Chapter 138

End of an Era

Gold generally melts at 1064 °C. Dwarves, good as they are at working metal will generally manage to reach the necessary temperatures to achieve such a feat. Apparently the rules are a little different for Rings imbued with evil sorcery. Obviously, another solution was required to deal with the One Ring.

The temperature of lava generally fluctuates between 700 °C and 1200 °C. A dragon's fire can reach up to about the same heat. This information is supplied to me by the dwarves, who tell me that a dragon's fire can easily melt stone, which melts – depending on the kind of stone we're talking about – between 650 °C and 1200 °C. It is therefore safe to say that the melting point of the one Ring was somewhere upwards of 1100 °C.

So far the little science lesson. It is all idle speculation anyway, because it seems to me that a dwarf who can manage 1064 °C, can easily manage a few degrees more to reach the necessary temperatures for destroying the One Ring. Science always takes something of a backseat when there is magic involved. There was probably some magical link between the place where the Ring was forged and the Ring itself. And dragons are creatures of magic, so it stands to reason that this was the reason why they could hypothetically destroy the One Ring as well. Not that we'll ever find out, seeing as how they're all gone.

I don't believe that Sauron ever knew anything about the whole thing until it was already too late. Of course he knew the initial plan to destroy the Ring, but then Faramir got hold of the thing and that was quite all right, because he didn't want to unmake it. Of course it was only all right until it wasn't. I don't mind putting some money on Sauron shitting bricks during his last few days. A very vindictive part of me is feeling quite pleased with that. That same part of me likes to think that he knew exactly what was happening in his final moments, that he knew he had been taken for a fool, that the Fellowship was alive and well and that they had managed to melt down his Ring just before his life was snuffed out forever. He deserved it.

Don't ask me how long it takes to melt down the One Ring. I imagine that it'll take a few minutes. No one saw it. The Fellowship didn't either, but only because they had the good sense not to stick around for that bit, because when it was done, there wasn't a soul in the world who could fail to miss it…

Thráin

'Out!' Thráin dictated as soon as the Ring began on its last descend. Much as he would like to see with his own eyes that it was indeed gone for good, sticking around would ensure that it was most likely the last thing he ever saw. 'Go! Make for high ground!'

The Fellowship did not need telling twice. The relief of having done their jobs was short-lived indeed. There would be time for that if they ever made it out again. Gimli took the lead. He was a good sprinter, even with the injured arm and the fever. Legolas scooped up Frodo, who was still unsteady on his feet, and followed after him. Thráin didn't feel much steadier, if he was honest, but he could still run to save his own life, so he did. Sam kept pace with him, as exhausted as the rest of them.

They made it back through the archway and onto the mountainside and still nothing had happened. Melting could take a little time, Thráin knew, so he did not share in the anxious looks the two hobbits exchanged. He focused his efforts where they would be most productive. So he urged Sam on and kept a weather eye out for anything that might serve as a temporary shelter.

He hadn't found it yet when the first tremor spelled imminent disaster.

Gimli met his eye and nodded. Yes, this was what he thought it was.

'There!' Legolas exclaimed, pointing. A little distance away there was a broad rock that jutted out from the mountainside itself. Presumably it would be of some use when streams of molten rock floated down the mountain, although it wasn't anything like as useful when all manner of things fell down from above.

There was nothing else.

'Go!' he shouted at Legolas. He reckoned that their respite had almost run its course.

He was right about that. The ground shook beneath their feet, groaning in what from a sentient being would be called pain. These were the last dying spasms of the Ring. It was hard to remain upright, but he managed it. Sam didn't, so he scooped him up and swung him over his shoulders like a bag of potatoes, pack and all. This was not the time to be gentle.

He had his feet on their makeshift shelter when the shaking reached its crescendo. A shockwave knocked all of them down. Even Legolas could not maintain his balance. He and Frodo both went down. Gimli fell on his bad arm, which led to language that could curdle milk at a five mile radius. Thráin and Sam went down too.

It was testimony too how badly he'd already been hurt that he hardly felt the addition of some more aches he didn't have when he entered Mordor.

Behind him something exploded. The sound took his hearing for a bit, but when he rolled onto his back he could see what it did. Ashes and molten rock were propelled high into the air by some invisible force, a clear sign that it was done. It truly was done. The Ring was no more. Despite being in the most dangerous place in the world, Thráin felt a wave of relief wash over him. It is done. It is over. Perhaps he ought to turn those words into a mantra, because it felt surreal. For many months this had been his one and only aim, the thing that dominated his thoughts from the moment he woke up to the moment he laid down his head to rest. And now it was over. He felt strangely uprooted and set adrift.

It didn't last for long. Self-preservation overrode any philosophical musings, so he scrambled to his feet, grabbed Sam by the back of his coat and dragged him further onto their temporary safe haven. His ears were ringing, but his hearing returned. It wasn't a great improvement on being deaf; the roaring around him never stopped.

But at least Legolas could make himself understood again: 'The wind will blow it away from us,' he announced, gesturing at the sky to indicate a breeze Thráin didn't feel. He took the elf's word for it.

He had a better question to ask. 'Do you see the eagles?' Now at last he could allow himself to think on it. The Ring was destroyed. That mission was completed. Now he could set about saving the Fellowship itself.

It was in need of saving. Lava now streamed through the archway and down the mountain. It seemed that his assessment of their shelter held true: it did not touch them here. Legolas sounded certain about the wind and their safety because of it, but this was no longer the place to be. The heat was very bad. Frodo and Sam had both trouble breathing. Sam had tied a cloth around the lower half of his face and now urged Frodo to do the same.

Legolas scoured the skies. 'Not yet,' he said. There was a world of exhaustion and defeat in those words alone. It was telling that he did not ask for the contents of the book. Either way, that was no use anymore. The book had run its course. Oh, he knew that it did not end with the destruction of the Ring, but they had long since left the path it set out. To rely on it now was a fool's hope.

And yet that is what our quest has always been. Only a fool would believe that we could do this and yet we have. There must be hope still.

'They will come,' he replied with more conviction than he felt. 'Make yourself as small as you can and cover your heads,' he instructed briskly. 'It may take them some time and it will not do to die in the meantime.'

As he was still their leader, these instructions were obeyed without question. He gave the good example himself, sitting down, knees drawn up and arms wrapped around them. It was an easy enough instruction for most of them, but Legolas, with his larger frame, looked large no matter how much he tried to fold himself up. Had this been any other day, he would have mercilessly ridiculed the elf for it, but not now. The times were too dire.

The Fellowship had distraction near at hand. The tremors in the earth never stopped. More than once Thráin feared that their rock would break off and be borne away on the stream of molten rock, never to be seen again, its occupants burned and drowned in a death too terrible to imagine.

Some shockwaves were heavier than others. This one made the land itself move as far as the eye could see and from this vantage point, Thráin could see far and wide. Barad-dûr was easily visible from here and so he saw it fall. The first shockwave made the tower sway, the second even more so, but it was the third that really did the trick. The tower leaned over, then back, seemed to hesitate, but then collapsed in on itself. Thráin saw it go, even with the land still quivering, like a horse trying to rid itself of a particularly persistent sort of fly that just didn't know when to take a hint.

Legolas of course offered his own view of these events: 'This is the land itself,' he announced, even as he clutched the ground to ensure that he wasn't thrown from his perch and into the lava. 'It has suffered Sauron for long years, but now it can at last break free from his hold.'

Gimli looked at him as though he had grown a second head. 'The land is doing this?' he demanded with no small amount of incredulity.

'Yes, my friend, this is the land,' Legolas nodded. He was caked in grime and blood and sweat from the top of his head to the toes of his feet, but he still managed to sound serene and in control of the situation. Thráin knew that he wasn't – or at the very least that he wasn't the latter one – but a more gullible soul might be forgiven for believing it. 'Sauron has bent it to his will for a long time, but now his hold is broken and it can break free.'

Gimli moved on to the more practical concerns. 'Can you make it stop?' he demanded. 'Or at least tell us that we're the good sort?'

'Such a thing is not within my gift.'

It didn't surprise Thráin in the slightest.

Sauron was gone. The fall of his stronghold reinforced that assessment, but what brought it home to him even more was the reappearance of the sky. For longer than he cared to remember – besides, after so many days in Mordor he was no longer certain of the date at any rate – the clouds broke. Small holes appeared at first through which rays of sunlight touched a land that no longer remembered such a thing. They quickly became bigger. The clouds that remained stopped flashing as they had done for as long as Thráin could remember. His kind valued the comfort of mountain halls and the lights of torches, but at this moment he could not recall ever having seen a sight more welcome to him than this.

'Look,' he said to the hobbits, laying a hand on each of their shoulders. 'Look!'

They both did. Sam's face was a study in delighted wonder. Frodo, who had borne the brunt of the Ring's assault for the entirety of the journey, was still recovering, but when he looked up and saw the light of the sun, he too smiled.

'It is over, Mr Thráin,' Sam said.

'Yes,' Thráin agreed. 'It is.' He turned to Frodo. 'Can you not feel it?'

'I can feel it.' The tone of voice was exhausted, but there was life in it as well that he had not heard for many weeks. 'I can remember.'

'Remember what, Mr Frodo?' Sam asked.

The answer was immediate: 'The taste of food. I couldn't taste it anymore. I did not feel hungry anymore.' He looked quite surprised as he announced his next observation: 'I shouldn't mind a bite to eat. I feel quite peckish.'

The world may be ending. This rock could break off at any moment and end them all, but Sam leaped into action immediately. He opened his pack, fished out the lembas and handed a sizeable chunk of it to Frodo. 'There you go, Mr Frodo,' he said. 'Eat.'

Frodo did.

This led Thráin to realise that he too would not mind a meal of some kind, even if it was lembas. His mouth was drier than the Harad desert, so he downed a few mouthfuls of water as well, only to rediscover that it tasted absolutely awful. Only his great thirst prevented him from spitting it back out again.

'The taste of this water I have not missed,' he observed. 'Nor will I miss the taste of lembas once there is decent food to be had.'

'Lovely chips,' Sam spoke wistfully.

'Strawberries,' Frodo added.

'Roast meat fresh of the bone,' said Gimli, practically drooling at the thought.

'Fresh bread.' Thráin found he could not help but join in. 'Covered in butter and cousin Sigdís's jam.'

'Salads,' said Legolas, thus utterly ruining the mood.

'Are you touched in the head?' Gimli wondered. 'Who in his right mind would ever long for green food when there were so many better things to be had?'

Legolas did not fortunately dignify this with an answer. 'Can you feel the wind, my friends?' he asked. 'It blows strong and fresh from the west.'

'Hard to feel anything in this damnable heat,' Gimli remarked. Thráin agreed with him on this score. He felt nothing either, but there was hope in knowing that Legolas felt it and that would do him for the time being.

Thráin looked on the remnants of Barad-dûr again and found that it was no more. The rubble was there, but the stronghold was not. It was destroyed and so was the one who built and maintained it. It is all over.

And yet the Fellowship was not yet out of danger. For some time now Mount Doom had spewed many a thing into the air, making it go higher and higher, but what goes up, must eventually come down and this was now beginning to happen.

Not far away something big and heavy crashed at speed into the lava. The splatters touched the shelter on the right side, but fortunately avoided the Fellowship itself for now. That didn't mean that another projectile couldn't quite efficiently finish the job, so he left the destruction of towers and reappearance of the sun for later. 'Cover your heads,' he commanded. 'Make sure your skin is covered in several layers to avoid burns.' It wouldn't do them any good once a rock fell on their heads, but it might stand them in good stead in case of more splattering.

The Fellowship did as it was told without further need for instruction. Frodo and Sam huddled together and spoke in low voices with one another. Gimli pulled his hood over his face and curled in on himself.

Legolas ignored instructions.

Oh, for Mahal's sake!

Thráin had followed his own instructions, but trust the elf to think he knew better. Legolas stood on the very edge of the ledge, arms waving like branches in a storm, easily visible for miles around and at this exact moment a prime target for anything hot and heavy that was looking for something or someone to squash.

There was nothing else for it, so he rose to his feet to save his friend from his own ill-advised notions. He grabbed Legolas by his belt and dragged him down. 'What in the world do you think you're doing?' he demanded.

If Legolas was put out by this treatment, he showed no sign of it. 'Can you not see?' He sounded, if anything, thoroughly surprised.

A rock sailed through the air and took off the spot where Legolas had just stood. Thráin dragged him a little further back just to be sure. Their rock quivered, but remained for now. 'I can see that you have a death wish you haven't told me about!' he replied angrily. 'If it hadn't been for me, you would have been dead. Do you realise that?'

Legolas was entirely unperturbed. 'Look!' he said, pointing to the western skies. 'Can you truly not see?'

The quickest way to get anything done was to oblige him, so Thráin turned his head in the direction Legolas had indicated. At first there was nothing. He squinted and made out three dots, approaching at some speed. He squinted some more and discovered that the dots had wings.

'The eagles,' he understood and it was as though the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. They were coming. Their salvation was near at hand. This was not the end of the Fellowship.

'The eagles are coming,' Legolas agreed. He smiled.

So they were. He reminded Legolas to look for their coming from a sitting position to minimalize the chance that he would come to more harm, but he kept an eye on the skies himself as well. The eagles drew nearer fast. He had heard of them in his parents' stories and he had read about them in the book, but he had underestimated them still. They were larger than he had imagined and there was something noble in their entire being. These were not mere mindless animals.

They were quick and efficient. They located the Fellowship without further assistance from the elf and so swooped in one by one to the rescue. Frodo and Sam were taken first and Thráin was glad to see them go. If anyone deserved it to be safe, they were the first names that sprang to mind. Gimli and Legolas were next. Gimli appeared to have lost most contact with reality at last, so the sooner he got help, the better. Thráin waited patiently for the last one to take him.

The ground disappeared from under him just as the rock that had been their shelter was knocked loose at last.

Beth

Folca was skittish. Beth had no idea what was wrong with him, but she didn't like it. After their little… chat he had been as gentle as a lamb. There had been no problems riding him over a bridge of orcish make, even though it creaked and groaned with every step he took. Beth had been the one glancing nervously down at the ground, trying to work out if there was any real chance of them plunging to their deaths anytime soon.

Of course no such thing had happened.

There hadn't been any problems when she mounted up this morning just before dawn either. He just stood still and let her get on with it. And yet they were barely half an hour on the road and now he was practically jumping.

'What is wrong with you?' she demanded with no small amount of irritation. 'It's not as if we're before the Black Gates already. Will you stop dancing around?'

It didn't help. Folca did another nervous little dance that almost dislodged her from his back. Beth yelped.

'Are you all right?' Aragorn asked as he came alongside.

'It's this bloody horse,' Beth growled from between clenched teeth, trying to rein in said bloody horse before it threw her off. 'I haven't got a bloody clue what's wrong with him, but he's absolutely incorrigible today!'

The elf with the scratch along his neck – must be Elrohir, if Gandalf was right – joined them on the other side. 'The ground is shaking,' he said. 'Can you not feel it?'

This was a stupid question. Of course she could feel it. 'There are seven Mûmakil marching with the army,' she reminded her kidnapper enabler acidly. 'Some shaking is to be expected and it didn't bother him before either. What the hell is wrong with you?' she exclaimed when Folca made a little jump with all four hoofs off the ground. 'Bloody hell!'

Of course, neither Aragorn nor Elrohir had the same problems, which did not endear them to Beth at this precise moment.

Elrohir smiled and went down some more in her estimation. 'No, these are not the Mûmakil,' he said thoughtfully. 'Can you truly not sense the difference?'

Aragorn interfered before Beth could lose her patience. 'I do not feel anything I have not felt before either,' he said. 'What is it that you speak of?'

For all Beth knew she might have been in for a long and enigmatical conversation of which she was bound to emerge even more confused than how she went in, but the next tremor she did feel. The earth groaned and then it moved.

Bloody hell! Beth thought, because she certainly didn't have the time to properly say it. Folca whinnied in panicked tones and reared up. It was all Beth could do not to be thrown off. She clutched the reins and saddle for dear life and to her relief did manage to hold on.

All around the line devolved into chaos. Horses screamed, men screamed. Several horses decided that they had put up with enough shit over the past months and they really had enough now. They hightailed it out of here and whether their riders were still on their backs did not seem to matter much to them. The Mûmakil's only concession to this latest development was to stand still and look bemused. Of course this didn't seem like such a big deal to them. They were used to being the big deal to everything else. She doubted that an earthquake could ever properly shift them anyway.

What the hell is Sauron cooking up in there?

'Dismount!' Aragorn shouted at her.

He shouted some more, but she didn't hear him because somewhere else something roared with intent. She didn't see where it came from, but that was not as important as making sure she got back on solid ground – well, not as solid as she'd like anyway – before Folca could throw her off so that Beth could break her skull open on impact.

The sound built, and for some time it drowned out everything else. She could not say how long it lasted, only that when it finally subsided, the ground was still moving. She'd heard about earthquakes, but England never had them, so all her knowledge was gleaned from books and documentaries. They were a woefully inadequate preparation for the real thing.

Ground was supposed to be steady. It was one of those things that was not ever supposed to move. Now it did. It rolled and bucked underneath her feet and it seemed to go on forever. She didn't even have time to be properly afraid, because she was too busy making sure she didn't fall over or got trampled beneath the hoofs of fleeing horses.

It didn't end, but it did grow less, until it was just the quivering of the ground. She had held on to Folca, who had been obliging enough not to do a runner, and both she and he were still standing, which was more than could be said for well over half of the army. If she found it mildly amusing that Elrohir had been thrown to the ground while Beth still stood, she didn't say it. She certainly thought it.

She did not dwell on it for long, because she was quite sure that Sauron had caused this in some way and whatever he meant to do, it was unlikely to be good news. So she turned her gaze on Mordor.

Well, shit.

Smoke rose up high into the air from the direction that Mount Doom was in. Boromir had pointed it out to her yesterday, so that she knew where the Fellowship was headed. This is not just an earthquake, she realised, this is a volcano eruption. According to Boromir this had happened with alarming frequency since Sauron moved back in, but somehow she doubted it had ever been as heavy as this one; he was as taken aback as she was.

Even then her mind refused to leap to the more logical conclusion. She just stood there, staring. Who knew what Sauron hoped to achieve by this. Well, actually, she knew exactly what he hoped to achieve, because he'd managed it quite well. The entire army was in disarray. Some of the men had already fled. True, some of them may not have had much of a choice when their mounts decided that this was not the place to be. But for some it was a conscious choice. There were of course those who didn't run there and then, but who would look at their fleeing companions and decide that under cover of dark, they might very much like to slip away too. Their courage had taken a dent and she didn't know if it could recover from this.

She still didn't make the connection.

Fortunately Aragorn had kept his wits about him. 'Beth, look!'

He pointed quite excitedly at the skies above Mordor. She meant to say that yes, she'd already seen the evidence of the volcano eruption, thank you very much, and she didn't need to see anymore, when she realised that this was not what he meant.

Oh.

Oh!

She had read this so wrong. This wasn't Sauron's doing. How could it be? He hadn't allowed any natural sunlight in his domain for as long as anyone could remember. Now there were holes from between the clouds that hung over that dark land. The darkness that Sauron had conjured up the day before yesterday was dissolving fast. Even from where she stood, she saw the rays of sunshine beaming down on a land that had forgotten sunshine.

Her mouth dropped open. Even now, with the evidence so clearly before her, it needed a few seconds to really sink in.

Aragorn said it first: 'They did it.' Wonder coloured his voice. 'It is over.'

Yes, it must be. Why else would all Sauron's foul magic break up like that? They'd already known that the Fellowship must be close, but Beth didn't think they'd have been this close. She'd estimated that they'd need another few days, which would have been more than all right, because it would take the army a while to get to the Black Gates.

And now it had happened.

She was quite lost for words.

Though not for very long. Reality caught up fast. 'They are in there,' she said, horrified. If it was this bad beyond the borders of Mordor, then how bad was it at ground zero? They were still on Mount Doom, if they were still alive.

Peter materialised at her side. He'd come off a little worse than Beth had, he cradled his left arm, which hung uselessly by his side and had a headwound that was bleeding into his hair and down the right side of his face. 'Gandalf. Eagles. Come on, Beth!'

Right. Her priorities righted themselves. This was still important. There was still something she could do, some last piece of advice that she had to offer before her uses as an advisor ran out at last. And then you won't have a book to fall back on anymore, she could not help but think. It'll be back to completely unpredictable.

Now was not the time for that, so Beth shoved the thought away. 'Follow me,' she said. Gandalf had gone to the very front, just behind the Mûmakil, to have a chat with Théodred this morning. She'd seen them just before she mounted up. It wasn't even an hour ago yet, although it felt longer. Everything had changed since then.

They went on foot. Peter's horse was nowhere in evidence and she wasn't sure Folca wasn't reverting right back to his usual ways after all of this, but either way it was probably best not to chance it. And this was faster anyway. Everywhere people were picking themselves off the ground, checking for broken bones and concussions. Meanwhile they were also staring open-mouthed at the skies above Mordor, because not a single one of them had ever seen a blue sky over that land before. Not that it was going to be blue for long at this rate; the volcano spewed a lot of smoke and the like into the air. She fancied she could smell it even from where she stood.

Gandalf wasn't hard to find. If anything, he had beaten her to it. Three eagles had landed and he was climbing onto the biggest one of them. She now recalled that she had asked him about the eagles after the battle had ended and he had reminded her that she was not the only one who had their friends in mind.

They're his friends as well, she thought, feeling a bit silly now. We were all part of the Fellowship. Of course he wasn't going to forget.

'Good luck,' she wished him, trying to mask that she wasn't here to remind him to do what he was already doing. 'The very best of luck.'

Gandalf inclined his head to her. 'We will do our best,' he said. He didn't make any promises he wouldn't be able to keep. Beth appreciated that. 'Make for Minas Tirith. That is where we shall bring them.'

'Will do,' Beth promised. There was no chance she'd get there ahead of them, but she'd give it her best shot anyway.

One eagle – up close they were vastly more impressive and intimidating – turned his gaze on her. 'You are welcome to fly with us,' he said, not unkindly. 'I understand that these are your friends.'

If she hadn't been so terrified of heights, she might have taken him up on that offer, but under the given circumstances this did not seem like a great idea. 'No,' she replied. 'That's very kind, but I am not good with heights. And I don't want to give you even more weight to carry. Just go and find them and bring them back and that'll be good enough for me.'

They wasted no more time on words. Gandalf was sitting on the back of one of the eagles, completely in position. One by one the eagles took off. They gained altitude and then set off east. They were fast too. For some reason Beth hadn't really realised just how fast they were. These past days they had kept pace with the army and that was moving slightly slower than a glacier. The eagles had slowed down for them.

'I'll round up as many of the original Fellowship as I can,' Beth announced to Peter. She could sit here agonising over what might or might not happen, but that wasn't going to do anyone any good. So she'd follow Gandalf's instruction instead. 'You can collect your new best friend.'

'Who?'

She rolled her eyes. 'Faramir of course. And yes, he definitely needs to come even if he wasn't in the Fellowship. I have a feeling that Thráin will want to see him.' And she was pretty sure about the other four as well. He had endangered himself for their sake. That made him as good as a Fellowship member already.

She found Pippin with Boromir and the two of them had already found Aragorn. The three of them were looking at the skies, presumably hoping for answers. The darkness had disappeared entirely, which was the good news, but the volcano was still going strong, which was the bad news.

'Gandalf has gone to retrieve our friends,' she said briskly, trying very badly to ignore the volcano, for all the good that did. 'He's asked us to return to Minas Tirith.'

Aragorn nodded. 'I shall order the army to turn around and march back.'

'No, I shall do that.' Beth had no idea where Théodred had come from, but when she checked, he was there, also looking a little the worse for wear, but still on his feet despite all that.

'It is my duty…' Aragorn protested.

'To see your friends well,' Théodred interjected smoothly. 'You began this journey together and have long been separated. Reunite. I shall see these people safely back to the city. You may rely upon that.' He turned to Boromir for support. 'We have long been friends. Do I have your trust in this?'

Boromir never hesitated for a second before he agreed. 'He will do right by our people, Aragorn.'

'I will assist him,' said Faramir who apparently had also mastered the art of appearing out of nowhere.

'No.' Beth and Boromir both spoke the word simultaneously, but it was Beth who did the explaining: 'If you think any of us are going to be allowed to live if we don't show you alive and well to the Fellowship – and Thráin in particular – you really don't know them well, do you?'

He was a strange guy, this cousin. She would not honestly put it past him to walk out the gates with however many injuries he may have sustained along the way to find Faramir and make sure that he really was as all right as the people around him claimed.

It was therefore just as well that Faramir didn't put up any more of a fight.

They were on their way before the morning was out.


Next time: the destruction of the Ring is felt in Erebor. Thráin reaches Minas Tirith.

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Until next week!