kit was so dangerous. Medicines often were, I told her. It’s a damn good thing Slaange was always as good at the patching up as he was at the other things, because he’s a passable healer, if a bit unconventional. Azeline accepted this, the way that dear girl accepts everything, and we rounded up the things Slaange wanted, including a bellows that the blacksmiths were reluctant to part with.

The idea was simple. Through a small crack in a window, we would spray oil around enough so’s my brother could go in and finish cleaning up with more oil, get his pack, and leave it all for someone else to find and not kill themselves. Was a good plan, and with Quaynlis holding his thumb over the end of the bellows, they got oil sprayed around, and the rest of us stood guard while Slaange went in all covered up and practically blind so he wouldn’t get exposed.

A guard came up to us and started to get suspicious, but Quaynlis pretended someone had stolen a pack from him and got all theatrical. I did my best to support his story, mostly with a lot of nodding and agreement, and eventually the guard went on his way, promising to look for the nonexistent culprit. That was all well and good, and we thought we were doing rather well.

But time dragged on, and it turned out Slaange couldn’t make the place safe. He couldn’t see right and it meant he couldn’t get the oil everywhere it needed to go. I offered to have him cover me up so that I could go in and finish the job. I can move well, even with my eyes closed, and didn’t imagine that dealing with one room I could see the shape of from outside would pose me much trouble. I trusted him to keep me safe while I did, and I went in and got the rest of the powdery poison oiled and soaked into rags, which we then stuffed in the wet canvas bag for later use or disposal.

That should have been the end of it, but suddenly there was a tall man with a shock of black hair walking towards us with several guardsmen at his heels. He looked a right noble sort too, and he was wearing Baratheon colors. He introduced himself as Dynzyl Baratheon, and said he'd been watching us clean up the room with three dead men in it, and that we were all being put under arrest. I couldn't do anything but go with them, even though it meant giving up my sword, which pained me. My mind raced, but there was no way out. We just had to hope someone was watching out for us.

Kai

§

We were sitting in the hall, talking to the Caswells, staying away from any important topics and just making pleasantries. Given what we needed to demand of them, I wanted to start everything off as well as possible. It was going well until Lady Azeline and our people were prodded into the hall, flanked by guards, with Dynzyl Baratheon leading the way, calling them criminals and possibly murderers. My first thought was to wonder why in seven hells Baratheon was here, and what his pretense of business was, but that soon gave way to worry over the accusation. He said he had seen them cleaning a hut with three dead men in it, in a very suspicious manner, and I realized with growing horror that what he was describing had something to do with Slaange's poisons.

Azeline, though, looking very earnest, said that if she could just have a chance to explain, she would. I was a little surprised, since there seems to be no tendency towards any artifice in the girl whatsoever. But she also didn't seem to think she would be lying, so I didn't interfere and let her speak. She was truthful about losing the horse, and Slaange's bag, but the way she described it, it was all medical supplies, and that once they'd found that a dangerous substance had killed people, they wanted to make sure it was cleaned before anything else. She told it so sweetly, I thought there couldn't be any question about it.

But that's when Caswell's Maester stepped forward. Maester Burwell was a gaunt man with a hooked nose, and a thin red scar around his neck that showed he'd once been hanged. “May I ask you some questions, Lady Ivy?” He asked in a low and rasping voice. “What do you call a medicine that kills someone?”

Azeline squinched up her face a little bit. “A bad medicine?” She hazarded. I could have kissed her for that. Not a suspicious thought in her head.

“What about a man who uses that to kill someone?”

“A bad doctor?” Azeline couldn't see where this was going. She wasn't going to say the word for him, and finally Maester Burwell said it himself- made the accusation that Slaange was a poisoner. It didn't have as much weight as if he'd gotten her to say it, though, and Slaange jumped in at that point, saying that what had spilled was Horsewort, a dangerous but useful plant, frequently powdered. Since his bottles are unlabeled, his pack was little evidence against him.

Caswell wasn't entirely convinced that Slaange was a healer, even so, and at that, I pulled up the leg of my pants to show the scar from the leg wound Slaange had healed. I made a good story of it too, and said that while Slaange was an unconventional healer, I found him very useful. Caswell seemed at the least satisfied by this conclusion, and though Baratheon seemed unhappy about it, my people were all released and their possessions returned to them. I added to Caswell that we would pay the blood price of 15 silver moons for each man accidentally killed, a gesture that was noble enough to pacify him almost entirely. It seemed prudent, even so, to keep Slaange well out of sight for the rest of our stay.

At last, we retired to our rooms. I wanted to talk with Odette, Florie, and Rivenka about how we would go about getting Caswell to do what we wanted, but Odette held up a hand. She checked over the room and found a sliding brick in the fireplace. She said that she didn't think there were any observers right now, but any secret passages meant that we couldn't ever assume we were unobserved in this castle.

We decided that to do what Father wanted – taking a third of the proceeds of the tolls after the houses and gates were paid for, and assuring that no houses of the Reach would pay the tolls – it would be best to make the arrangement public in a way Caswell could not object to. The best way to do that, it seemed, was to announce how pleased we were to see that he had built the toll road for the benefit of the Reach, preferably at a large event.

We could make that large event by convincing him to host the party where I would announce my engagement to Florie. With that, she and I went along with Odette to convince Caswell to host. He was reluctant at first, but Florie's charm, as I well know, is difficult to resist. He and his lady ended up graciously agreeing to do us this honor.