The Winter Witch

II:II

Three months earlier...

Robb's eyes fluttered as he came to, a slight moan escaping his lips. His body felt sore, but he wasn't dead - so that was a positive. His eyes opened and he took in the bright, light and airy space; his hand, lying at his side, smoothed over incredibly soft fabric.

He was on a small bed, with a strange metal frame. There were white curtains around him, but not from a poster bed; they were just fabric dividers between himself and, as he turned his head, to the empty bed next to him. There were four other beds to his right, reaching the end of the room. There, a large open window gave a tantalizing glimpse of beyond. The sun was shining, there was a mountain range in the distance, and he could see the gently shifting leaves of trees in full summer bloom. The air that wafted in from outside was warm and sweet, and there were calls of birds chirping and singing.

Outside the ward he was in, it was the throes of summer; but when he was at the Twins for the summit, reports of snowfall in the North had trickled in from the White Harbour. Had he lost that much time?

Robb turned his head to the left this time and nearly startled himself off the bed. A young, lean man with messy black hair was slumped in a chair at his table's side, his chin touching his chest as soft snores escaped him every so often. His arms were crossed, and his legs were straight in front of him, one ankle resting on the other.

His clothes were the oddest, Robb decided, eyeing him warily. He had blood red over robes, which were open and pooling on the floor, but underneath he wore a nicely pressed black tunic of some sort with buttons running up the middle tucked into his trousers, which were similar to Lady Hermione's "jeans."

"Poppy! Madame Pomfrey!" a voice across from Robb called loudly, and the man snorted and then was immediately out of his seat, emerald eyes wide behind strangle circular frames and a wand in his hand as he scanned for danger, "The man is awake! As is Auror Potter!"

The man - Auror Potter - turned to Robb, who remained on the bed, warily eyeing him back. There was something familiar about the man, something that had Robb thinking he had seen him before or heard his name before, but as far as he knew, there were no Potters in the North or the Riverlands.

Robb turned back to the male voice that called for the Maester, and Robb's eyes went wide as he realized the call came from a large portrait of a man in a lime green robe next to a cauldron. Auror Potter's eyes followed his, and he stifled a laugh.

"Yeah, the portraits move," he said with a soft sigh. He ran a hand through his messy hair, making it worse, just as a woman in white robes over a strangely scandalous white dress that ended at her knees appeared behind one of the cloth partitions. She was much older, with a shock of white, curly hair pulled neatly back from her face. She too was carrying a wand.

"Mr. Potter," she admonished, "You were to call me when our patient awoke."

"He was asleep!" helpfully called the man in the portrait, causing the woman to glare at the man.

Potter looked sheepish and dipped his head, grinning up at the woman - Madam Pomfrey - who sighed loudly.

"Trouble you are," she said, although fondly. She turned back to Robb, waving her wand over him. Having spent time with Hermione, he didn't move, but he did tense slightly. Potter noticed this.

"Been around magic, have you?" he questioned, eyes narrowing.

"You carry wands," said Robb unnecessarily. "Like Lady Hermione?"

The man tensed and Madame Pomfrey stopped waving her wand over his body. Robb swallowed.

"Lady Hermione?" repeated Potter, a steely note in his voice.

Robb nodded, slowly. "This…" he looked around, taking in the high ceilings but the moving portraits, the wands in Potter and Pomfrey's hands, the strange thrum in the air, and finished, "This is Hogwarts, is it not?"

Potter and Pomfrey shared a glance. Potter then said, "It is. How do you know that?"

"Lady Hermione told me about it," said Robb cautiously, the memories coming to him quickly now. Auror Potter was Harry Potter, one of Hermione's best friends.

"And where is Lady Hermione now?" snapped Potter, leaning forward over the bed to lean close to Robb's face. "What have you done with her? Where is she? If you've hurt her-!"

"Mr. Potter!" snapped Pomfrey, physically shoving him back from the bed. "If you wouldn't mind saving your inquisition of my patient until after I make sure he's healed from that rather horrid stab wound…!"

"Healed?" asked Robb, glancing down at his stomach.

The woman sniffed. "Yes - utterly barbaric Muggle weapons. Hagrid - our groundskeeper - found you and brought you to us right away. I was able to stop the bleeding and patch you up easily, although you might need a good day or so before your muscles don't seize. You'll be a bit sore, anyway."

Potter, at the side, had his arms crossed and scowled deeply. "Are you done, Madam Pomfrey?"

The woman whirled on him and scolded, "Don't you take that tone with me, Harry Potter! I've seen you in here more often than I liked over the years, and while I always healed you up, I won't hesitate to stick you in one of these beds, either!"

Cowed, the man mumbled a contrite sorry as Robb said, slowly, "Harry Potter? Hermione's best friend?"

As Pomfrey left, muttering under her breath, Potter turned to face Robb and nodded. His tone was still distrustful and there was anger, but he seemed to be controlling himself when he asked, "Yeah. Who're you?"

Robb shifted, not wanting to have this conversation flat on his back. There was a twinge of discomfort around his middle, but nothing that suggested he was bleeding out or nearly died. "Robb Stark," he said, debating to add 'King in the North,' but ultimately deciding against it.

"And how do you know Hermione?"

"She's-" Robb bit off the sentence.

What could he say? Hermione was - what? His friend? Certainly. His witch? Undoubtedly; she had done more for him and his cause than an entire army. But she was more than that, else he wouldn't have had Torrhen assigned as her personal guard - she was someone precious to him. He wanted more than friendship from her, without a doubt, and he was currently looking for a way out of the Frey alliance his mother had brokered - although, he thought darkly, with them breaking guest rights at the summit, I am definitely free of them for good.

"She's what?" asked an increasingly frustrated Harry Potter.

"She's just… her," he finished lamely. "My friend, I suppose."

Harry sighed and collapsed into the chair he was in previously, and Robb winced at the graceless move, at the slouch the man presented. Maester Luwin and his father would've had his hide for it.

Harry had his head in his hands, breathing heavily. Robb saw a faint tremor in the man's shoulders, as though he was struggling to control his emotions.

"Where is she?" asked Harry finally, quietly.

"Most likely with the rest of the army," answered Robb, just as quietly, causing Harry's head to snap up. "In the Wolfswood, if the Portkey worked properly." At Harry's look, he elaborated, "We all had the same Portkey. The fact that I am not… where I should be, makes me hesitant that she's where she should be."

"Where's this Wolfswood?" asked Harry. "Somewhere here in Britain?"

"Britain?" echoed Robb. "Um - no. Lady Hermione mentioned she was from a different universe…"

Harry swore under his breath and mumbled something uncomplimentary about a man named Dumbledore. He turned his emerald eyes on Robb and asked, sternly, "Then how did you get here?"

"I'm not sure," said Robb.

"How did Hermione get to your world?" pressed Harry, his voice hard.

Robb shook his head. "I'm not sure."

The man growled, standing and pacing the small space between Robb's bed and the curtain. "How long has she been in your world?"

"About a year," answered Robb warily, watching the man pace and the edge of his robe snap sharply at his turns.

"Is she safe? Is she okay?" bit out Harry. "You mentioned an army - yours, I take it? Has she been fighting? Was she hurt?"

"Lady Hermione is as safe as she can be," replied Robb, miffed at the idea of him not taking care of the woman he felt deeply for, "And while she has been in a few battles, her magic protects her and when it cannot, the guard I assigned her - my friend and loyal subject - does the rest. She's spent most of her time in the library at Riverrun searching for a way back here, or with me, counselling me and my men."

A stricken look spread over Harry's face as he stared at Robb. "Then how do we get her back?"

Robb turned his face from Harry, feeling a sharp pang in his chest as he softly said, "I don't know," just as he wondered, how do I get back?

Out of a collective Northern and Riverlands army that totalled 25,000 men, 8000 of those remained behind at Riverrun as a reserve. 5000 had been split from the original host further north through the Neck to bypass the Twins, and 6500 of those that remained of the original army number had perished at the Twins in the surprise attack between the Freys, the Glovers, the Dustins, the Vyprens, and the Mountain's men, all thanks to the careful planning of the Freys and Lannisters, and poor timing.

Barely 5500 men remained.

A quarter of those were injured and no one was sure if they'd be battle-ready ever again.

Of the 4000 that remained from that, most were mere handfuls under missing commanders, such as Wendel Manderly; or they were Lords with less than a handful of men, like Cley Cerwyn, who wandered around with a vacant look on his bloody face.

On top of it, both Catelyn Stark and Robb Stark were missing. Along with them, the Smalljon Umber, Wendel Manderly, Blackwood's son Lucas, and Patrek Mallister, all representatives of their houses, were missing as well. The other member of the Kingsguard, Dacey, was unaccounted for, and Olyvar Frey, Robb's squire, had been tied up and guarded day and night, by virtue of being a Frey.

And in the midst of it all, Hermione sat around her dining table in her tent, liberated from her precious beaded bag, staring vacantly at the map of Westeros she and Robb used to keep track of his family. Her eyes were on the remaining splotches: Arya was at Riverrun, luckily, under Edmure and Brienne's watchful eyes; Sansa was still in King's Landing, and Bran was north of the wall, moving westward for some strange reason. Rickon's dot remained at Skagos. The dot of blood that represented Robb Stark was unmoving at the Twins, a burned black mark - not dead, as the blood would have disappeared - unable to be found on a map of Westeros.

Eddard stood behind her, a silent sentry continuing his brother's work, while his father Lord Karstark shouted himself blue in the face at the Greatjon. She had luckily cast muffliato before the men began ripping into each other, talking over one another while Roose Bolton quietly tried to interject some words, but was ignored.

The remaining men who hovered outside around her green canvas tent didn't need to know just how desperate and broken their leaders were.

"-what are we going to do now, huh?" the Greatjon roared. "We need the King!"

"That's what I've been telling you!" roared back Karstark, "We can send out search parties for him!"

"Where? Back to the Freys, those murderous bastards?" spat Greatjon, turning and stabbing a pointed finger at Roose when he spoke next. "Or perhaps east, towards Winterfell which was taken by that one's bastard?"

"I did not tell him to do that," growled the pale man.

Greatjon rolled his eyes. "Oh, aye - he and Lady Barbrey Dustin thought it up themselves, did they? Let's take Winterfell, they thought - after all, it's no secret in the North that the Boltons have wanted Winterfell ever since they were cut down by the Stark kings of old!"

"You can accuse Lord Bolton all you want, Umber, but know that I too could just as easily fit that being a cadet branch of the Stark family," snarled Karstark, "And yet I have done nothing but show my loyalty to King Robb, as has Bolton!"

"Well, let's ask just what you were planning with the man then?" snarled Greatjon Umber, eyes flashing and his face red. "Did you continue to slip information to Glover with those extra parchments you wanted and were given?"

"How dare you," hissed Karstark, vibrating in his anger.

The flap to the tent opened and Lord Tytos Blackwood and Lord Jonos Bracken walked in, still in their bloodied armour three days later, both with weary looks upon their faces.

"Are they still at it?" asked Blackwood, reaching for the free chair next to Hermione and sitting heavily in it. Bracken took the seat next to him, which was also next to Bolton.

The pale man with thinning hair sighed. "Unfortunately. They won't listen to anything anyone says."

"- and what about Lady Hermione?" shouted Greatjon. "It was her magic that we relied on! It could just as easily be her fault!"

"Hey now-!" shouted Bracken, leaping to his feet, just as Eddard had his sword out and pointed at Umber before the man's words ended, his voice ringing in the silence in the tent.

Hermione, finally, looked up from the map to stare at the large giant of a man with deadened eyes.

"It's entirely possible," she said tonelessly, "That I messed something up in the spell. But it wouldn't make sense that only one was off from an entire bunch, especially as Robb and I took the trip several times to make sure the space was large enough for everyone."

With that, the bluster left Umber and he collapsed into the chair closest to him, Karstark still tense and preferring to stand.

"Then where is he?" muttered Umber.

"He's alive," said Hermione, eyes slipping back to the map, at Robb's dot. "We know that much. But according to this - he's not in Westeros."

"Could - Could he," started Bracken tentatively, "Could he be where you come from, Lady Hermione?"

Hermione frowned. "I - I suppose…"

"What good does knowing where King Robb is?" groused Blackwood, leaning back in his chair. "It doesn't help us now. Without him, the army is leaderless unless we send parties out to bring back Bran or Rickon. And even then, they're too young to lead."

"Robb's will dictated that if he were indisposed, Arya would be the next leader," said Hermione, turning to the man at her other side.

"Princess Arya?" asked Blackwood, disbelief in his voice, but at Hermione's glower, he hastily backtracked, "Well, I suppose she's vicious enough and quite proficient with a sword..."

Hermione sighed. "She's still quite young. Robb wanted several of us to help her fall into a leadership role."

But she's not Robb, she finished the thought mentally. The rest seemed to have heard the thought because many slouched or slumped in their seats. There was a heaviness in the air as those around the dining table began to realize just what they lost with Robb's disappearance.

Hermione shivered as the air around her significantly cooled and chilled.

"Can we even keep the Northern army together?" whispered Karstark through bloodless lips.

"Not without the King," rumbled Umber, bowing his head into his hands on the table.

Merlin, what are we going to do? she thought, bringing a hand up to bite her nail. Behind her, Karstark began pacing the length of the living and dining area. We moved back towards the Twins because Robb wanted to return to the North and retake Winterfell. He had made his point about the Lannisters but had other priorities. The North is a priority. We need to re-establish the chain of command.

Her eyes darted to the bundle of letters Robb had left in her tent, the communications between him and his half-brother Jon, the new Commander of the Night's Watch. And make sure that they get the help they need… if what Jon wrote is true…

"We have him," said Hermione suddenly, coming to a decision.

"I beg your pardon?" stuttered Karstark, turning to face her. "How?"

Hermione looked up. "A few options: Polyjuice potion, which, using a piece of hair from Robb from his comb - I know it's still at Riverrun - we can use it and someone can pretend to be Robb for an hour. Alternatively, I can cast a glamour on someone, but I'd have to be there to reapply it every so often. A glamour lasts longer than Polyjuice, though…"

She trailed off, a thoughtful look on her face, leaning back in her chair. "Or we can say he was badly wounded in the escape, and it will give us a few months' time to avoid showing his face in public. Then we can use Polyjuice or a glamour."

Glancing around the table and at their stupefied faces, Hermione said, testily, "It buys us time."

"Time for what?" asked Bolton, eyes dark as he stared at her.

"Until we can get Robb back," said Hermione firmly, looking at each of the men in the eye. "As long as we keep morale up, as long as we maintain his ideals, we can manage. We have Arya - yes, she's young and untrained - but we can help her. We can all take turns being around her and teaching her. She ought to know this anyway."

"And what of those who seek to harm us?" asked the Greatjon lowly. "Once they know that King Robb is missing-!"

"Well, he won't be then," retorted Hermione sharply, glaring up at him. "We'll use Polyjuice then, where he can lead men in battle. The rest of the time, we'll contain the information that he is missing."

"How?" asked Karstark, his lips trembling.

Hermione's brain raced as she pondered ideas. "A jinx on the men, or a taboo like what Voldemort had in place whenever someone said his name during the war - I can cast it. It'll stop anyone from speaking of Robb's disappearance, especially if it's keyed into that thought."

The despair around the room was lifting. It was not entirely gone - many of them were still feeling the loss of many of the Northern and Riverland army - but they weren't in as a dire situation than they were. The chill that had come over the room earlier was lifting as well, and the crackle of the flame in the fireplace seemed to grow louder, more comforting in response.

"This…" began Bolton, slowly, "Could work. It just might."

"But who will be in charge?" asked Bracken, glancing around. "Although His Grace's will was clear about who would help Princess Arya, every minor or hedge Lord, as well as Great Houses, will be vying for the position as King's regent - ah, in this case, a Princess's regent. We'd all have to watch our backs."

"No one person should be in charge," said Hermione firmly, looking around the room and meeting everyone's eyes. "That wouldn't be fair and someone could easily usurp Robb's position."

Karstark looked around. "Maybe… a Great Council?"

"A what?" asked Hermione.

While Hermione was confused by the name, the others in the room had various looks of disbelief (Bolton and Eddard), outright hostility (the Greatjon), or confusion (Bracken and Blackwood).

Karstark nervously cleared his throat, eyes darting around the room. "A Great Council. It the early days of the North, before even the Kings of Winter, there were numerous families that were monarchical. Those who formed alliances created a Great Council, each with a representative for a seat; a single High King was chosen as a final deciding vote. Once the Kings of Winter emerged and subjugated the families, they initially kept the Great Council, giving those loyal to them a voice. Those were the first Great Houses."

Hermione frowned. This sounds familiar...

The Greatjon scoffed, his arms crossed. His beard nearly vibrated with the intensity of his tense jaw underneath the hair as he grit out, "The Great Council is a sack of piss idea, Karstark. The original Great Council had barely six or seven men on it, along with the High King. We've over a hundred Lords. Are they all going to get a say?"

"Well - I don't know - No - I thought -" sputtered Karstark, looking at Umber and then around the table, particularly at Bolton whose look of shock had turned into quiet calculation, hoping the man would aid him.

"What's next?" grumbled the Greatjon, sarcasm in his voice. "Would we all sit at a round table and pledge ourselves to an empty throne? How would we decide what the Council would promote in laws, or rule?"

A round table, Hermione thought, latching onto the words as a hysterical laugh bubbled up her throat. She clamped her mouth shut in a long, thin line as she struggled to contain her mirth. But something slipped out, and as Bracken looked at her, eyes wide, Hermione could no longer keep quiet.

She laughed until her ribs aches, tears streaming down her face. She leaned back in her chair, imagining the Greatjon Umber in the white tunic of the Holy Grail knights and bucket head chainmail, and worse, someone like Bolton following him with a pair of coconuts.

"Has she lost her mind?" muttered someone at the table, as she struggled to remove images of Monty Python's Holy Grail film from her mind. Leaning over the table slightly, Hermione sucked in deep breaths and then used the palm of her hands to wipe at her tear-stained cheeks.

"I think-" she croaked out, before trying again, her voice only wobbling a little, "I think that's a great idea."

"You do?" asked Umber, blinking in shock.

Hermione nodded, and the more she thought about it, the more she warmed to the idea. "Yes - a Great Council of the Lords and Ladies of the North and the Riverlands. Joined, working together, for the betterment of their lands. The north has strict beliefs towards things, does it not?"

Bolton, Karstark, and Umber shared looks and then Karstark was slowly nodding. "Ah, yes - I suppose there are rules that we all intrinsically follow -"

"Those who follow the Faith of the Seven have knights and knighthoods," interrupted Blackwood curiously, "With vows of honour and pledges of allegiance to a Lord…"

Hermione's lips twitched. "Commit no treason; give mercy unto him who asks; do not take up battles in wrongful quarrels for love or worldly goods."

Blackwood eyed Hermione shrewdly. "Yes, quite."

"The North does that without such vows," interjected Karstark with a nasty look to Blackwood for his interruption. "But how do you know these, Lady Hermione?"

"We have stories of great knights and round tables, too," she said, lips twitching at the popular myth of her homeworld country, "Who followed and believed in a code of chivalry and honour."

"What happened to these knights?" asked Bracken curiously, leaning towards her, over the table.

Hermione turned her eyes to him, and said, quietly, "They were just stories. They never existed; not until I came here, anyway."

There was a compliment in her words, soft-spoken as they were, that made the men around her table straighten.

"A Great Council then," sighed Bolton. "The first in millennia."

"With a representative from each House," agreed Karstark, "The best from each one."

"Or all who are left," morosely added Bracken with a sigh. "Organizing this with who remains here at the tower in the Wolfswood is going to be a mess."

"It can wait, now that we know what we're doing," said Hermione, sitting straight in her seat as plans came together. "Instead, let's talk about needs to be done next: retaking Winterfell, like Robb had planned. A Great Council can convene when we're there and have the available space."

"We need more people to retake Winterfell," argued Umber, finally back to a conversation topic he could participate in and enjoy. "We have too many wounded. The tower is in desperate need of repairs, and it's likely that men will end up starved at this rate."

"Then we need more men," agreed Bracken. "Can we recall those who remained at Riverrun? And what of Lady Mormont and Lords Darry and Forrester? They avoided the Twins entirely and ended up at Greywater March with Lord Reed."

"They would bolster our numbers," agreed Karstark. "Do we have ravens? Did they have Portkeys? Surely news of the Twins is making its rounds."

"That's another thing we need to do," interjected Hermione, causing everyone to look at her. "We need to start controlling the flow of information. There absolutely cannot be any rumours that Robb is dead or that we suffered a devastating defeat."

"We can send someone back to Riverrun," suggested Blackwood slowly, "Or use the parchments to convey what's happened. Take a census of who survived or their status if no one has done it yet."

"I think I saw Lord Cerwyn trying," said Bolton. "If only to keep busy since most of his men were outside the Hall when the slaughter began. He's lost most of those who came with him South."

"Hos is around - he survived the massacre," replied Blackwood, a touch of proud parental gleam in his eyes, "And he's good with numbers. With spare rolls of parchment, he can aid Cerwyn. Between the two of them, they'll have a working census of who is injured or who is missing by the end of the week."

"Good," said Umber. "That'll give us accurate numbers and a starting place for where we stand in terms of lost command."

"And who is likely still at the Twins," interjected Karstark darkly.

The mood soured.

"Then before we try retaking Winterfell, we need to free our people," said Hermione, glancing at the map on the table, at the Twins and its location surrounded by the Trident. An idea began to form.

Bracken's mouth turned down grimly. "Not the easiest feat. There's a reason why there are two towers - it splits forces."

"They'll pick us off, one by one, if we try an assault," agreed Blackwood thoughtfully, stroking his beard. "And we hardly have the numbers for such an assault, too."

"Who said anything about a visible attack?" countered Hermione, a gleam in her brightly-lit amber eyes.

"Milady?" asked Karstark slowly.

"Let's just say, with magic, there are far more opportunities than there are without it," she began, looking at the men in her tent, one by one and holding their stares. "Such as an attack from the water. Late at night. In which we sneak in and take our revenge."

A bloodthirsty grin swept across Umber's face. He barked a short laugh and he slammed a closed fist down on the table, shaking it. "I'll agree to that! Kill the traitorous bastards as they sleep, one by one!"

Bolton, Bracken, and Blackwood all shared similar looks, one that spoke of bloodlust and vengeance. Hermione could see Eddard, just standing behind her, grip the pommel of his sword tightly, no doubt thinking of the Frey whose sword had caused Torrhen's fatal wound.

"... All of them?" asked Karstark, quietly, something unreadable in his face. "Even the women and children?"

The room paused, and some of the desire for revenge slipped away.

Hermione, however, thought back to the parade of women who served food at the royal table, each in equally low-cut dresses and the way that Black Walder continued to push the marriage on Robb. She thought of the women, some pale-faced and despondent, and others with shrewd looks in their eyes as they stared hungrily at the young king.

"If they knew, then yes," she said quietly. "Then they die, too."

"How would we even be able to know that?" cried Karstark. "The Gods know that I would love to get my hands on the Frey who k-killed T-Torrhen - but what about those children who are too young to have known? Everyone would lie to save their life!"

"Not if they ingest veritaserum," replied Hermione coolly. "We'll take the Twins and kill the guards and any other Frey soldiers we come across. Any women or children deemed as potentially unknowing of the betrayal will be sequestered elsewhere and taken into a room, one by one, where I will give them veritaserum, a truth potion that I can brew. Then we'll know - if they knew."

"And if they did?" asked Bolton, but there was a deceptively light tone to his voice, like he already knew Hermione's answer but wanted to hear her say it.

Hermione turned to him. There was something strange in her face, something otherworldly - in the sharpness to her cheeks, in the point of her chin, or the pale pallor to her skin - and for a brief moment, the men around the table realized that perhaps, just perhaps, being so connected to magic, she wasn't quite as human as them.

But then the moment passed, and while her eyes still were lit by an inner light and her cheeks were flushed, she said, starkly in the coldest voice the men had ever heard her use:

"Then we kill them all."

Note: While I realize that a Great Council as described here is probably impractical for the GoT setting, it's fanfic, so go with a bureaucratic regency while they wait for Robb's return (you'll notice I am heavy-handed with Roman history so if by chance I slip in SPQR I am sorry. So sorry.). An important note: it's building to something. The entire arc is already plotted out, and I have ideas for Part Three already brewing.

As a reminder - we the audience know more than what some of these characters know, so they're operating on very little or making decisions we (probably) don't agree with. :) Many of you also had fantastic questions or theories about where these characters are going, or redemption arcs - all I can say is some of those will be answered in this arc.

(Sidenote: TOTALLY ACED MY COMP EXAM. Hence why I am posting this chapter now. If my program had distinctions, I was told I would've been granted it. Probably helped that I was bedecked in head-to-toe Marvel and DC since my Ph.D. is on comic studies. It got a laugh, anyway. Now I just get to do this all over again in a few months' time and then it's dissertation writing time, woooo!)