I admit I might have made a mistake when I put that part with Jaime and Tyrion in the last chapter, because I suppose it takes a bit longer for a raven to fly from King's Landing to Casterly Rock than one day (to be honest, I haven't got a clue how much time it takes for that journey by any means of transportation), but I really, really wanted it to be there, so I'd be lying if I said I was sorry. In case it might cause a bit of confusion, this chapter is happening the day after Cersei arrived to King's Landing. Just so you know.
Virtual cookies to everyone who spot a Lord of the Rings reference :)
In contrast to her nervous heartbeat that pounded loudly in her ears, Cersei walked soundlessly after her father through corridors that led from their lodgings in the Tower of the Hand to the room where the Small council meeting was to take place. Father not once turned to check whether she was still following him. She nearly had to run to keep up with his pace, but she refused to ask him to slow down, biting her lip just in case. He wouldn't hear her complain, not on the first day.
When they finally reached their destination, they were greeted by the sight of five men standing up from the long wooden table they'd been sitting at and bowing their heads in their direction. She knew their names and offices; Father had insisted she memorized them this morning as they had been breaking their fast. He gestured to her to stand into a corner behind two chairs that weren't taken, close to another, smaller table with two jugs on it. When she turned to gaze at the room again, he was already seated, next to the only remaining empty chair at the head of the table.
Cersei waited for his signal, but it never came. Nobody managed to utter a single word, for the door swung open again, the sudden gust blowing breath away from everyone's lips. Cersei swallowed hard at the sight of the newcomer, instantly lowering herself down into a curtsy. After yesterday's incident, she had no desire to be anywhere near the king or to accidentally draw his attention to herself.
"Your Grace." Wood creaked against stone as the six men rose to their feet swiftly as if they had been sitting on embers.
King Aerys' steps echoed the silent room as he made his way to his seat. When they ceased, Cersei dared raise her gaze, certain the danger (at least for her) had passed.
A heartbeat earlier, she somehow knew what was coming. Her breath caught. Her eyes met the king's.
"Come here, girl." He commanded, staring at her fixedly.
Under any other circumstances, she wouldn't hesitate to let her fury at having been addressed like a common servant girl be known. There and then, she kept her mouth shut and her expression neutral. She obeyed his command in perfect silence, keeping her eyes on the king, daring not to steal even a glance at Father.
"You forgot the wine." The king's eyes sparked mockingly. "You're not going to be of much use as a cupbearer empty-handed, are you?"
Cursing herself silently for her mistake, Cersei made as if to turn around, but his voice made her freeze in her movements.
"You never turn your back on your king, girl."
The threating note in his voice wrapped around her throat like a pair of hands and squeezed, leaving her breathless. She turned to him with her head bowed and strode backwards until her back bumped against the table. Her hands roamed the surface behind her back until they found one of the jugs, nearly knocking it over in the process. She took the jug into her shaking hands and pressed it against her front, before gliding to the table without a sound, as inconspicuous as a ghost of the past.
(Only this ghost was actually real and visible to everyone in the room.)
"Pour." The king raised his goblet towards her.
The jug was heavy as she lifted it to pour the crimson liquid into his goblet, but she forced herself to remain utterly still. She counted her breaths – or her heartbeats, she wasn't sure – feeling eyes boring into her, waiting for a mistake, for a proof that Lannisters weren't impeccable, that she was flawed, even if her father wasn't.
The king's goblet was nearly full. She stopped pouring and turned to her father. He shot the briefest glance at his own goblet that stood on the table before his eyes returned to hers. Feeling his gaze on her face, she filled the goblet almost to the top and then started to withdraw soundlessly from the table, the weight of the jug and the pressure in her mind slightly relieved.
"I haven't given you permission to leave."
She froze where she stood. Her hands and the jug in it trembled in the rhythm with her frantic heartbeat.
"Come here." With a wave of hand, King Aerys gestured to her to return to the empty space between himself and her father.
She had no idea how she had made her paralyzed legs move when her lungs barely seemed capable of taking breath. All she knew was that she was moving forward when her every instinct screamed at her to turn on her heel and run in the opposite direction. All too soon, she found herself at the spot the king had intended for her, her throat burning with breath she didn't dare let out.
Her arm jerked instinctively when his fingers wrapped around her wrist. His grip tightened to the point of pain; she turned to glare at him without meaning to, in shock and indignation equally.
"You better learn your place here quickly, girl." He snarled contemptuously, his nails scratching the soft skin on her wrist nearly to the point of bleeding. She couldn't find it in herself to be angry any longer; now her heart was thundering with pure terror. "You are a servant and I will not tolerate your insolence."
He dropped her hand with so much force she nearly stumbled. Then he pressed the goblet against his lips and dried it in a few gulps, to the last drop.
"Pour more." Metal thudded against wood as the goblet landed forcefully on the table.
She did, without any objection or hesitation. As terrified as she was, it was a miracle she didn't spill a single drop.
"Now leave." He said when she was done, his lip curled menacingly. "This is no place for little girls."
Tears of humiliation formed in the corners of her eyes, but she blinked fiercely, refusing to let them fall. Not there. Not in front of him.
(Bow down. Breathe. Walk away. Breathe.)
Her legs carried her through stone corridors, past walls, doors and people, past eyes and voices. The world became unclear beyond the veil of tears and the noise her heartbeat made masked all other sounds. She just wanted to hide somewhere away from the world, somewhere nobody could see scars of shame reflected in her eyes.
He called me a servant. Me – a Lannister. Me.
Voices grew distant until they faded into silence. She kept pressing forward, as if possessed, until her path was blocked by a doubled door. She curled her fingers around the cold metal of doorknobs and pressed down fiercely, wishing they would break, imagining she was holding the king by the shoulders, imagining him fall, break, die…
When she raised her eyes again, she found herself facing creatures that had used to haunt her nightmares.
(Not anymore.)
Gritting her teeth, she marched through the empty throne room, keeping her eyes on the high seat it was named for. When she ascended the stairs, she turned on her heel with her skirts floating about her and seated herself on the throne made of swords of those who had refused to bend the knee. Her lips curled into a proud grin as she surveyed her surroundings, she above all, a goddess out of reach of men.
Queen you shall be. Whatever came later, this part would come true, that she swore. I'm a Lannister. I'm nobody's servant.
Absently, she leaned her forearms on armrests only to wince when she felt sharp pain piercing her right palm. When she raised her hand, blood was trickling down flushed flesh, painting the metal beneath red.
Suddenly, hairs rose on the back of her neck. She was being watched.
However, there was nobody in the room but her – and the dragons.
She clenched her fist slowly, gasping when nails ran into the wound, but letting out no sound. She watched in fascination as the blood kept dripping from her hand onto the blades, marking the Iron throne – for her.
I'm not scared of you. She raised her head and bared her teeth back at the skulls, glaring at them boldly. Dragons bled and dragons died.
She hadn't even realized she had moved until she saw her own blood-stained hand reach towards one of the skulls, the one that seemed to watch her with most defiance. It wasn't even the largest skull in the room (she could easily tell the skull of the Black Dread from others), but there was something…challenging in the darkness of those empty eyes, as though they were daring her to prove her courage. Her heart indeed trembled for a moment, as did her hand, but then a lioness within roared and she laid her hand on the skull, feeling the blood spread beneath her palm where skin and bone touched.
This time when the pain surged, she did scream. It felt as if she was being skinned alive, only the layers that were pilled off first were the ones that lay the deepest within her, the invisible blade cutting through both flesh and thought with unnatural ease.
A heartbeat later it was over, as if it had never happened.
She would have thought she had imagined it all, was it not for the smell of burned flesh in the air around her and the cauterized wound on her hand. The blood was dry on her skin, copper rather than crimson, as if it had been there for hours, not mere moments. She looked at the skull uncertainly, searching for an explanation, but was denied as it remained silent and motionless.
Swallowing hard, she backed away, her knees suddenly feeling weak. Too many eyes, too many…of them. By the time she left the throne room, she was running as if every demon of Seven Hells was after her, her own heartbeat sounding like a monster's roar to her ears.
Dragons had bled, yes, but had they truly died as well?
"Your Grace, Lady Lannister is here."
Rhaella raised her head, separating her itching eyes from the book on her lap. Sleep had refused to come to her the previous night; she had lain awake for hours, staring into the darkness, seeing faces. Thinking of Viserys. Of Rhaegar. Not thinking of her husband. Of Joanna.
Two people were standing at her door, white and crimson, silver and gold. Not an unfamiliar sight, though the performers were different.
Gods did love their little games, didn't they?
"Your Grace." Cersei Lannister murmured softly, nearly inaudibly. Long golden locks hid her face from Rhaella's sight, her head bowed low, almost like a condemned man in expectation of beheading.
It took a moment for Rhaella to reconcile the sight before her with Lady Lannister she had spoken to the day before. Gone was the excited smile, twin of Joanna's, and the bold gaze of Tywin's cold eyes. Gone was the pride of lions from her features, leaving only a kitten behind.
"Come in." The queen said, careful not to let her surprise show in either her face or voice. She had mastered the skill of concealing her true feelings long ago; being the wife of Aerys Targaryen required that particular ability to be polished to perfection.
As Cersei approached her, Rhaella's gaze came to rest on two guards in Lannister colours who had accompanied the girl to the queen's chambers. One was quite a few years older than Rhaella, grey and black intertwining in his hair and beard, the corners of his eyes and mouth filled with lines left by years that passed. The other man was of the same age as her eldest son or a bit older, less beautiful, less majestic, but also less sad.
(Or less sad than Rhaegar had been before his departure for Casterly Rock.)
"You may leave. There's no need for you to wait here." She told them, trying to sound kind. The older man opened his mouth to protest immediately, but she spoke again before he managed to voice his objection, this time remarkably more sternly. "Ser Arthur will escort Lady Lannister back to her chambers. Surely Lord Hand will agree his daughter's honour cannot be better protected."
After a moment of hesitation, the man swallowed his words and bowed his head.
"Your Grace."
Rhaella's eyes met Ser Arthur's. For a long moment, the queen and the knight stared at each other, their thoughts unsaid, but understood. She nodded briefly and the knight bowed, then withdrew back into the hallway in front of her chambers and closed the door, leaving her and her guest alone in the room.
"Please, sit." She gestured to Lady Lannister to join her at the table already filled with plates with food on them.
The girl did as was asked of her, seating herself on Rhaella's left, but still hadn't looked directly at the queen. She filled the empty plate in front of her with food, but judging by the way she slowly put grapes into her mouth, it seemed more like an attempt to busy her hands and excuse not to speak rather than a case of hunger needing to be quenched. Her silence and refusal to raise her eyes gave Rhaella a chance to study her closely, even if it tugged at memories she wanted to left buried, opened wounds that had never really truly healed.
So much of Tywin in her features, yet her mouth, lips and dimples, are Joanna's.
(Words probably not – Tywin's influence was too strong and had lasted for too long without anything to counter it. Did the girl even remember Joanna?)
"How do you find King's Landing, Lady Lannister?" She asked conversationally, not taking her eyes off the face hidden behind golden locks.
Startled, Cersei flinched on her seat, as if she had forgotten where she was. Beneath her mask of amicability, Rhaella wondered at this unexpected reaction. A daughter of one of the most powerful Houses in Westeros simply wouldn't be so careless as to be caught absentminded while dining with the queen. Joanna had always been attentive when spoken to and it would be easier to kill a lion with one's bare hands than witness Tywin Lannister being inappropriately lost in his thoughts.
Rather than of any of her parents, Cersei's reaction reminded Rhaella…of Rhaegar.
Must the gods really be so cruel?
"It's…beautiful." The brief pause before the last word gave away the girl's uncertainty of her choice of words. "It's… much warmer than in the West."
It was strange, seeing her so reluctant to speak or even make an eye contact after she had been bristling with confidence the day before. As to what had caused such change, it wasn't a hard guess, if one trusted rumours born that day sometime before noon.
"I must admit I have never visited your home." Rhaella said, wanting to make the young lady feel more at ease. She had no intention of mentioning the events at the Small Council's meeting, not unless Cersei initiated the conversation on that subject. "I have been told it is captivating, a labyrinth of rocks that cannot be conquered."
"Yes." Cersei nodded, green eyes lighting up for a moment. "If Loren Lannister hadn't ridden out to meet Balerion, Vhagar and Meraxes and their riders on the Fields of Fire, perhaps not even dragonflame would have driven him outside."
It was stated proudly, not arrogantly, and with clear admiration not only for her own ancestors, but for Rhaella's as well, and their mounts. The queen herself had often dreamt of being a dragonrider when she had been younger (and not only then), longing for distant places, for freedom she had never known.
(For love she could give and receive freely.)
She forced herself to snap out of those musings. They led nowhere but into the darkness.
"I know remains aren't as impressive as the real dragons," She took a gulp of wine in between words, "But perhaps you would like to see their skulls in the throne room?"
To her surprise, a sudden shadow of fear darkened the emerald eyes.
"Do you…" The girl swallowed nervously, but found the steel within to finish the sentence. "Do you know which skull belonged to which dragon? Your Grace?"
Strange words said in even stranger tone.
"You sound like you've already seen them." Rhaella observed, the unasked question lingering between them.
"I have." Cersei nodded hesitatingly. "When…when I first came to King's Landing."
It had slipped Rhaella's mind this wasn't Cersei's first visit to the capital. Everything had been so different back then; it might have all happened in another life.
"You were quite young." She said. "I didn't think you remembered."
"I remember very little, Your Grace." The girl's tone was on the brink of apologetic, but then turned firmer. "But I do remember the skulls."
The girl and the woman stared at each other in absolute silence for a few moments, the sight of the dead dragons hovering above them, waiting for a single sound, like one treacherous beat of heart, that would awake them.
"We know some of them." Rhaella replied at last; her voice sounded slightly breathless even to her own ears. "First and foremost, those you have just mentioned."
Cersei nodded, but said nothing. Rhaella watched her carefully, but unfortunately, her observations weren't of much use. It seemed she wasn't the only person in the room capable of crafting a flawless mask.
"Why do you ask?" Perhaps words would reveal the secrets features refused to give up. "Why does it matter, which skull belonged to which dragon?"
"I…" Cersei paused, but then shrugged her shoulders. "I would just like to know."
Her innocent answer seemed genuine. Rhaella sighed inwardly, feeling old and infinitely tired. Hadn't she and Aerys, a long, long time ago when something as innocent and pure as love had existed between them, posed that same question to their grandfather Aegon? Hadn't they been absolutely absorbed in his stories of different times, of dragons and men and women who rode them? He had been a man of so many stories, her grandfather, about other people's adventures as much as his own. He and Grandmother were the only ones who had taken Rhaella's side when she had told her father she didn't want to marry Aerys. But Father had insisted they were to wed, fiercely encouraged by Uncle Duncan's wife and the witch that had followed her wherever she went. Rhaella had never voiced her thoughts, being too dutiful a daughter, niece and granddaughter, but she loathed those women. Jenny of Oldstones and her witch companion had been dead for years, but flames of unadulterated hatred still burned brightly within Rhaella, unblemished by passage of time. If anything, she hated them more with each new day that made Aerys more paranoid and violent. It was their fault she was stuck in a loveless marriage with a man who at times didn't even seem sane. Just because of some alleged dreams about a Prince Who Was Promised.
"Well, I can have somebody show them to you tomorrow." She offered, firmly shoving thoughts of the despised women aside.
Cersei nodded gratefully. "Thank you, Your Grace."
The shadows still hadn't quite left her eyes.
Had she really been so deeply affected by Aerys' words? Rhaella guessed it wasn't impossible. In the earlier days of their marriage, she had blamed herself for his behaviour towards her, believing she had wronged him in some way; what else could have made him humiliate her at every given opportunity? In time, she had learned he mistreated her simply because he could; she knew better than anyone what it was like to be the target of his cruelty.
And nobody ever cared; not Father, not Mother, not…
No, that wasn't true. One person had cared. However, that person had died and left Rhaella feeling all alone in the world. If it weren't for her sons…
"Perhaps Rhaegar would be willing to show you the skulls." She forced her lips to shape a smile that masked her dark thoughts.
After all, it was Rhaegar who had asked her to dine with Cersei, probably to get to know her. He had never shown interest in a lady before that went beyond gallantry and politeness; his desire for them to get acquainted was peculiar as much as precarious. He couldn't have picked a lady that was more dangerous for him to care for, not with the conflict between the king and his Hand constantly bubbling beneath the surface. Rhaella knew she shouldn't be encouraging their interactions, but she couldn't help her curiosity or escape the feeling of inevitability.
Joanna's daughter. Of all people.
With her eyebrows raised and her mouth slightly open, Cersei seemed surprised by her suggestion. A golden spark illuminated her eyes, though, making her look like a child who had been given a new toy.
That's what she is after all. A child, caught up in a dangerous game.
"I…" Cersei lowered her eyes shyly, a blush covering her cheeks. "I would be honoured if the prince would show them to me."
Suddenly, Rhaella struggled to keep memories at bay, memories of her first (and only) love. Going out of her way to see him. Meeting his eyes across the room. Feeling his hand brush against hers as he walked by. Watching him riding into the distance, never to return.
"I will ask him." She promised, grateful she didn't have to utter that many words. Her voice would have broken soon enough under the weight of years and years of suppressed feelings.
I'm the queen. She thought bitterly. I ought to be stronger.
(If I were stronger, I wouldn't let Aerys treat me as he has. I would defy him. I would fight him.
But she couldn't, not with Rhaegar and especially Viserys vulnerable to his rage. Her children were all she had, all that made cling onto life. She had lost too many of them to death to risk losing her two precious boys. No parent should have to bury their child.)
"Thank you, Your Grace." Cersei's voice, filled with genuine happiness, snapped Rhaella out of her musings.
The girl was smiling for the first time since she had entered the queen's chambers; despite the storm of emotions raging within her, Rhaella found herself smiling back, more sincerely this time. If there was no way of escaping the intertwining of fates of Houses Lannister and Targaryen, it brought her comfort as a mother to know her son apparently wouldn't be condemned to a loveless marriage like she was. Of course, it would demand effort on both his and Cersei's part, but they already seemed to hold more affection for each other than Rhaella remembered ever having held for her brother-husband.
She considered asking more questions, feeling she had barely scratched the surface, but she found the silence too pleasant to interrupt it. Besides, there would be other opportunities for them to speak; Tywin surely wouldn't send his daughter back to Casterly Rock so soon, despite Aerys' shaming of her. If anything, he would expect her to learn to deal with it (if that would even be necessary – today had been the first time in months Aerys had joined his Small Council and he surely wouldn't change his idling habits just to humiliate a ten-year-old girl, whoever she might be). Rhaella decided she would keep an eye on her, both for her and for Rhaegar's sake, even if it meant putting up with Joanna's ghost haunting her.
(Though in less solid form than a young girl, Joanna's ghost had been haunting her for years anyway.)
"Ser Arthur will escort you back to your chambers." She said softly when they were finished with their meal, having previously gestured to one of her maids to summon the knight.
She then rose to her feet, allowing Cersei to stand up as well.
Smile still lingering on her lips, Cersei curtsied gracefully. "Your Grace."
Behind her back, Ser Arthur appeared at the door.
"Ser Gwayne will stay with you until I return, Your Grace."
"Who stands guard in front of Viserys' chamber?" She asked straightaway.
"Ser Barristan, Your Grace." He replied reassuringly, not needing her to pose other questions on her mind. "Ser Jonothor and Ser Gerold are guarding the king and Ser Oswell Prince Rhaegar."
She let out an inward breath of relief. Her family was safe and well-guarded. Despite Aerys' treatment of her, it was her duty to care about him.
It wasn't her duty to care about her sons. That she did out of love.
"I will see you tomorrow." Cordially, she nodded her goodbye at Cersei.
The girl curtsied once again silently and then followed Ser Arthur. When the door closed behind them, Rhaella closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. Behind her eyelids, she saw Joanna's face, as clearly as though the woman was standing right in front of her.
She has your smile, one that melts ice and ensnares hearts. Nobody could hear her unsaid words, but Joanna always could. Always. But she isn't you and Rhaegar isn't Aerys. Let us hope history won't repeat itself.
Lost in his thoughts, Rhaegar stared absently at the flickering flames, the only light in a vast room deep beneath the Red Keep. Judging by the amount of dust on the floor, the perfect grey surface ruined by footprints left by his boots, nobody had set foot there for years, maybe even decades. It was a perfect place for secret rendezvous, abandoned and forgotten.
What did Maegor intend this room for when he commanded it was to be built? Or had it been Visenya's idea to have it here? Whatever the case, they surely didn't intend it for this – to be useless.
Perhaps it had been meant for secret meetings even back then. It was separated by thick wooden door from the rest of the castle, in case any soul accidentally ventured in its direction. The door would cut off any sound made, even that of two swords clashing in battle.
He only needed someone to hold the other sword.
(The dragon has three heads, but there have always been only two swords.)
The sound of wood creaking snapped him out of his thoughts. He raised his head and saw a silhouette scraping through the narrow space between the door and the doorpost. When the light from the torch she was carrying illuminated her face, he saw her eyes wander about curiously as she absorbed her surroundings. She didn't seem afraid; Arthur must have told her he would be expecting her.
"Lady Lannister." He called softly, so she wouldn't be startled by his presence.
She shot him a quick smile before curtsying. "My prince."
"Forgive me for the hour and the place of our meeting." He motioned briefly at their surroundings. "But for now, it will have to do."
He had asked Mother to invite her to dinner so Arthur could afterwards lead her here, instead of accompanying her back to her chambers. The queen thought she had returned to the Tower of the Hand and Tywin would assume, for a little while longer at least, that she was still in Rhaella's chambers. They had at least an hour before Cersei's absence would be noticed. His absence, on the other hand, wasn't so unusual, given his inclinations towards isolating himself so he could read and play harp in peace. He had left his room (and Ser Oswell in front of it) with the harp in his hands, so any spy of his father's would only snicker in the shadows at his love for music, thinking him too soft and too absorbed in such a feminine activity to ever pose any real threat to the king.
(However, their opinion reverted every time they saw him with a sword in his hand.)
He handed her one of the swords he had left there that morning, after he and Arthur had finished practicing swordplay. Her fingers curled around the hilt without hesitancy; when she raised the sword towards him, he couldn't find a single detail in her posture that needed correction.
"You look like you've done this before, my lady." He remarked enquiringly, allowing the tip of his blade to meet hers.
For a moment, her eyes ceased to meet his, as if his words had stirred a painful memory. It could have all been his imagination, for the corners of her lips curled up mischievously. There was something decisively bold about that smile, something that made his blood grow warmer in his veins.
"I sometimes switched places with my brother when we were younger." She admitted with pride. "We looked so alike back then nobody was able to tell us apart. I got to learn something about swordplay."
He could see her clearly, shorter and thinner than she was now, but with the same golden hair whirling around her as she tried to master lessons meant for her brother, in his mind's eye. The sight – and an unexpected fondness for her rebellious streak – lured a smile to his lips.
"I will teach you the rest, my lady."
Just as he was about to swing his sword, she took a breath, implying she wasn't done speaking.
"Cersei."
It was said more like a dare than a request. To his surprise, he found himself intrigued rather than insulted.
"You will be teaching me to be a warrior." She said as an answer to his inquiring silence. "Not a lady."
There weren't many things that amused him, but her nerve did. She was testing the boundaries between them already. To his surprise, he felt inclined to indulge in that game. For now, until he was certain she was mature enough to stop playing.
"My lady." He bowed slightly, shooting her a challenging grin.
In a heartbeat, their blades started composing a song of steel.
"Too slow, brother."
The defeated one refused to drop the sword until the tip of the other blade, thinner than the one in his hand, came to linger too close to the soft skin on the side of his throat.
"Alright, I give up!" He threw his sword into dirt in frustration.
It was so satisfying to watch him lose control like that. The blade remained where it was.
"You have more time to work on your skills, is all!" He protested fiercely – a stupid move, given that he was now empty-handed. "And you got lucky." He added in calmer tone.
A mocking chuckle echoed the yard; the thinner blade returned to its sheath.
"I'm simply better at swordplay, brother. Sooner or later, you'll have to accept it."
"Can we go flying now?" Third person joined them in the empty yard, a silver-haired girl younger than the two, an excited smile playing on her lips.
As if summoned by her question, a shadow appeared above them, covering the sun. As one, they smiled at the girl.
"Of course, Rhaen…"
That's enough.
A/N: Just in case it was unclear, this last bit in italic was a dream sequence. As to whose and what it meant, I'm leaving the guesses to you.
As for reviews left by guest reviewers, here's my answer that kind of concernes all of them. Yes, I believe that as far as ASOIAF world is concerned, all prophecies do come true, but rarely in the way the characters expect them to. Just because Cersei's life isn't going to be the same as it was in cannon, it doesn't mean she'll be any happier in this version. The destination is still more or less the same, even if the path that leads to it isn't. I really can't say more, because it'll spoil the story. You'll just have to wait and see.