Reigning Pains

Now that they were accompanied by soldiers – even though their protectors were worse than inadequate – Brienne and Lyarra enjoyed a slower pace than they had before. They stopped at inns and had access to food, water and medicine without having to scavenge from it. Even though she had only spent a few weeks without the luxuries of a highborn lady, it took some time to adjust to having everything handed to her again. The change was welcome, of course, but it made Lyarra realise how fortunate she was to have been born to the right people and into the right family.

Although it was still very noticeable and Lyarra hadn't quite managed to get all the blood out of his hair, Lyarra believed Jon's wound was healing fast enough. She fretted over what the maester at the Golden Tooth had said, that Jon would be less mentally able because of his fall. Lyarra did notice that his responses were slower and his words more jumbled, but she tried not to think about it. When the wound healed, Jon would be back to normal. She hoped and prayed for that. She wouldn't be able to forgive herself for letting him fall if he suffered permanent damage. She hated herself enough for it already.

As they approached Casterly Rock, Lyarra felt relief wash over her. It wasn't home. It didn't feel like home and probably never would, but at least she was safe here. More than once during her travels with Brienne she had considered going north. But then sense kicked in and she realised that the North was a dangerous place for her, what with the Boltons in power. Someday, she would return home, but hopefully with an army at her back and Jaime by her side.

From half a mile away, Lyarra noticed Genna standing outside the keep, watching them approach Casterly Rock. Lyarra smiled at her, but only received a thoughtful look in response. Lyarra dismounted her horse with Jon in her arms and walked over to Genna.

"I saw the horses approaching and I could scarcely believe it," Genna said. Her face was devoid of any smile or trace of happiness that showed she was in any way glad to see her good-niece. Instead, she looked tired and suspicious. "Forgive me, but why are you here, Lyarra? And without Jaime?"

"Joffrey was poisoned at his wedding," Lyarra told her. Genna nodded. She was probably told the news by Tywin himself in one of his letters. "Jaime thought I was likely to be blamed for the murder so I fled."

"Jaime's cleverer than I remember then," Genna quipped. Lyarra noticed then that Genna looked thinner and frail. It was a word she never thought she'd use to describe the calculating, fierce Genna Lannister, but the older woman seemed to have turned into a shell of who she used to be in the time Lyarra was gone. Lyarra decided to say nothing of it and embraced Genna, who then turned to Jon with a doting smile on her lips. "You don't remember me, I take it?" Jon shook his head. Genna smiled sadly. "No matter. We'll just have to make up for lost time, hm? I'm Genna, your father's aunt."

"So you my aunt?" Jon stated.

"I am, son," Genna responded, examining the cut on his head. She looked up at Lyarra questioningly. Lyarra shook her head, the same feeling of shame twisting her stomach as she urged Genna to drop the subject. She couldn't even keep her child safe from harm and was too ashamed of herself to speak about it. Genna gave her one last confused look before she dropped it. "Come, I'll get the maids to fetch you some supper." She nodded to Lyarra then. "You too, my dear. And who is this?"

"Brienne of Tarth," Lyarra introduced the tall woman beside her. "She accompanied me from King's Landing. And she escorted Jaime from my brother's camp to King's Landing."

Genna stared at the female knight with narrowed, curious eyes. She never pegged Genna as the type of person to hold to tradition and criticise those who do not, given Genna's own untraditional role as regent in her brother's stead. However, Lyarra knew better than to blindly trust her own naive assessment of people anymore. "I suppose you'd like some supper then, Lady Brienne, after all your rescuing."

"She just goes by Brienne," Lyarra corrected.

"Very well. It's all the same," Genna responded. She turned to Brienne, a small, teasing smile on her lips. "But does she want supper?"

"Yes, my lady," Brienne replied, politely inclining her head. "I would be glad for it."

"Come on then," Genna said, urging them to follow her inside the keep.

Lyarra followed Genna towards the Great Hall. The servants gave her, Brienne, Jon and the soldiers who accompanied them home a bowl of broth and some bread. She received many "welcome home's" from the servants and workers of Casterly Rock, and some hushed condolences as well. She was glad to see that not everyone in Casterly Rock was Tywin Lannister's minion.

"I got a terrible shock when I heard of Joffrey's death," Genna admitted. "A young boy, having barely reached his adult years. It was a sad day." Instead of sadness, Genna's expression was calculating, her eyes narrowed as she gauged Lyarra's reaction.

Tilting her head to the side, Lyarra gave her aunt an unimpressed look. They all thought she was guilty. Even Brienne seemed to doubt her innocence. Of course, Lyarra didn't blame them and understood their suspicion. She had enough reason to want Joffrey dead. She was just insulted that they thought her stupid enough to kill the king in plain sight.

"I know what you're doing," Lyarra told her humourlessly, her tone a plain deadpan.

"Whatever do you mean, my dear?" Genna asked innocently.

"You're looking for my reaction," Lyarra answered. "You think I did it."

Sighing, Genna leaned back in her chair and started to speak honestly and plainly. "I think that you had as fine a motive as any," Genna stated. "Joffrey may have been my relation, but he was a foul little boy. It's a mercy that he's dead."

The Lannisters were all as manipulative as each other. Perhaps southerners in general was manipulative. Genna was trying to relate to Lyarra, make her feel safe and secure, make her feel as though Genna would understand even if she had killed Joffrey. Again, it only served to insult her intelligence. She wasn't the stupid little girl she was four years ago when she married Jaime. She wouldn't fall for barely concealed schemes like these.

"Be that as it may," Lyarra replied, struggling to keep her tone even and devoid of anger as she wiped her mouth and finished her meal. "I didn't do it. I'm not that stupid." She stood up and helped Jon stand up, noticing how her son swayed and stumbled as he tried to get up onto his feet. "Come now, my love. Time for bed. Goodnight, my lady. Brienne."

Genna gave her a short nod in response, watching Lyarra closely with two narrowed emeralds for eyes. Lyarra held Jon's hand in hers and walked out of the Great Hall, her entire body shaking as she seethed with anger. Joffrey's death would follow her like a shadow. She was relieved and overjoyed that he was dead, but perhaps her life would have been simpler if he stayed alive. Then she wouldn't be accused of killing her king by everyone who dared voice such an accusation – and they were many.

She brought Jon to his new room. It was the room next to hers and Jaime's. Decorated with paintings of flowers and horses and shelves holding wooden toys, his new room was a great deal smaller than the one he was used to. "This is where you'll be sleeping from now on."

"With you?" he asked, his eyes wide and worried.

"No, my dear. Not with me." She had promised Jaime. Even if he wasn't here, Lyarra had enough sense to know that he was right. Jon had to become more independent and so did she.

"Why?" Jon said, his voice trembling as tears gathered in his eyes.

"Because you're a big boy now," she told him, forcing a smile on her lips. "Big boys can't sleep with their mothers." She saw tears fall down her son's cheek. Her heart broke to see him so upset. She wiped his tears away, nearly crying herself. "Oh, Jon, please don't cry. I'll be with you until you go to sleep. You won't even notice I'm not there."

"Promise?"

Lyarra nodded and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Promise."

Jaime spent his days like any other lord. He sparred with Bronn daily, although his lack of skill was contradictory to how a knight or lord should fight, and attended council meetings when he was bid. That was something he couldn't quite understood – all the members of the council, including his father and sister, knew just how useless he was when it came to politics and diplomacy, and yet they kept insisting he attend. Did they think burdening him with boring council meetings would, all of a sudden, make him a good leader? Or increase his loyalty to his family? Hadn't he proven his loyalty enough throughout the years?

It seemed to him that for his father and for Cersei, he would never be enough, especially now he didn't have his right hand. The only person who had accepted him for what he was, an arrogant knight and now a useless cripple, was Tyrion. And now his brother was imprisoned in a cell and he, the useless cripple, could do nothing about it.

He was on his way to his father's solar when a Lannister guard stood in his way and told him that the queen wished to see him. Jaime felt the urge to roll his eyes and strangle the boy out of frustration. He loved his sister dearly, but he had always been aware of her many faults. Cersei felt that he was drifting away and she took every opportunity to wrangle him back in.

Gently, he knocked on her door, waiting for her to tell him to come in. When she did, he entered her room and stood awkwardly by the door, waiting for her to address him or even turn around. Cersei never did, instead choosing to stare at the wall as she swirled her glass of wine.

"You wished to see me," he said eventually, loathing the silence.

"I did," Cersei replied. "I've been wondering... it's all I can think about, really. Why did Catelyn Stark set you free?"

"I told you," Jaime asserted, walking towards his sister. Even though their romantic relationship had ended, he still cared about her, more than a brother should. "She wanted me to return her daughters to her."

"And will you?" Cersei asked him.

Jaime blinked, not quite understanding the question. As of late, Cersei had continuously shocked him. Losing Joffrey had affected her greatly. Sometimes, Jaime wondered if she was losing her mind. "Catelyn Stark is dead."

"I know that," Cersei growled, rising to her feet. She approached him until her face was only inches from his, until he could feel her wine-scented breath on his cheek. "Did you intend to keep your oath to her, when you left?"

"I imagined Father would agree. If I was home, he would have no reason to keep the Stark girls."

Her eyes were narrowed into thin, green slits. Her face, contorted with rage, soon morphed into a mocking sort of joy as she threw her head back and laughed at him. "You magnificent idiot," Cersei chided. "You complete and utter fool. Father would have wanted to keep the Stark girls until the war was over as hostages in case Robb Stark got the upper-hand. You never listened to him. You never cared to learn from him. And yet you're his prized heir. His perfect son." Cersei spat the words out like they were venom and glanced down at his hand, a scoff on her lips. Jaime understood the meaning.

"You're drunk," Jaime commented, as if that erased the effect of what she said.

"That doesn't matter. Even when drunk, I am twice as intelligent as you," she spat. "What would you have done if you came back and Father refused to give the Stark girls back to their mother?"

He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, not wanting to answer the question. "Why does that matter to you?"

"Just answer the question, Jaime. What would you have done?" she ordered him, poking her finger into his chest. He felt her weight against him. Her entire body was leaning on him, as though she was about to collapse. He grabbed her arms gently to keep her up.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I didn't think about that."

"No surprise. You never think about anything." Cersei straightened herself and walked away from him, seating herself at the end of her bed. "But your deal with Catelyn Stark seems to mean more to you than you make out. I mean, I understand why. As much as you despised Ned Stark, you admired him too. His honour, his infallible ability to always do the right thing no matter the situation. He was respected and admired. You envied that, didn't you? So when his wife, the honourable, dutiful Catelyn Stark asks you do the right and honourable thing by delivering her daughter back to her, you eagerly swear an oath to her. And it moves you, does it not? I know you, Jaime. You may mock knightly chivalry and honour and gallantry, but you've always wanted to be the good knight. You swore an oath to the Stark woman and you meant to keep it. So tell me, what would you have done?"

Jaime tried to hide his reaction. Cersei always understood him too well and when it suited her, she liked to use that against him. Even now, when she had just tore into him and ripped him apart like it meant nothing to her, he still loved her. What kind of man did that make him?

"You're right," Jaime admitted. He licked his lips and looked away from her, unable to stand the look she was giving him "I wanted to do the right thing, to keep my oath to her. I would have taken the Stark girls away from here had Catelyn Stark been alive and had Father not agreed to let them go."

"You would have betrayed your family. Betrayed me," was Cersei's accusation. He heard venom and seething rage in her voice. It made him flinch.

Nevertheless, he reminded himself he had nothing to be ashamed of. Returning the Stark girls to Lady Catelyn would have been the right thing to do, the honourable thing. He was a knight. He was supposed to be honourable. He looked her in his sister in the eye and told her the truth, "Yes. I would have."

"What happened to you?" Cersei asked, her voice taking on an accusatory tone yet again. Only this time, he heard a mixture disgust and shock in her tone as well. It didn't seem as though she wanted him to answer. Jaime knew replying would only fuel her anger even more. "I need you, Jaime. Now more than ever. I need you by my side."

Her body started to shake as sobs rippled through her. She dropped the glass of wine on the ground. Jaime watched as the glass shattered and the blood-coloured wine stained the carpet. He rushed over to Cersei, feeling his heart break at the sight of his beautiful sister looking as shattered as the broken glass on the ground. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close, whispering reassurances into her ear.

"I'm scared, Jaime. I'm so scared," she sobbed against him, her frame rattling.

"Scared of what? Tell me what it is and I'll fix it."

"He's going to get away with it," Cersei stated. Jaime understood immediately what she meant. "He's going to get away with killing our boy, our son. That monster murdered our son and he's going to find a way to weasel his way out of it! He always does. I need you to help me. Help me get justice for our son!"

Jaime pulled away from her and stared at her for a moment. There was hope in her eyes, but not a pure kind of hope. She was trying to manipulate him. A few years ago, he would have fallen for it. But not now. Not when it came to Tyrion. "He didn't do it, Cersei," he replied, his voice as firm as his belief in his brother.

"You've always pitied him. Our poor little brother!" Cersei scoffed and pulled away from him. "He did it. I know he did it! Why won't you believe me?"

"Because I know he didn't. He's not stupid enough to kill Joff when he knew he'd be the one blamed for it! You can call him many things, Cersei, but Tyrion has never been stupid."

"Then who was it then?" Cersei asked him, whipping herself around to face him yet again. Her face was contorted with rage, her eyes burning with it. She was beautiful when she was angry. She was always beautiful, but anger suited her best. "The people with the best motives are our brother, your wilful wife and Sansa Stark. Will you kill them for me instead?"

"Cersei, you're not being reasonable-"

"If I asked you to go find Sansa and bring that murderous little bitch to me, would you do it?" Cersei questioned Jaime, standing right in front of him again. Her eyes bore into him. He wanted to say yes, to promise her that he was loyal only to her, but he couldn't anymore. Jaime pressed his lips together and looked away. "Of course." Cersei scoffed, understanding what his answer really was despite his silence. "And your pretty young wife – would you bring her head to me?" Jaime turned his head to look at her, wide-eyed and shocked that she would ask such a thing. His pregnant wife, the mother of his son, how could Cersei ever expect him to harm her? Cersei laughed bitterly. You've betrayed me. All our lives, it was just the two of us. And now this? You choosing your murdering little whore of a wife over me?"

"You're asking me to kill my pregnant wife, the mother of my child. You realise that, don't you?" Jaime asked her, disgusted.

"Do you love her?"

"What?"

Cersei scoffed, a mocking smirk on her lips. "It's a simple question, even for you. Do you love her?"

He couldn't help but stare at Cersei as he considered her question. He had only ever known one sort of love. That love may have been twisted and volatile, but it was undoubtedly love. He realised that he had never felt anything more than concern for his wife. He cared about her deeply and he enjoyed her company, but it was nothing more. Jaime didn't think it could ever be more. "No," he finally answered.

His reply immediately elicited a smile from his sister as she stepped closer to him, pressing her hand against his chest. He cursed himself for responding so eagerly to her touch. "And do you love me?" she asked him.

For the first time, he felt disgusted with himself for loving her. Not because of stupid customs and taboo, but because of how easily he fell into old habits when he thought he had become better, when he had a wife in Casterly Rock who was expecting their second child. Maybe he was never going to become better. Maybe he just couldn't.

"Always," he admitted, defeat washing over him as another wave of loathing hit him.

Grinning, Cersei pressed her lips against him in a heated kiss. Her lips were needy and desperate, and he responded to them easily, melting into the familiar touch. He kissed her back, his tongue melding with hers. He felt her hand travelling down to his cock. He yearned for her touch, for her body, for her cunt, but it didn't feel as it had before. It didn't feel like they were two parts of a whole. He wasn't yearning for his other part, his other side. It felt wrong.

He pulled away from her and rushed out of the room, not daring to look back. He heard the sound of glass shattering against the wall and a loud, anguished roar. Tears formed in his eyes that he pushed away immediately. He wanted to tell Cersei that he felt the same, but he knew that if he went inside that room, he wouldn't come out until the next morning. He wanted better than that for himself, for his family, so he refused to turn back.

"Mother, where are we going?"

Lyarra lifted Jon into her arms and pressed a kiss to his forehead, a large smile on her face. "There's someone I want to introduce you to again. You were very young when you saw her last. She's very special to me."

"Oh?"

"Oh," she responded, grinning. They were flanked by two guards that Tywin commanded to watch her at all times. The lack of privacy annoyed her, yet Lyarra had learned over the past week to just ignore them. "Stay outside," she told the guards, who looked hesitant to obey her. "Can I please just have a few moments alone with my son? Is that too much to ask for?" she snapped at them.

Hesitant, one of the guards – the older one – nodded his head reluctantly. "Very well."

Lyarra nodded back to them and gave Jon another smile before heading inside the kennels. She hadn't been to see Fang since she arrived back, too preoccupied with the running of the castle. She set Jon on the ground and went over to Fang's cage. A large smile stretched across her face as soon as she set eyes on her wolf. Seeing Fang again felt like she was being reunited with apart of herself. She was all she had left of home, of her family. Every time she locked her up, she felt as though she was locking away a part of herself. And every time Lyarra let her out, she felt free.

She wrapped her arms around her wolf and buried her face into Fang's black fur. "I've missed you," she told her, wetting the wolf's coat with her tears. She pulled away from Fang and rubbed the back of her ear, causing Fang's lips to perk upwards in what looked like a smile.

Laughing at the wolf's antics, Lyarra gestured for Jon to join them. "Come on over, she won't bite," Lyarra told him. Jon stayed rooted to where he was, on the other side of the kennels, eyeing Fang fearfully. Lyarra frowned. Jon hadn't been afraid of Fang before. "She won't hurt you. You're a Stark. A wolf. Wolves don't hurt their own."

"But I'm a Lannister. A lion," Jon argued back. "That's what grandfather said."

More often than Lyarra liked, Tywin had visited Jon in the nursery to make sure Lyarra wasn't turning him against the Lannisters. Jon would be Lord of Casterly Rock one day, and Lyarra supposed that Tywin didn't want Lyarra turning his heir into anything less than a loyal Lannister, devout to his family.

A small sigh escaped her lips. She stretched out her arm and beckoned Jon to come over again. "Maybe you can be both," Lyarra told him. "I've never told you this, but you look just like my father. He was a good man. An honourable man. And he was a Stark, a wolf, just like us. You may bear the name Lannister and wear their coat of arms, but you are a Stark too. So come on. Say hello to Fang."

Still somewhat hesitant, Jon nodded his head and slowly walked over to his mother and Fang. "What do I do?" he asked his mother, looking to her for instructions.

She chuckled. "Put out your hand." Jon looked at her as though she was mad. Lyarra laughed again. "Don't worry. She won't bite you. She'll only ever bite the people that harm us. Like I said, wolves are loyal creatures. There you go."

Jon stretched out his arm and offered the wolf his hand. Fang stuck out her tongue and licked Jon's hand, lathering it in drool. Jon laughed heartily and flinched back in disgust, showing his mother what Fang had done. "That's normal," Lyarra told him, pinching his cheek. "That means she likes you."

"Can I play with her?" Jon asked, rubbing the area behind Fang's ear just as he had seen his mother do.

Glad that Jon was no longer afraid of Fang, Lyarra nodded happily. "Of course you may. I think she'll enjoy a run around the grounds. She's been cooped up in here for only the gods know how long. Come. I'm going to bring her out."

Jumping up and down excitedly, Jon followed Lyarra as she led the wolf out of the kennels. The guards glanced wearily at the wolf and stepped away from Fang. "My lady, I don't think that's such a good idea."

"Why not? She's trained. She won't hurt anyone," Lyarra argued, though the two guards did not look convinced. She spotted a person walking towards them. She narrowed her eyes to get a better look. "Is that Creylen?" she asked the guards who followed her line of sight. Lyarra didn't think she'd ever seen the maester outdoors before. He preferred to stay cooped up in his solar. Lyarra had a funny feeling that something was wrong.

She waddled towards him, resting her hand on her large stomach that was greatly affecting her ability to walk normally. Seeing the look of distress on Creylen's face, Lyarra became worried. "Maester, what is it?"

"Peckledon has passed away," he told her. "His wife sent a letter... he caught a fever yesterday and passed away during the night."

Lyarra turned to the guards. "Watch him and bring him inside in an hour."

"With the wolf?" the smaller guard asked, a slight fear in his voice.

Rolling her eyes, she responded to them wearily. "Fang won't hurt you. He might bite a little, but I assure you, you'll retain most of your limbs."

Without further explanation, she joined Creylen as they walked inside the keep. "Is Peckledon's wife still here?"

"No. She had to go back to her house to make arrangements for the burial," Creylen informed her as they approached Creylen's solar. He invited her to sit down, an offer she eagerly accepted. "We need to find a replacement."

"Do we have the means to finance one? As tragic as it is to lose a valued member of our household, we have too many people to pay and to feed in this keep. We could barely afford Peckledon. Maybe the office of steward should be left unoccupied," she told Creylen.

In response, the maester's eyes went wide. "You can't be serious. We need a steward. We have never not had a steward. It is a requirement for any noble house. Who else is going to do the accounts?"

"I already do the household accounts," Lyarra argued, lying back in the chair and placing her hands on her bulging stomach. "I'll study Peckledon's regional accounts and I'll do them myself."

"A steward doesn't just do the accounts, my lady. They organise debts, repayments, investments, and you already have the duties of the Lady of Casterly Rock. It's too much for one person," Creylen objected. Lyarra didn't think he quite understood how serious their financial situation was.

"Can I see the last account Peckledon made out?" Lyarra asked. Without a word, Creylen went to get it. He handed it to her with a pinched look on his face. "Thank you," she said and began to analyse it. "Lord Tywin has been using the gold from our mines to fund the crown. We are the only source of income for the entirety of Westeros. As long as a relative of Tywin Lannister sits on the throne, they will need Lannister gold. We need to make some radical changes to how our keep and our kingdom is run if we want to avoid drowning in debt by years end. Not to mention that winter is nearly here."

"But the mines, my lady," Creylen argued. "In a few years, the Castamere mines will be open and we'll have a new source of income. Until then, we just need to keep our heads afloat."

Lyarra sighed and buried her head in her hands, an immense amount of stress washing over her. "Very well. I'll look over the accounts and see if there is anything else we can do to reduce expenditure. You may leave now, maester. Thank you for your counsel."

She barely noticed the maester leaving. Lyarra spent the night staring at figures until the numbers meant nothing to her anymore. She completely lost track of time and before she knew it, Lyarra felt herself being shook awake and heard a familiar voice shout into her ear, repeating her name over and over again. She opened her eyes, just realising then that she had fallen asleep while buried beneath all the accounts. She saw Genna looming over her, a questioning look on her face.

Still drowsy from sleep, she rubbed her eyes and sat up, leaning back in the chair. "I was looking at the accounts," Lyarra explained. "Did you know that we owe the Iron Bank more than six thousand dragons? Where are we supposed to find that kind of money?"

"Loans can be paid back in instalments over a long period of time," Genna assured her as she poured herself a glass of wine.

"Yes, I know that," Lyarra replied, looking through the accounts again. "But if we continue to live the way we do without any kind of cutbacks, this loan will span generations. It'll be years into my son's tenure as lord of Casterly Rock when the loan is fully paid back. Maybe even his son's after him. Things have to change."

Genna stared at her for a moment, taking in her good-niece's worn expression. She sighed and took a sip of her drink. "Peckledon told me of your plans to leave the office of steward empty. He believed he successfully dissuaded you, but I know you, Lyarra. You're more stubborn than that."

"It's an expensive position. It takes months to train in a steward and for those months, he is a useless member of the household and an expense. I understand the accounts. Between Maester Creylen and I we can fill in for a steward without having to hire one," Lyarra explained.

"You are the Lady of Casterly Rock," Genna reminded her, as though she had forgotten. "The Lady of Casterly Rock is not supposed to be its steward. You can't fill two positions at once, Lyarra."

"Then you can fill the role of the Lady of Casterly Rock," she suggested. Genna sighed and looked away from her, becoming thoughtful. Lyarra continued to plead her case. "I've learned enough from Peckledon to know how to be a steward. It's the only way, Genna. We don't have enough money to pay a steward."

As Genna pursed her lips and became quiet and thoughtful, Lyarra took a moment to really look at her aunt. Only then did Lyarra realise how tired Genna looked. Her face was worn and pale. She had lost weight as well. Something was wrong with her. She wanted to ask, but Lyarra didn't think it was her place.

"Very well," Genna finally agreed. "I suppose it could help reduce expenses. We'll see how it goes."

Realising that was the best she was going to get, Lyarra gave Genna a weak smile and nodded.

Author's Note: So I'm finished my exams, finally! I'm back to writing fanfiction again and this story is my priority. Just to let you guys know, this story won't be finished for a long time because I'm planning for it to span all eight seasons and I don't want to rush anything. Updates should be up nearly every week during the weekend.

Anyway, let me know what you thought of this chapter!