.

10. The Dark

The next morning, Ozai woke up on his back with the thin, rag-like blanket wrapped around him. Sunlight was sifting through the window above, and he heard the hiss of wheels and clang of trays fading down the hallway.

He pushed himself up by the elbow and crawled over to the edge of his cell, looking down at the offerings. Mushy rice and bland-colored vegetables. With a grumble, he took the bowl and settled back onto his mat, hardly an inch from where he had been before.

Once upon a time, he had trained every day. He had practiced firebending for hours longer than his tutors prescribed, gradually matching his brother's talent through sheer discipline. Then he had used those skills to craft a fighting style of his own, supplementing the bending forms with acrobatic moves that others couldn't accomplish, and was satisfied with knowing that he could take on any challenger, even if none came.

Now, Ozai sat slumped against the wall, fiddling with the chopsticks, stretching out the meal for as long as he could to minimize the time he would waste away sleeping. Once he would finish eating, he would look over the bowl and see if there were any markings left by prisoners of the past, and wonder what a coincidence it was that precisely this piece of metal had one day been molded into something he would eat from, and what the metalworker would have thought, had he known.

But just a few minutes later, his thoughts were interrupted by a loud bang. Ozai looked up to see his cell door swing open, spilling a flood of torchlight into the room and revealing the silhouettes of several guards. One of them stepped forward.

"Get up, Thirty-Nine! You're coming with us."

Ozai frowned at the unusual command. The guards had only recently started taking him out for exercise, and even so, they never did it this early in the day. Judging by the stripe of sunlight that glowed on the wall, it was only a few hours after sunrise, whereas his regular time (when it came at all) was in the afternoon. That was when the stripe would vanish, and not long after, a couple of guards would come clunking in to take him away.

But these guards looked different - they were tense and rushed. As they closed in on the cell, Ozai rose to his feet, lowering his gaze mutely as the cage door was opened. One of the guards clasped metal cuffs around his wrists, and two others took him by the arms and led him out. The final guard trailed behind them with a spear in his hand.

Their pomp was admirable, but in vain. Even if he had tried to escape, Ozai knew he wouldn't have gotten far. After five weeks in prison, he had grown lazy and lethargic, and was starting to get unusual reminders about his battle with the Avatar, like small, random aches in his joints, and a back that would pang in protest whenever he twisted it the wrong way. The more time that passed, the more incredible it seemed to him that he had lasted as long as he had, especially after he had triggered that horrid Avatar State.

He could have pestered the guards to provide him with healing, or demand proper-sized food portions, especially during the first few weeks, when the arrangement hadn't seemed completely real. Some of the guards had still feared him then. And none of them had actually seen how the battle had gone, so he could have made his defeat seem as slight and accidental as he wanted. But his heart hadn't been in it.

The guards' footsteps pattered quietly through the hallway, and Ozai followed along, watching their shadows flicker between the torches. After all this time, he still couldn't get used to the numbness he felt when he passed by fire. It was as if the soul in the flames had died, leaving only a surface warmth passing over his skin. There was no connection, no feeling of his life force mingling with that of the fire and becoming one with it. Early on, he had tried to fix himself. He had punched at the air, he had breathed, he had meditated. He had done the most basic firebending forms he knew, the ones taught to fragile children who could hardly make an ember. None of it had worked. The chi in his body was still there, but he had lost his ability to manipulate it.

After a short walk, the guards reached the end of the high-security hallway and turned into a narrower wing, lined with heavy iron doors. They stopped beside one and opened it, revealing a small, brightly-lit room, furnished with a metal table and chairs. Behind the table stood the police captain from the day before. He had his hands behind his back and wore a placid expression. Beside him sat a junior captain, with a blank scroll and quill.

The guards who held Ozai's arms sat him down across from the captain and positioned themselves on either side of his chair. The others left the room, clearing from view to leave the captain at the center of Ozai's vision. The captain frowned in acknowledgment. There were a few metallic whirs as the locks from outside clicked into place, then the captain cleared his throat and placed a long, narrow scroll box onto the table.

"We are going to show you some pictures of people who were in your service," he said. "You are to tell us if you recognize them and say anything else that you know about them."

He removed the lid to reveal a number of scrolls stacked up inside and unrolled one for Ozai to see. It portrait of a man, with early-grayed hair and spiky sideburns.

A catalogue of faces opened in Ozai's mind, six years' worth of plans, meetings, and viewpoints. He thought of playing dumb, of complementing the probably widespread rumors of his physical feebleness with the mental counterpart as well, and puncture a neat hole in whatever plans the captain had for him. At the very least, it would make the interview shorter. But right then, the noble's name resurfaced, and some stubborn part of him made him say it out loud. "Ruon, governor of South Chung-Ling," he answered.

"Is that all?"

"I assure you, being a governor is a great enough responsibility on its own."

The captain paused. "And did he do his job well?"

"Yes."

"Elaborate."

"He was organized," Ozai said. "Loyal. Efficient."

"So, he satisfied you and enjoyed being in your service."

"Had he not, I would not have made him the governor."

"I see." The captain looked down and adjusted the picture on the table. "And what do you know about him, personally?"

"Noble by birth. Family with a long history of service to the palace." With each monotone word Ozai spoke, the junior captain leaned over the scroll and made notes, scratching neat strokes on the paper with his quill. Meanwhile, the picture of Ruon lay on the table, gazing sternly up at the ceiling. His office had probably been ransacked, he himself put to trial. Perhaps his fate was in question that very moment and they were using Ozai's testimony to figure out what to do with him. How brilliant someone must have seemed, suggesting that the old Fire Lord help wipe his own trace from the palace.

After a while, the scratching quill stopped, and the captain looked at Ozai anew. "What about his political career? Was Ruon given high positions by virtue of his birth, or did he have to progress through the ranks?"

"He progressed," Ozai said.

"What work did he do before you appointed him as governor?"

"He assisted the former governor."

"And before that?"

"He was the royal ambassador to South Chung-Ling."

"Before that?"

"An adviser at the palace."

"Before that?"

"An aspiring adviser at the palace."

"Before that?"

"In a crib, presumably."

The scratching quill stopped all of a sudden, and the junior captain looked away, as if stifling a snicker. But the captain didn't flinch. If anything, this seemed to set his sternness even deeper. He began to pace around his side of the table, rubbing his chin.

"Was Ruon ever a member of your elite inner circle?" he finally asked.

"There was no inner circle," Ozai said.

The captain frowned. "But there had to be some nobles you gave more sensitive information to than others."

"Ruon was not one of them."

"Then what about this man?" The captain rummaged through the box and pulled out another scroll. This one showed a noble of similar age, with black hair and a few wrinkles around his eyes. "Ukano, Governor of New Ozai. Is there anything you can tell me about him?"

"Satisfactory," Ozai said. "Obedient. Capable. Loyal.'

The captain laid the sketch down beside Ruon's. "From what I've gathered, Ukano came from a quiet city, fairly distant from the capital. Yet he quickly ascended to political power and gained notoriety through a series of civil accomplishments. And he expressed no concern over the colonization of foreign lands by the Fire Nation. Is that correct?"

"I thought I had made myself clear," Ozai said. "He was the governor of New Ozai. Therefore he supported the existence of New Ozai."

"So he clearly expressed enthusiasm for serving the palace?"

"Yes."

"And he never enjoyed any special privileges or favoritism from you?"

Ozai looked away at the wall. "No."

He didn't bother adding that Ukano was the father of Mai, one of Azula's friends, and that this might have led him to check up on him from time to time and make sure his career was secure. Or that he remembered the girl coming to their courtyard earlier than usual one day, when Zuko approached and said that Azula would arrive soon. The girl had blushed. Zuko hadn't noticed.

(be one, be one, BE one!)

A scowl passed over Ozai's face, and after a moment of more silence, the captain crossed his arms. "I find it hard to believe that there wasn't a single person you trusted more than your other ministers. Not a single person you could name that was more loyal to you than the others."

"You are deluded," Ozai answered. "Loyalty does not come in degrees. One is either loyal, or is not."

The captain gave a shrug. "Then why bother ranking your officials at all? Why not give your secretary the keys to the city?"

"Because a secretary has no need for them. You confuse prestige with duty. I am telling you that there was no prestige, only duty."

At this, the captain's eyebrows climbed. "Then what about your little Phoenix King plan? That seems mighty prestigious, becoming ruler of the world. There had to be some people you were going to promote to help you govern such a large territory." He swept his hand suggestively towards the two portraits. "Or were you just going to do it alone? Did you figure that since you were the Fire Lord, there wasn't any need to bother with everyone else, since they were all insects compared to you?"

Ozai scowled. The captain waited a few moments for a response, and when he didn't get one, he leaned away from the table and continued to pace around. "Fine, then. What about the meetings? Surely you had to collaborate on your plan with somebody."

"Obviously," Ozai said.

"How did the plan come about, then? Did somebody suggest it?"

"I devised it myself. General Shinu reported that the residents of the occupied Earth Kingdom territories were rebelling. Even with Ba Sing Se conquered, the people refused to accept our victory. So I decided that we needed to destroy their hope of rescue."

"And was that the meeting where you formed the whole plan?"

"No. That meeting was the conception. After the Black Sun invasion was defeated, I called several other meetings to turn the plan into a feasible course of action."

"And everybody approved of the plan?"

"Yes."

"Did it ever seem like some people didn't?"

"No."

The captain lifted an eyebrow. "That's very interesting, because under questioning, many of the people who accompanied you on your airships renounced you."

Ozai made no response. They could annex themselves to the undersea kingdom for all he cared. Descend on submarines and live among the fishes. The only thing he wanted now was to go back to his cell, find some comfortable position on his mat, and sleep off the rest of the day. But the captain seemed to be getting more worked up by the minute, walking around his side of the room and peering at Ozai from various angles.

"Did you and your ministers ever come to an agreement that if you failed, some of them would continue the plan on your behalf?" he said.

"No."

The captain looked astonished. "What, so you had no back-ups at all?"

"No."

"Then what were you expecting everyone else to do if you were struck down?"

"I had no reason to speculate."

"So you had no idea that the Avatar was alive?"

"No."

"And did your generals share the same confidence in your plan as you did?"

"Presumably."

"What do you mean, 'presumably'? Did any of them express doubts at your meetings?"

"No."

"So they just sat back and went along with everything you said?"

"No."

"Then explain what they did!"

Ozai jerked his head up at the captain and snarled. "Obviously the plan involved compromises. I had to consult with engineers to construct airships with the necessary capacity. I had to work with my generals to determine the best places to burn the land, the location for our eventual descent, and the procedure for the aftermath. In listening to their ideas and objections I gained a better idea of how to proceed. But nobody questioned the task of burning the Earth Kingdom, because that was what we had come to discuss in the first place — the task of burning the Earth Kingdom."

"Don't play word games with me," the captain said. "I'm not asking you whether they agreed with every little detail of your operation. I'm asking you whether they agreed with the Phoenix plan in principle."

"Presumably," Ozai said through his teeth.

"Based on what?" the captain pressed. "Did the generals agree with all of your plans before?"

"Hardly."

"But which of them were you most like-minded with?"

"Inconsequential."

"To you perhaps, but not to me," the captain said. "Answer."

Ozai's eyes flashed venomously. The captain set his jaw. "Fine. If you need help, I'll go down the list for you." He unrolled another scroll from the box and read from it. "General Shinu. Why was he was promoted and from what?"

"Former commander of the Pouhai Stronghold, promoted due to competence," Ozai said.

"Shen?"

"Former commander, demonstrated strategic competence in battles."

"Bujing?"

"War minister to Azulon. Kept for his skills and memory."

The captain's eyes lit up. "And wasn't he the general Prince Zuko had a dispute with three years ago, which caused the prince to get banished?"

Ozai gritted his teeth. "Yes."

"And how did Bujing react when Prince Zuko returned?"

"He made no reaction."

"Would he have any reason to detest Prince Zuko's rule now?"

"Ask Bujing."

"I am asking you," the captain said. "If everybody welcomed Prince Zuko to the first meeting, why wasn't he there for the ones after the invasion?"

"He abandoned his allegiance to the cause."

"But he voiced no disagreement when he was at the first meeting?"

"No."

"And nobody commented on Prince Zuko's absence?"

"No."

"Then Prince Zuko must have made a public statement beforehand, saying he wouldn't come."

"He didn't."

"Then how did you find out that he wouldn't be there?"

Ozai clenched his fists. "He abandoned his allegiance to the cause!"

"I already gathered that you knew. I am asking you how!" The captain pounded the table with his fist. By now, the junior officer was biting his lip, writing in frantic shorthand to keep up with the conversation. "Did Prince Zuko expressly say so at any point? Did he confide the information to anybody in the palace? Or could the generals have formed a plot to keep him away from the meetings?"

"Fool!" Ozai shouted.

"Because from what you've told me, that seems like a pretty lax attitude for your generals to have about the Crown Prince," the captain said. "Not to mention, one who was banished for three years, then brought back with no notice and declared a hero."

"Then you have answered your own question," Ozai snapped. "The generals were not surprised at the prince's behavior because the prince was in a position of esteem and could be presumed to know what he was doing."

"And yet, it's still a presumption." The captain narrowed his eyes. "I want to know what your ministers thought of Prince Zuko. Every single one of them. Particularly, I want to know their opinions of him before his banishment."

"Varied," Ozai said.

"What was the one you sought to uphold?"

"I upheld nothing."

"But you observed, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"And what did you observe?"

"Variation."

The junior captain pushed aside a scroll of messy, jagged scrawl and unrolled a new one. He frantically dipped his quill into the ink bottle to begin another page, spilling several drops from the shaking tip. But fortunately, the captain laid a hand on his arm to stop him. "It's fine, you don't have to write anymore." He pulled away the ink bottle and took the clean scroll into his hands. After some thought, he placed them both in front of Ozai. "Unchain his hands, please," he said to the guards. "He's going to write something for me."

There was a moment's delay, then the guards approached Ozai and unchained his wrists. Then they pushed his chair closer towards the table.

"Write down the names of every general present in the meeting where Prince Zuko spoke out," the captain said. "And sign it when you're done."

Ozai cast the captain a glare, then took the quill. He wrote eight names, signed his, then pushed the scroll away.

The captain read the paper over and nodded. "Interesting. Now I have another question for you. When you decided it was time for you to become the Phoenix King, why did you name your daughter the new Fire Lord instead of Prince Zuko?"

"Greater competence," Ozai replied. Then, a moment later, he narrowed his eyes. "And if my memory does not fail me, that decree was made public. How do you expect the new Fire Lord to deal with it?"

"He already dealt with it," the captain said. "He defeated Princess Azula in an Agni Kai during Sozin's Comet."

These words drifted off into the silence, dissolved moments later by the sound of rustling paper. But to Ozai, they seemed to hang in the air, slowly seeping into his mind till they cast a numbing haze over his surroundings.

So. That was why.

He felt something shift inside of him, and he looked down at his hands, blinking slowly. Azula losing was impossible by only a margin less than Zuko winning. For as long as he had watched them, she had always been the sharper one, the quicker one. Add ten years of firebending training and there was simply no comparing Azula's sober, expert skill to Zuko's fledgling rashness. But then, Ozai remembered the boy with the swords. The one who had stood his ground. The one who had blasted him into a wall and left him to smolder in his own flames.

For a moment, Ozai saw himself on the pedestal again, looking up through the fence of fire that burned around him. Then, his stupor dissolved into a grimace and he closed his eyes.

Inevitable. All of it. Since the day he was banished…

But suddenly, a loud bang tore him from his thoughts. "Pay attention!"

Ozai looked up. The captain was staring down at him angrily, a fist curled on the table. "I asked you, did your ministers ever group themselves into factions with the aim of influencing your policy?"

Ozai gritted his teeth. "I do not know."

"Strange, for a Fire Lord! Are you really telling me that you weren't aware of something going on in your own palace?"

Ozai didn't answer.

"I'm waiting."

Ozai sat still.

The captain narrowed his eyes. "What, you don't have any idea? Not even the slightest clue?"

Silence.

The captain remained where he was for a while, boring his gaze into Ozai's. But Ozai didn't flinch. After a minute, the captain leaned away from the table. "So. You really do have nothing to say."

Ozai narrowed his eyes. The man was looking at him with a clouded expression, as if he were pondering something. Finally, after a long silence, the captain gave a slow nod.

"I think I understand…" he said. "That throne was all you had. You dealt with people's issues while you had it, but beyond it, there was no meaning in anything for you. Beyond their functions, people meant nothing. Your country meant nothing. Even your own allies meant nothing." He scooped the scrolls back into the box and closed it. "I'm done here," he said to the guards. "You can take him back to his cell now. Let him finish whatever's left of the life he's been spared." The captain walked away towards the door. Midway, he stopped, fixing his gaze on Ozai a final time. "If there's anything left of it at all."

He turned away and reached to knock on the door.

In a flash, Ozai jumped out of his chair, lunged away from the table, and rammed his fist into the captain's nose. The man swayed back, hands flying to his face, but before he could fall Ozai grabbed him by the collar and punched him again. He had time for one more — a clobber that knocked the man to the floor — before a guard caught his arm and held it back.

"Stop!" The guard started to force Ozai's arms behind his back, but Ozai pulled free and shoved him away. He turned back to the captain and pulled him off the ground, but before he could punch him again, one of the red-sleeved arms shot out and hit him in the jaw. Two hands pushed Ozai back, and he skidded towards the table and collided with the edge. But Ozai pushed himself off, lunging at the captain again and swinging his arm. This time, however, the captain caught his fist and locked his grip around it. Ozai retaliated with the other, but the captain caught that one as well, and they pushed against each other for a while, inching back and forth.

Sucking in a breath, Ozai leaned back, heaving both feet into the air, and kicked the captain in the stomach. The captain flew back and collided with the wall, doubling over. Ozai fell to the floor, then quickly crawled away and rose to his feet. The two guards rushed towards him, but Ozai swept out his leg and toppled them. Meanwhile, the junior captain knelt beside the captain and helped him up. The captain lifted his head, revealing a red, livid face, completely devoid of its former composure. As soon as he locked eyes with Ozai, he slipped out of the junior captain's grip and ran forward. Ozai met him in a few strides, and they plunged into a blur of jabs and swipes, striking each other everywhere they could.

The other people in the room were reduced to clumps of noise in the background, fleeing as the men fought with their hands and feet, shoving each other against the table and walls. Just when Ozai would grab hold of the captain's shoulder plates and ram him into the table, the captain would push away from it and knock him into a chair.

Soon, the pauses Ozai took between attacks grew longer, and increasingly often he'd find himself drifting off into a strange contemplation, wondering whether he had always felt this sluggish and whether he was imagining how his hands kept getting slapped away before they reached their target. And each time he snapped back to reality, Ozai became aware that he was stepping back, slowly switching from attacking to defending, while the captain's blows came closer and closer to his body.

Finally, one of his fists flew out and smacked Ozai square in the face. Ozai staggered back, shock blooming inside of him. He barely saw it as the captain curled his arm again and prepared to deliver the final blow.

Ozai turned to the side in haste, aiming to step behind the captain and end up behind his shoulder. But his motions were too slow, and hardly a moment after he started the turn, he felt the captain's fist draw close to his head. Out of reflex, Ozai closed his eyes and ducked, spinning around the rest of the way until he had his back to the captain. Taking another breath, he turned around, curling his fist for a retaliating blow. But the captain was gone.

Ozai stared at the empty wall for a moment. Then, something flitted out from beneath one of the torches and struck him in the eye.

His vision went white, then red. Ozai staggered back as if through water, gaze rolling up towards the ceiling. He hardly noticed how he tipped over his own heels, but soon he was already falling, and by the time his mind caught up to his body something sharp and hard stabbed into the side of his head. There was a moment of searing pain, then it let go and he slumped to the floor.

Seconds later, Ozai opened his eyes and found his cheek pressed against the smooth, sandy stones. From somewhere far away, he heard the guards scurrying around.

"Stop it! Now!"

Hands lifted him from the ground. The room swam back into view, glowing and swimming in stars. The junior captain stood in a corner with his scrolls bunched up in his arms. Nearby, the captain was wiping his mouth. The anger had dropped clean from his face, and now he was looking at Ozai in utter bewilderment. Ozai met his gaze with a snarl, and right then, he felt something warm trickle down the side of his face.

He started to murmur something, but a guard turned him away and pushed him through the open door. The second guard took Ozai's other arm moments later, and they led him down the hallway. Ozai marched along, still scowling at the floor. After the sudden rush of energy, he now felt slow and heavy. At one point, he stopped and reeled forward, but the guards pulled him upright.

"Keep moving!"

They descended several flights of stairs, passed through another corridor, and finally reached a long, dimly-lit room. Here, there were several tiny cells spaced along either wall, each containing a single bed. The guards sat Ozai down on one of them, then an elderly healer approached and began to dab the spot of wet pain on Ozai's head. After a moment, Ozai looked down. Blood was dripping from his hair. It had stained his shirt. The doctor was taking more of it with every wad of gauze he pulled away.

The captain's face swam back into Ozai's mind, narrow-eyed and calculating.

All you had. Nothing without it.

Ozai vowed to hate the man until his dying day.

He sat still while the doctor worked, cleaning up the wound then dabbing it with ointment. Finally, he threaded a large needle and began to sew up the cut. When he was done, he laid Ozai down and moved the pillow beneath his head.

"He should stay the night. He can go back to his cell tomorrow."

The guards murmured in agreement. The doctor locked the cell door and pushed his supply cart away into the depths of the room.

Left alone, Ozai lay on his back, listening to the dull throbbing in his head. Painful as it was, it cleared his mind. Soon, his thoughts untangled themselves and settled back into their usual pattern. Koans. Folk stories. Next meal…

Time passed in stillness. Occasionally, there was a rustle of sheets from the other side of the room as a prisoner shifted in one of the beds. Ozai heard murmuring, and often saw the man lift two bandaged hands and tug anxiously at the gauze. Then he'd flip over onto his other side and settle down.

After a few hours, the door to the infirmary opened, and a guard came in with a mop and bucket. It was the man with the long ponytail, the one who often did food rounds on Ozai's floor. The guard strolled towards the back of the room and began to wash the floor in the corner, slowly working his way towards the front cells. As he came close to the other occupied bed, the prisoner suddenly jerked up and reached out to him.

"Bones! Bones, son! I need the bones!"

The guard shook his head. "No. We're not having any meat today or tomorrow. You'll have to wait." He started to mop again, but then he seemed to notice a look of dejection on the prisoner's face and gave a sigh. "Bones are what got you here in the first place. If you keep burning yourself with that fire trick of yours, the warden might make it so that you don't get any meat with bones at all. So calm down." He picked up the bucket and moved on.

As he passed by Ozai's cell, the guard lifted his gaze involuntarily and found Ozai's face. His eyes widened, and he quickly dropped his gaze.

He moved on to clean the floor beneath the worktables that stood near the front, and moments later, the door to the infirmary creaked open again. Another guard poked his head inside.

"Hey, Kinchil. Dinner rounds are starting soon."

The guard with the ponytail nodded. "All right. Just let me finish up." He soaked up the remaining water, wrung out the mop, and lifted the bucket. The other guard stepped inside slightly, and they met near the door.

"I can't believe it," the newcomer murmured. "Two high-security prisoners in one day."

"I know. I heard a few people talking... What exactly happened?"

"Ito said there was a fight. The captain of the Royal Police came to interrogate him again."

"Oh."

The newcomer looked over to the other cell. "What happened to the Commander?"

"He talked with the Dragon-bird spirit too long and burned himself."

The newcomer chuckled dryly. "So he's still trying to contact Azulon, huh?"

"Yep."

Ozai's eyes widened. From behind the door, he heard the newcomer sigh. "Don't worry, you'll get used to it. A few months ago, he got obsessed with connecting to some obscure sage and spent two weeks debating cosmology."

"I wonder what he wants from Azulon so badly, then," the other guard muttered.

"Probably to rub something in his face."

"Heh..."

With that, the guards filed out of the room and let the door fall closed.

Lingering in the resulting silence, Ozai tuned back into his thoughts and became aware that his pulse had quickened. He lifted his head from the pillow and squinted. The other patient was still asleep. But his head was turned towards the torchlight, revealing a mop of brown hair and a tangled beard. Ozai lowered his head back down.

He slept through the rest of the night, and the next morning, the doctor sat him up and dabbed his face with a warm towel. He inspected the stitches, then tied a thick white cloth around Ozai's head. Two guards lifted him up and helped him towards the door.

Ozai walked slowly, and upon nearing the other patient's cell, he squinted and peered inside. Its occupant was awake. He was sitting up and staring pensively at his lap, but as Ozai passed by, he looked up. Despite his degraded state, the man's eyes seemed to gleam. The two of them held contact for a moment, then the man seemed to lose interest and looked away, muttering to himself some more. But his face remained impressed in Ozai's mind, and long after he left the infirmary, Ozai continued to ponder it.

And remembered him.