The beast let out a pitiful wail, uninjured wing making as it to bear him through the air. But Jon shushed it. "A king you may be over your stone cold realm, but you are an injured one at that." Darys hisses, unsplintered wing raising high; it turned around in wide circles, moving much as a hound did to chase its tail. Jon laughed and wagged his finger down at it. "Nay, you stay."
The door creaked open and Jon barely caught the shape of his lady mother entering. The King had matters to attend to, as he'd been told, yet Ser Darry, the Kingsguard standing before the door of the larger chamber had been instructed to admit Jon within the moment he arrived. It was magnanimous of the man to have allowed it and Jon had missed the beastling terribly after mother had taken him to his own bedchamber the other night.
"Lady mother, come meet Darys." His invitation was met with a light shake of the head. But Jon knew when to insist. "He must know you."
"Jon, I pray you, leave it be and let us go on our way. As you can see, it is fine as it is." She'd not said as much, but there was fear within her. Jon did not feel it in the manner of knowledge, but rather within her scent. Darys caught its scent even with her on the other side of the door. Jon frowned.
"Nay," he insisted, giving a wild shake of the head. "I am not leaving." Darys made us of its three cooperative limbs to circle Jon protectively, making strange little noises in the back of its throat. His mother took a small step back. "Darys is worried as well."
She blinked. "Worried; hoe would you know that, my love? It is probably in pain."
"It is worried. I can feel it; it shows me everything that it's thinking about." He stepped over Darys' coiling form and approached his mother. The Lady of Storm's End looked at hum with wide eyes. He'd thought his words would put her at ease. "It even showed me its sibling. I think it shall hatch soon." The woman before him looked faintly ill.
"That is just what the realm needs." She knelt before him. "Jon, you must be very careful. 'Tis a wild beast you have placed under your care. This could well bring us trouble."
He knew not what she meant by the words. Darys had been acting exemplarity, not a talon out of place. Frowning up at his mother, Jon caught her sleeve in his hand. "He shan't cause trouble, lady mother. I swear. I will look after him. I will always know what he thinks." Again she startled. "And he shall protect you as well. I wish it."
From behind him Darys croaked, lithe form dashing between him and his mother to sniff at her skirts. She looked down at the creature with vague unease. But Darys did not let up; he seemed determined to have something of her. "It likes it when you run your fingers along its spine," Jon pointed out helpfully. moving to take her hand and bring it down for Darys acquaintance itself with. The dragon's tongue lolled out touching the forked tip to very near his mother's wrist. She stood frozen in her place though.
The next thing Jon knew, Darys was rubbing one side of its face into her skin. Jon burst out into peals of laughter. "It thinks you have the old blood," he somehow managed to say. Poor Darys; it was bound to be disappointed when it found out his lady mother had nothing to do with any Valyrian bloodline.
"The old blood," she repeated thoughtfully, turning her palm upside down so she could run her fingers against Darys' spine as he'd instructed. The dragonling trembled lightly at the attention, croaking as she touched every vertebrae. "I daresay it must be mistaken if it thinks I've ever come any closer to Valyria than reading some old tome."
Jon nodded his head in agreement. Alas, Darys still insisted that there was something of the dragonmagic caught onto her soul. Nothing which might ever win her the devotion of one of his brethren; but rather an acknowledgement. Jon shrugged. His own great-grandmother had been a Targaryen, mother had told him. It was might be that which confused the dragonling. Darys continued with its own train of thoughts, showing Jon something akin to a collective memory of a man lurking in the shadows, something indefinable surrounding him, something which attracted the dragons.
"It must be hungering," Jon spoke out loud. "He'll love you even better for a few strips of meat."
But that his lady mother would not do. She stood to her feet and dusted her skirts. "I believe you may take care of that. But afterwards we are to return to our own chamber, Jon. It is unseemly to be bothering His Majesty so."
He would have protested that the King could not be bothered since he'd left instructions for them to be admitted, but Jon knew his mother would insist on her own idea. So he simply turned around in search of the food bowl. It lied upon the table, too high for Darys to reach. Jon retrieved it and sat upon the ground cross-legged. He fed the dragon one piece of meat at a time under the watchful gaze of his lady mother. She would come to understand in time, he reckoned, the bond between him and the dragon. He just had to wait a little. After all, dragons were grand creature, yet none had expected their return.
Darys sank his fangs into a particularly juicy bit of meat, sending droplet of melted fat onto Jon's tunic. Scowling at the babe, Jon wiped the stains away. "Have a care." His muttered chastisement did not seem to cut into Darys' enjoyment of the meal.
"Lady mother," Jon called out to the woman standing in the doorway, "do you think His Majesty would permit me to take Darys into the gardens?" The weather was cool, but if he kept the beastling covered in his cloak, nothing should harm it.
"That is something you must discuss with His Majesty, Jon," she answered. "Might be in a few days though. Give your friend a bit of time to heal." He nodded his head. If mother said more time was required then he'd trust in that.
"A few days then," he allowed, rubbing his own fingers along Darys' spine. How soon would it be able to take flight?
The pitch-feathered bird landed upon the fourth mound, its beak opening widely as it croaked its mournful melody for the heavens. The gloomy sky made no reply as the three eyes of the crow blinked up at the lazily rolling clouds. The beast waited for a few moments before lowering its head to the mound and began pecking the frosted earth with rapid cruel strikes. Its search for food was rewarded with a long, reed-thin cane coming to chase the scavenger away.
"Leave it be," a thick voice croaked fro behind. The turned to its master, eyes blinking in unison. "Away," the figure ordered. "I have business to attend to."
Legendary was he and many names he'd bore throughout his existence, and yet, to look upon him one should think him a poor beggared lost soul. Once a proud warrior, Brynden Rivers had long since retreated into himself, the freshness of youth fading. Dishevelled silver hair adorned a thin-faced man, with wrinkled skin and an empty socked. The full one possessed a blood-red glare, more suited for lighting the merciless night than for seeing the world. And indeed, the Bloodraven saw naught of the world, for he was paying attention only to the burial mound before his one eye.
"You are not welcome here," a voice hissed, coming from within the gaping mouth of the weirwood tree standing in the middle of the burial ground. "You who have turned against the gods, why step you upon scared ground?"
"You are not a goddess," Brynden pointed out dryly. "A witch might be. Those I've known enough of. Cast away the face you've stolen."
The chill of winter wrapped around him tightly, the show of strength a warning. His frail, aged body bent with the waves of pain. "Fool! I am eternal. Every face is mine to take." The shrill voice faded after a few moments and the pain receded.
"We shall see," the man whispered to himself. He knelt by the foot of the grave and pulled from within his frayed and tattered cloak a piece of blackened wood. He placed it next to himself and began speaking in a tongue the flatlands had not heard in many an eon.
From within the mound a shaft of light bore itself to the surface, strange moans and groans accompanying its ascend. "Away, away and leave me be. I need rest." The shapeless form floated before the kneeling man. "Be gone!"
"I only need a word, oh hero of old," Brynden told the spirit, holding out the piece of black wood. The soul latched onto the offering, taking the vessel for his own. "Returned is she whom you call your enemy and my power wanes in the face of her own. Tell me, wise one, for I need to pass on the word, what manner of weakness plagues her icy armour?"
The wood lit eerily from within, flat voice pouring through the cracks and splinters. "Long sought is this answer. Wanted by the rich, needed by the unfortunate, known by the wise and shown by the kind; that is her weakness, for though she be a sharp wit, she dwells in meanness and ne'er had kindness touched her heart before. She knows not of this."
"The weapon you have forged," Brynden urged softly. "When does it light up with such."
The answer did not come The Bloodraven perceived he'd been left on his own by the soul, a sit had retreated back within its home. He muttered under his breath and stood to his feet. moving to a another grave. He knelt by its side and once more called forth the gast dwelling within.
From the bowels of the earth rose a wide-shouldered man clad in copper-armour, bearing a staff. "Who calls upon me to disturb my rest?" he demanded, ghostly-bright eyes tearing through Brynden like knife through thin butter.
"I have no name which might wake within you sympathy. I need your aid." It was not known by many, of course it should not be, but he'd died like many more at than hands of the cold ones. "The blight is upon us once more. Tell me, brave warrior, that you will land skill to the battle."
"Ever I shall. 'Tis not the first time I have fought this tide." He lowered his weapon. ""But my bones are tied to this wretched place. I can not leave nor pace away."
"A bone removed shall untie the binding," Brynden promised. "Freedom for your aid is what I promise. Freedom to roam the lands you've once called your own; freedom to see again the star upon which your eyes fell blind."
"Be you a sorcerer, old man, or someone yet worse? The stars are out of reach." And yet, his form faded so as to allow Brynden to do his work.
A shallow grave it had once been. Within the protection of the ancient weirwood tree, the first of its kind that none could oppose, the Queen of the Night had never dared disturb him. She could make her way within the graveyard but never could she stay for more than a few moments. A small mercy.
Brynden dug into the earth with the blunt edge of a once formidable blade. The small layer of ice gave way, parting to the persuasion of the steel. Long at work was he before he came upon the first of the bones. It was an arm, long, and thick the bone of it. Brynden drew it without and from the knuckle he cut the thumb. The soul wailed at the pain of being wrenched away from its once-home and crammed into the small space made available within the hollow thumb.
"Hush, all is well," the Three-eyed crow said, encasing the bone within a small box of carved wood. "A new home we shall find; have but patience."
The ghost made no reply, settling within its dwelling. It was time to find the dragonkin and learn from him as well the price of his aid. The old man sighed, wishing not for the first time that he could turn back the hands of time to a maiden with bright eyes and tinkling laughter. He pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders, dismissing the thought of fine eyes and sweet lips. A man might fight comfort in them. But as soon as he returned to his weirwood, he would no longer be a man.
"This world was born of ice and fire," he said to no one in particular, "and it shall end in ice and fire."
Forth he made his way.
Aegon wrenched away from his mother's arm, eager to be of aid to his father. The King smiled down upon him, obvious pride shining in his eyes. "I know the way like the back of my hand," he swore. And he did, he remembered every nook and cranny, every turn and dip of the path. He knew how to reach the dwelling of the dragons. And yet enter it he could not. The Prince clutched his dragon egg. "Entrance shan't be granted."
The warning served for naught. "Never you mind that, my son. I shall take care of it." The promise gave the eldest son pause. How would his father do that, he wondered. Yet the curiosity faded as the King stood to his feet. "With your leave, lady wife, we shall be off."
His lady mother gave a thin smile and a nod of the head. "I will patiently await the tales of wonder," she promised him, hand patting his shoulder gently. "Might be you shall have a gift for me as well, upon your return." She let him go with one last kiss. holding onto his egg for him.
Aegon grabbed onto his father's hand, glad that he did not have to share the attention. Rhaenys had been left with grandmother and Daenerys and Viserys was with the Grand Maester having his lessons. There was no one but him and father.
Mindful to appear in the best of lights, the young boy led his parent to the tunnel which he and his sister had walked not long before. To his surprise, they were not alone within. The sconces upon the walls had been lit, the gentle flames producing warm light. Golden string gave way to red the further they moved it until they reached what had been a small opening just the past night.
Now stood before them a large gap in the wall. "I thought you might wish to explore." Rhaegar let go of his son's hand just as the words sank in. With a cry of joy, Aegon rushed to the opening and entered the chamber. He could hear the footsteps of his father coming from behind.
He understood quickly enough the arrangements of the shell shards upon the ground and the small corpses as well. His eyes roamed the shelves, wondering if aught of value remained. Broken eggs he'd seen enough of to last him a lifetime. And so it was that in his search Aegon met a peculiar shape. He looked over his shoulder to see his father kneeling to inspect the broken pieces upon the ground.
The Prince made his way to the shelf which housed the object and climbed it carefully with all the agility of a dragonling. He grabbed at the thick leather covering and dragged the tome to the ground. It fell into the dust at his feet, producing a loud sound.
His father looked up. "What have you found?"
Aegon looked down. "A book, father." He jumped down from his spot and collected his prize, holding it up for inspection.
The covering bore the three-headed dragon of his house carved into the leather. But this dragon's heads released flames which circled the creature trice. Peculiar; he'd not seen something alike before. With an easy step he approached his waiting father who held the light better over it. The silent encouragement had Aegon parting the leather carefully until he had revealed time-yellowed pages and a faded script. The small, rounded hand wrote not in the common tongue, but in that of Old Valyria. He could make out a few words among those which had no meaning to him.
"I do not know what it says," he offered mournfully, feeling quite disheartened. He gazed up at his father for aid. Never hesitating, the King lowered the light to the ground and turned the tome around so he might have a look as well.
"Come, join me," he invited, making room for him son as well. Aegon followed the command, settling between his parent's arms. His father read silently for a few moments, might be trying to make out the meaning himself. And then, much to the boy's astonishment, he chuckled. "I daresay I am the most fortunate of Kings. Mine own son has found me a wealth of knowledge. Well done."
"What is this, father?" Aegon questioned, slightly more impatient. "What does it say?" He held himself back from pulling on the man's sleeve. It was a rude gesture.
"It is the Tome of Dragons, as the name would have it." He pointed out a row of neat writing to him. "This here says that within the pages are contained the experiences of many a dragon riders. W hen your own hatchling shall come, you will have need of this book. A king's book." Aegon swelled with pride at the words.
"Gratitude, father." His small hands came to hold up the book as well. "But I cannot understand it." He frowned. "What use shall it be of to me if I cannot make out the words?"
"You shall learn, my child," Rhaegar promised him. "Soon enough there will be no mystery in here that your eyes shall not have knowledge of." Somewhat put at ease, Aegon turned around in his father's embrace to look up into the face of the man. "Is there aught amiss?"
"I should have been the one to bring the eggs out. I am sorry for having failed you, father." He waited, for any sort of chastisement.
It was granted to him, but not in the manner he'd expected. The King placed down the tome they'd found and grabbed him by the shoulders. "I never wish to hear such words from you, my son. I am always proud of you. You have yet to fail me in anything." He eased his grip. "There is a man fit for every task. Jon brought out the eggs; you found the tome. Steady hands and keen eyes ought to work together, not against one another. You are my child, you are my heir and one day my kingdom shall be yours. I want you to learn the value of each man and set him tasks he is fitted to. Do you understand?"
About half of what had been said. Aegon was too lost in the knowledge that he'd not failed for the moment to pay attention to much else. "Aye, Your Majesty."
"Very well. Come now, let us see aught else is there to explore here." The King drew back, picking up the light. Aegon followed, a smile upon his face.
She would have to look into the matter with utmost care, Lyanna decided when her thoughts turned to the words of her son. Such a bond of which he spoke had been heard of only in stories. Might be the library of her girlhood home yet kept works of a nature to bring forth knowledge. It made her uneasy to think of it too long. An affinity to the creature could be easily explained away with the fact that Rhaella Targaryen was his great-grandmother. Aught else would raise suspicions.
And yet she knew not where to begin. Lyanna looked at her son, sitting upon the bed, playing with his carved beasts. She should have allowed him to seek Renly out, but she hadn't the strength to. Not in the face of what she was bout to do. She needed her son.
The door opened to let Betha in. The servant girl nodded once to her in confirmation and pulled from her apron a small bottle. It was smaller than Lyanna had imagined it to be, but she supposed it contained enough draught to see her through.
Betha moved to the table and poured the contents of the small bottle into a chalice. She added within heated eater and a slice of lemon along with two spoonfulls of honey and mixed them all together carefully under the watchful eyes of Lyanna. "It is the best there is," she assured, holding the cup up for the taking. "By the morrow, my lady, depending on the amount of blood we shall know whether there is need to seek more or give it rest."
"If I grow ill, see Jon to his own bedchamber and bring me Benjen." It did not hurt to be prepared for all possibilities, Lyanna told herself, toying with a loose string. She then took the proffered cup and swallowed the tincture. Thick and bitter even with the hot water as aid, it very near choked Lyanna. She somehow managed to get half of it down and feeling her stomach protest placed the cup to the side.
Her companion took the chalice and covered it with a bit of cloth, placing it upon the table so as to free her hands and help Lyanna into bed. "Rest, m'lady, for I am told 'tis the way of these plants to make you sleepy."
The she-wolf gave a nod, head against the pillows and looked at her son. To think she might have done the very same to him. Lyanna shuddered and asked the gods for forgiveness, praying there was nothing there, nothing which she'd disturbed. Lyanna drew in a sharp breath the forced herself to relax and close her eyes. All would be well, she told herself without much heart; she was just doing what was necessary. It was a price she'd agreed to pay knowingly.
The bed dipped as Jon moved about. Lyanna did not open her eyes. She heard Betha whisper something to the boy, but the words eluded her. How quick the herbs worked, she marvelled. She yawned softly, hands feeling heavy at her sides. It was a tad like having milk of the poppy for the first time. Not entirely unpleasant. Might be she would not even mind it after all.
Jon's voice reverberated through her ears.
She hoped there would come a day when she did not have any need to hide, but until it came, until it stood before her in all its glory, Lyanna knew she'd taken enough risks. She had no excuse to do so once more and thus she would not. For Jon, as much as for herself. And for Rhaegar as well. He was just at the beginning of his reign. It would be cruel and unjustified to burden him unduly; not when she knew what she did.
Lyanna thought about opening her eyes to make sure Jon was well. He'd grown very quiet.
She could not.
Benjen cursed something fierce as he pulled his hand from his sister's forehead. "She's frying," he hissed, lifting the covers slightly to peer at what lied beneath them. Another curse left his lips. This could not be happening. "Gods damn it all."
"Will you let me see, or do I have to push you out of my way?" his father demanded, hand upon his shoulder. Still, Benjen would not budge. "Son," Rickard began once more but never managed to finish.
"Nay. You shall not see." He drew the coverlet back in place and turned to face his father. "Apologies, my lord father, but you will have to forcibly remove me from here before I allow anyone but a maester to look at my sister." He'd told her, amend girl, to have a care. He'd told her not to trust n any stranger. He'd thought she knew better. She ought to know better.
The incensed face of his father swan before him. The Lord of Winterfell was making demands even as Ned moved to calm him down and draw him away from the invalid lying abed wasting away. At least Ned seemed to know what to do, for Benjen admitted to being lost. All he could think of was finding the King and putting a sword through him. And much as he would enjoy that, when Lyanna was well again, she would wring his neck.
His brother's wife pushed her way within the room and glowered at him. "Out of my way," she whispered, the bundle in her arms not inspiring any faith in Benjen. He gave a shake of the head. She insisted. "You can move on your own, or can have you removed. You know nothing about such matters."
"I know enough," he replied tersely, not at all inclined to listen. "A maester is what I said I wanted for her."
Lady Ashara gritted her teeth, heaved a sigh and pushed the bundle in his arms. "You and I both know the cause of this. And if my suspicions are correct, your not moving shall prove to be a problem. Out of my way," she repeated. "And take good-father and your brother without. The last thing she needs is the three of you circling her like carrions."
He took a moment to think. But he perceived that what she said was no lie. And who in their right mind wished to go against her brother? He presumed it would be Arthur Dayne that booted him out the door. "Very well. But if that maester does not arrive soon," he trailed off, assuming the meaning was clear to her.
"Let me worry over that. Now get out and leave the poor woman be." At the mention of her person, his sister gave a weak sound of protest. Ashara took the bundle from his arms and nodded towards the two other men. "She will thank you when she is better."
If she got better. Benjen sighed. He supposed someone ought to comfort poor Jon. The boy was frightened out of his mind. As would be any other person, he suspected. Hells, he was frightened out of his mind. Who'd have known that such a small woman as his sister had that much blood in here? His stomach turned as the scent came back with a vengeance.
"You act the madman," Arthur hissed, trying to pry Rhaegar away from the woman's bedside. He would not be, the King swore to himself, turning the full heat of his glare upon his friend. "You are still the King and she is still Robert Baratheon's widow. What will be said of this? What will court whisper on the morrow?"
He had the right of it, of course. But Rhaegar could simply not believe what was happening. So much so that he was inclined to pay no heed to anything else but his own desires. "Bugger what they say. Nothing of remote intelligence ever left their mouths before. Let them whisper."
"I would gladly do so," his closest companion told him, the hand on his shoulder not lifting, "but she shan't be too pleased with it when she wakes and hears the rumours. She is bound to, even in you so chose to lock her in the Maidenvault."
The acolyte entered the bedchamber, chalice in hand. "The tincture was thrown away," he said softly, so as to not alarm the two men. "But there was enough left on the bottom of this cup to determine what the lady had been given."
"Well, out with it," Rhaegar demanded impatiently. "What manner of poison is this?"
"Not poison." The acolyte shook his head. "At least it would not have caused her harm had it been prepared well. It sees she has taken a sort of moon tea. Whoever made it for her never learned that that it is tansy water one puts in it and not tansy oil."
He felt ill. What could be possibly say to that? Rhaegar turned his gaze upon the waxen face of Lyanna. "Will she live?" When she woke up he would kill her himself. How could she have done something so utterly stupid?
"Thankfully, the servant woman figured out in time that something was amiss. I would say by the way she burns that most of it has left her system. But there is naught to do other than to let her sleep it off. She shall wake when she is ready." Acolyte Brynden placed the chalice upon the table. "If Your Majesty would permit, I must further examine the lady."
What an elegant manner of kicking him out. He no more wanted to leave than his son had wished to go on with his aunt. Yet he well knew it was not his place to sit in on such an intimate proceeding. He heard Arthur release a breath behind him and was tempted to take his frustration out on him. In the end, he did not. The situation was complicated enough as was.
"If anyone asks, it is a case of head cold," he said to the acolyte who dutifully nodded his head. The implied warning, he could see, was well understood. "Dayne, make sure this stays quiet. I trust you and your sister with this."
"But of course, Your Majesty," the Kingsguard answered promptly. "Rest easily."
As if he could.
A/N:
Clues:
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3) ABAAA ABBAA BAABABABAABAAABAABAA BAABBAABBBABAAABAABA AAAABBAAABABAAAABBABAABBABAABA BAABBAABBBAABAA AAAABBABAABAAABABBABABAAAABBABAABBA BAAAABABAAAABAABAABABAABBABAAAABBBAABBAB AAAAAAAAABABBBABABAABAABB BABBAAAAAABAABA BAABAAABBBAABAA ABBBABAAAB BABBAAAAAABAABA BAABAAABBBAABAA ABBABABBBABAABB BABBAABAAABAABBAABBB AAABAAABBBABAAAABABBAAABB BABBAAABAAABABBABABB AAABBAABAAAAAAABAAAB BAAABAABAAAAAAAAAABBAABAABAAAB BAABAABAAAABBABAAABAAABAA ABAAA AABABAABAAAABAAABABB ABABBABAAAABABAAABAA AAABABAAABBABAABAABAAABBBABAAAABBABAABBA BBAAAABBBABABAABAAAB AABBBABBBAABBBBAABAABAABA AAAAAABBABAAABB AAABBBAAABAABAAAAAAAABBAABAABA ABAAABAABA ABBAABBAAA BAAABAABAABAABAABBBBABBBAABBABBAABAABAAAAAAABABAAAABABBABAAABAABBBBAAA BAABBAABBBAABAA AAAAAABBABBAABABABBAAABAABAAAB BAABBABBBA BAABBAABBBAAAAABAABB BABBAABAAAABABBABABB AABBBAAAAABABABAABAA BAABBABBBA BABBAAAAAAABAAABAABB BABAAABBABBAABBABAAAABABB BAABBAABBBAABAA ABBABAABAABABBBBAABB AAABAAABBBAAAAAABBBBBAABBAABAABAAAB AABABBAAABAABAABAABB AAAAABAABB BABBAABAAAABABBABABB
4) BAABBAABBBAABAA AAAABABBBAABBBAABABA AAAAAAABAAAABBAABBBAABBAB AABABABBBABABAAABBABAAABB ABAAABAABA AAAAAAAABABAABBBABAAAAAAAABABBABABBBBAAA BAAAABABAAABAAABAABBAABAA BABAABAABAAABAAAABABBABAAABABB BAABBAABBBAABAA BAAABAABAAAAAAABAABAABBBAABBAB AABBBAABAA AAABBABBBAAABAABAABAABBAB BAABB BABAAABBABAAABBAABAABAAABBAABABAABBAAAAAABBABAAABB ABBAABABAAAAABAAABBB ABAAAABBAB BAABBAABBBAABAA ABBBBBAAABAABAAAABABAAAAAAAABAAABAA ABAAABAABA AAAABAABAAAAABAAAAAABABAABAABAAABAA BAABBAABBBAABAA ABABBAAAAAABBABAABBABABAAAAAAAAABBAAABAA ABAAABAABA ABBABABBBABAABB AAAAAAAABABAABBBABAAAAAAAABABB AABBBABAAAAABBAAABBB BABABAAAAAABABBBBAAABAAABABAAAAAAAAABBAB AAAABBABAABAABB AAAAA AAABAAAAAAABBBBABAAABAABBAAAAAABABB AAABBABAAAAAAAAABABBAABAAAAABABAABB BABAABAABAAABAAAAABB ABAAAABBAB ABBBAABABBAAABB BABABAAAAAABABBBBAAABAAABABAAAAAAAA BAAABAABBBAAAAAAABAAAABBAAAAAABAAAB BABAAABBABAAABBAABAABAAABBAABABAABBAAAAAABBABAAABBBAABA ABAAABAABBBAABA AAAABAABAABAABBBAABBAABAABAAAB AAAABAABAAAAABAAAAAABABAABAABAAABAA BAAAABABAAABAAABAABBAABAA AABABBAAABAAAAAABBABABABAABABBBBAAA BABBAABBBABABAAABABBAAABB BBAAAABBBABABAA AABAABABBBABBBBAABAAAAABABAABB AABBBABAAAABBAA ABBABABBBABAABB BAABBABBBA AABBBAABAA BAABA AAAAA AAAABABBBAABBBAABABA BABBAABBBABAAABABBAA
5) ABAABABBBAABBAB BAABA AAABBBAAABAAAAAAABBAABBBAABBAB BABBAABAAAABABBABABB AAAAAAAABABAABBBABAAAAAAAABABBABABBBBAAA AAAABAABAA ABBBAAABAB ABBAABABAAAAABAAABBB AABBBAABAAABABBABBBB BAABBABBBA ABABBBBAAAAAAAAABBABABBABAAAAA ABBABABBBABAABBAABBBABAAAABBABAABBA BAABBABBBA AABBBAABAAABABBABBBB AAAAA BABBAABBBAABBAAAAAAAABBAB AAAAAABABBABBBAABBABAABBA AAAAABAABA AAAAA AAABBBAAABAAAAAAABBAABBBAABBAB ABAAABAABB ABAAABAABA ABABAABBABABBBABABBAABBAB BABBAAABAAABABBABABB ABAAABAABB BAABA ABBABABBBABAABB AAAABBABAABAABB ABBABABBBABABBA BBAAAABBBABABAA ABABAABBABABBBABABBA ABAAA AABBBABBBAABBBBAABAA BAABBAABBBAAAAABAABB BABBAABBBABAAABBAAABABAAAAABAABAABA BBAAAABBBABABAA