Thank you all for reading!
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Mweas99 -chapter 5- So excited to see this update! I can't wait for Legolas to start remembering her, and I love her back and forth with Gimli.
Thanks! Don't worry, Legols will remember her….. Eventually.
PrettyRecklessLaura -chapter 6- Can't wait for more!
So glad! You can't wait!
Now, ON WITH THE SHOW!
Everything was comfortably numb. Or uncomfortably, depending on how you looked at it.
On one hand, it was quiet. On the other, it was quiet. Everything was quiet. She was quiet.
At first it was okay, she could write on pieces of parchment should she wish to 'talk'. She tried to write down everything that had happened. Sauron, the voice, the Uruk-Hai, but she couldn't. She physically couldn't. Every time her quill would touch the paper, ready to write down everything she couldn't write it. She was incapable of writing about anything that happened while she was unconscious. She could write about anything save for that. It appeared Sauron had been serious when he said she shall not tell anyone, through voice or otherwise.
Because she, Jackie Dornessiti, Elven Princess Under the Mountain, kin of the dwarves of Erebor, savior of Dale and all that crap. Was mute.
And as far as she could tell she was not getting any better. No sound could escape her lips. From the loudest of screeches (which she tried) to the foulest of curses (which she now recited in her head with vigour due to her inability to pronounce them) to the softest of whispers (usually when she stared up at the starry night sky of Caras Galadhon -fucking Caras Galadhon- and asked the valar why her). By the rate she was going she would be able to speak by the time elves grew beards and went drinking with dwarves. Which is to say, never.
She stared out the window, her left arm in a cast, the last remaining injury on her body that required any bandage. Yes her body was sore. Yes she felt she was just trampled by a herd of mountain horses. Yes her slowing was slowed considerably by that bastard Sauron. No she would not allow herself to be pampered any more. Already this morning she had completed her daily set routine. Her right wrist had healed swiftly, and broken ribs were nothing but sore. Galadriel had extracted the internal bleeding and prevented more from flowing into her brain, though brief headaches struck her occasionally. She did not doubt that she would continue to have pains for years to come, these were the worst injuries she had had since the walls of the Lonely Mountain fell on her so long ago. Perhaps even leave another scar.
She caught a glance at herself in the mirror as she moved towards the exit of her new room, the smells of breakfast wafting from the twisting stairs. She wore slate blue denim leggings and a pistachio green wool pullover. Her hair in a single plait down her back, curled over her shoulder out of habit to hide the scar there. Her worn leather cuffs were a familiar comfort, even if the rest of the fellowship now knew. Soft silk slippers adorned her feet, her steps feather light and inaudible. The pearl coloured fabric like warm ghosts on her feet, so light and fine she nearly believed she was barefoot.
A melodic voice or a young elf flowing through the windows as she moved down, reciting a poem in dedication to-
Books,
a rare gem among a vast sea of stones,
A dot of life in a graveyard of bones.
Like a comforting, welcoming, home in the midst of a raging storm, characters opening the door,
with a warm welcome and a soft I 'come in', barely heard in the winds defining roar.
We can read for relief and release from reality,
render and recreate ourselves to be players in revenge, rage, reputation, honor or glee.
The thick weight of the hardcovers that of an obese cat with a mass so fair,
the smoothness of a soft cover that of silky, flowing locks of the finest hair.
The smell that transports you to swaths of ancient parchment and colossal athenaeums,
Age-old texts centuries young, enough to find themselves in museums.
Books as fresh as a newborn fawn,
waiting to have their stiff spines opened and drawn
Yes books are escape to worlds unknown,
Where even we may sit on a vast throne.
She smiled as she moved past the school girl and her friends, who were clapping enthusiastically at the beautifully sewn poem. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear as she entered the dining hall. Gimli was roaring at something Merry had said, spewing a mouthful of water all over Pippin's face. She moved so silently she almost got away with waking to a secluded shadow of the vast dining hall.
Almost.
A golden haired Mirkwood Prince stood in her way, saying nothing before he picked her up bridal style and walked to the table the rest of the fellowship was eating. It was Boromir who spoke first. "How was your sleep, Dornessiti?"
She could tell that the question was one from a place of concern, so she just smiled. Though she sensed Legolas tense beside her. She pointed to her cast and then held her thumb up, symbolising she was mending well. Dammit this is gonna be harder than I thought. If I have to fucking mime everything I wanna say…
Boromir's face paled, guilt flashing across it for seconds before he muttered; "Ah-um- sorry- I forgot- good- um- good." He nodded his head and dug into his meal, a bowl of porridge with seeds and sugar to add flavor sprinkled on top.
She just grinned again and grabbed a plate of eggs from the center of the table, digging in. Gimli raised his eyebrows at her dainty eating. She shrugged. Gimli scoffed. She scowled. He smirked. And so forth until finally she abandoned the painstakingly slow method of eating and just slapped the egg onto a piece of buttered toast and ate it hand held. Gimli nodded.
Legolas began to move his fingers in Mirkwood sign, a finger language required of all the guards of Mirkwood in case they were in a position speaking was not possible, lest it compromise positions or injure others. You seem to be taking this well.
She raised her eyebrows, but didn't sign in return, instead she let her eyes say it all. She couldn't really sign well with her cast anyway. Well my ass, you just can't hear me.
He snorted. Do you always have this foul a mouth? He seemed to say. Barb fully intentional m'lady.
Oh, but your highness. She smirked. I am so very hurt, and recovering from fatal injuries. Could you not give your humble servant a reprieve from such cruel, hurtful words?
He raised his eyebrow once more.
She was jerked back to reality when she realised how silent the table had gone.
"Do not bother talking to the fair lady, friend dwarf." Boromir said through a mouthful of porridge. "She is far too enormed by the eyes of her handsome prince."
She used her spoon to catapult a load of porridge towards the man's face.
"I said, lassie." Gimli repeated, though she had heard him not the first time. "That do ye remember, well, anythin' bout what, ah- happened in Moria?"
"I am the servant of the Secret Fire. Wielder of the Flame of Anor."
The balrog reached down and drew its heinous weapon, holding high above its wretched head.
"The dark fire will not avail you." Gandalf held out his flimsy staff in front him, glowing with the white of stars in a void of darkness. "Flame of Udun!"
The demon brang it's horrendous sword down upon Gandalf, who protected himself with his powerful staff. A clash and flash of a blinding, great light blinded the room for seconds before it receded, showing the balrog dropping his sword and roaring with what could not be classified as anything but pure rage.
"Go back to the shadow!"
The balrog put a cloven foot on the bride. If he continued his weight would surely crack it, the demon himself would be fine, it had wings but the fellowship would fall to their deaths. She pushed a lagging Merry the last few steps off the bridge, to the illusion of safety the other side brought. The balrog brang his hand up again, in his black fist a whip of concentrated fire.
"You shall not pass!" The Wizard yelled, raising both his sword and staff above his grey head and brang the glowing rod of pure power down hard on the bridge.
The balrog merely snorted at Gandalf and raised his whip, taking another step forward. As his foot touched the narrow stone the bridge collapsed, and the balrog, epitome of death, bringer of chaos, as old as the very earth around them, fell -anticlimactically- into the chasm. Had she had the energy, had her ribs not been burning, had she not been feared for the life of herself and the rest of the company, she most likely would have laughed at the inadequate end of the balrog. Gandalf, however, was able to muster the energy to make a satisfied grunt and turned toward them, shoulders sagging. As he turned the tail end of the balrogs painful whip snaked around his ankle, dragging him down with the falling creature. No. He clung to the broken ridge of the bridge, unwilling to fall into certain death and nothingness just yet it appeared. Frodo dashed forward but she flung out an arm to stop him, ignoring the blinding pain the arched through her chest, and did not abate.
"NO!" She yelled.
"Gandalf!" Frodo cried.
The old fool tried to hold on by his fingertips, just buying himself time, but he knew that as he looked at them one last time. "Fly you fools!" He fell into the chasm.
Yes. 'No' she signed, shaking her head. Legolas narrowed his eyes at her, and she feared he would see through her lie.
Gimli coughed uncomfortably, sadness cracking his voice when he next spoke. "Ye see, Gandalf-"
She grabbed Haldir's arm as he walked by, signing furiously in the code -one she supposed was not native only to the vast forestry realms of Mirkwood- as she hoisted herself up from the bench. I heard you were home to the mearas, many tales have I heard of these fine horses. I would be forever grateful should you take me for a ride. The marchwarden looked taken aback before nodding slightly.
"Or nút- mime héri, ni emme shall depart at noon once tye are done your póre~ (Elvish: Of course my lady, I we shall depart at noon once you are done your meal-)"
Now, she signed hastily, should it not disturb you, Marchwarden.
He blinked, and then led her out of the dinning hall in silence.
Legolas moved to stab Aragorn's neck while slapping the man's eyes, blinding the ranger for the moment needed to send him tumbling toward the floor. The fallen ranger drove his fist into the elf's knees, grabbed Legolas's elbow to hoist himself up, and, using the gained momentum, judo-chopped the Golden haired beauty in the back of the head.
Gimli clapped enthusiastically from outside the chalk-drawn circle that made the sparring ring. Boromir looked up from where her was training the hobbits before looking down once more, making fine effort to appear uninterested to the blind human eyes, though to the keen eyesight of the Prince of Mirkwood the fact that the Gondorain was truly watching his and Aragorns spar with rapt attention was a plain as the sun as it shines in the crystal blue sky.
Before Aragorn had the barest chance to exalt in his small victory the elf thrust his fingers into the rangers kidneys, and, at the same time, jabed his knees. The ranger remained standing and retaliated by punching the prince's lung, hard enough to wind an elf, if only for a second, and swiped his feet out from beneath him with a sweep of his leg. The crown prince blinked at the ceiling once. Twice. Before grabbing his friends hand and-
-and flipping the ranger onto his back, twisting the man's arm, moving gracefully into a standing position.
Gimli grumbled dejectedly in the background as Aragorn tapped out, yielding the match to the-harsher-than-usual elf.
"Jealous, Legolas?" He murmured softly as he got up, brushing the dust of his clothing. "She had been gone a rather long time with the machwarden, do you not think?"
Said elf growled low in his throat. Surprising not only the ranger but himself at the low sound that escaped his chest. "The Marchwarden may do as he so pleases, the decision of Dornessiti is none of my concern. Should she choose to spend her time with the Marchwarden she may do as she so chooses, with no hindrance on my part."
"But ye may not like it ye love suck puppy!" Gimli yelled from afar. "Just cause you don't do no hindering doesn't mean ye don't wanna bash his brains out of his pretty little head," Legolas was about to interrupt when the dwarf continued full thrust, his voice growing with equal anger and vigour. "Or yank his no good eyes out of their sockets every time he looks at 'er. Or chuck yer axe in his chest-"
"We understand, master Gimli." Aragorn said, holding back a grin.
"Master Dwarf!" Legolas called. And Gimli turned, stealing himself visibly for what he obviously thought to be a verbal beat down. "It appears we share a common enemy."
Gimli appeared surprised, if only for a moment before he turned tail and moved out of the sparring hall, grumbling about unsatisfactory elven breakfasts. Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood, Crown Prince to the Woodland Realm, Son of Thranduill, was just civil to a dwarf.
And -he would deny it to his dying breath should anyone accuse him of such- he didn't even find it half bad.
Jackie Dornessiti was now sure that in the last week she had done more horse riding, arrow shooting, family and friend alluding, and Royalty -was the Lady Galadriel considered royalty? By elven standards she supposed yes- avoiding than all other beings on middle earth. Combined. She also discovered that Haldir was in fact, a good elf and a great friend. If he suspected she was avoiding her fellowship then he spoke nothing of it. Nor the fact that she had ignored the more recent summons of the Lady of Light in favor of going on rides, practising at the archery range, or sitting doing nothing trying to keep the inevitable truth at bay.
She could deal with no more death.
She found herself avoiding the main population of Lorien more and more, for it seemed all they cared to speak, or sing or write about was Gandalf the Grey. She avoided her friends for they seemed inclined to 'tell her the truth' as they were still led to believe -by herself- that she had no recollection of moria, or the misfortune that had befallen them there. Conversations were also awkward, on many different levels, all contributing to the fact that she could not speak.
They did not know the source of her plight. She assumed it was the cause of Sauron, and the vision she had suffered as she apparently recovered to some of the most harrowing injuries she had ever faced, with a few acceptances of course. Her friends tried to sort through the mess, though she did not wish it so. In one of their meetings, before everything went downhill, Galadriel stated that physically nothing was amiss. Everything was in perfect working order. She had just lost the ability to create sound. She was still unable to document a single moment of what happened in her vision. Through parchment or otherwise, though the lady Galadriel was smart enough to have her suspicions. None of which she could confirm. If she did not know better she would have said that the Lady of Lorien herself had taken a liking to her. The lady had even healed her injuries so perfectly not a single scar remained to mar her flawed flesh.
She also knew that she was being a stubborn mule in ignoring the lady's summons. But she refused to accept any of what the she-elf had said. Dornessiti was done with the Lady, though it appeared that the ancient lady was not done with her.
Jaclaë-Frolana. The voice echoed in her head, joyus and sad. Young and ancient. She could almost feel the piercing blue eyes of Galadriel as she moved to sit on one of the many balconies in one of the many trees.
Listen, M'lady. Jaclaë-Frolana does. Not. Exist. She died. Nigh two thousand years ago.
And yet she stands here alive and well, discussing with me, as strong and brave as the day she was born.
Beat it Lady.
You are needed, ignorance will not last forever, though it is blissful while it yet remains.
Shove off already.
You isolate yourself to project your heart from grief. But you cannot out run ain, little one. You must face it.
Would you leave if I said 'please'?
You do it each time. I can see it. Thorin, Killi, Filli, you fled to Fangorn.
Shut up.
Your lover, you abandoned all hope he would ever yet remember.
You have no business in my head. Get. Out.
Gandalf.
LEAVE.
You must stop running child. Come to me, I require to speak with you on matters of grave urgence.
Dornessiti remained silent.
Gandalf is dead. And with that the voice of Galadriel faded into oblivion.
She was correct.
And that was what made Jackie so mad. All she ever did was runaway, bury it down, pretend it never happened. After the death of Thorin and Fili and Kili yes she was threatened by the king of mirkwood, and yes, leaving Legolas behind had been heart wrenching, but she was -subconsciously- looking for a reason to run in the first place. To distance herself from the pain.
Your lover, you abandoned all hope he would ever yet remember.
Could it truly be considered abandonment if he no longer remembered her? She did not know how he had no recollection of her, but she did not doubt that it was in close kin to how her voice was removed. Everything else in perfect working order, the memories were just- removed. Dark magic. Old magic. Powerful magic. Removing memories was something she only read about in fairy tales. It took an extremely powerful mage, who did not mind dabbing in the dark arts. Only fairy tales and- and a scroll. It had washed up along a stream in the Fangorn one day, soaking and drenched, much of the parchment non eligible. The Art of the Mind and Memory. Penned by Saruman.
Saruman.
One of the most powerful wizards to ever walk middle earth. The leader of the wizards, whom even Gandalf had followed once. Who was now hindering their quest at every chance he could find. Who was working evil deeds in his fortress of Isengard. Who left his keep months after she had first arrived in the Fangorn forest for a trip to the woodland realm.
That little bastard…. He would pay.
No more running.
Your lover, you abandoned all hope he would ever yet remember.
No more hiding.
Gandalf is dead.
And when the tears started. She didn't even try to stop them.
I need a drink.
"Have you seen Dornessiti?" Legolas asked Boromir where they sat around a glowing hearth. Night had fallen mere hours ago, the last light of the sun fading into nothing. The female elf of their company had made herself scarce over the past week of their stay at Lorien. Barely talking to any of the fellowship, though he took a small pleasure to note that she had been with him more than the other members of their company. She had skipped supper, something she always stayed for, even if she disappeared soon afterward. It had been many hours since he had seen her last at lunch, and now he was growing worried for the silent she-elf.
The Gondorian shook his head and went back to sharpening his blade.
"Have you?" He asked Frodo. The same response was received. He sighed. Even if he left soon after it would settle his soul greatly if he could she be certain of her location. "I shall go look for her."
As he wandered through Lorien once again he was in awed by its beauty. Even the elves seemed kind here. Far more harsh than the elves of Rivendell, for they did rest on the borders of wild, evil lands, but far more kind than anything he was used to. His own father was distant and cool, and had been ever so strange in the events following the famed battle of the five armies. Always asking about a pacing female he would fancy. Their names. Their association with dwarves. Perhaps his father was growing far older in age than his appearance led one to believe. Though all elves were immortal in the sense that they can not die lest they be killed or die of sickness so great even elven healing and medicine can not remedy.
As he passed two gossiping she-elves he overheard their conversation, noting that they used the common tongue instead of typical elven. The habit of using the neutral language had grown since the arrival of his company.
"Some dumb mute became rip roaring drunk on ale."
"Truly!"
"Aye. Emptied almost all the stores in the Dancing Lady."
"I had heard- that voiceless, feebleminded, cunt was crying over dwarves of all things, and forgotten lovers."
"Ha!" A trilling laugh broke the semi-silent night. "What is our fine realm coming to my friend?"
Oh for the valars sake, Dornessiti… "M'ladies." He began, using trained courtly charm. "I am Legolas Thranduilion of the Mirkwood Realm, and have wish to see such uncouth behavior for myself, for the woodland realms can grow ever so tedious in comparison to such breathtaking lands."
The ladies giggled primly behind their hands, eyeing him as a wolf might eye a deer. He could practically see the wheels turning in their petty heads at his surname. Their eyes widened almost comically. "Oh your highness," one laughed, fake and high, hurting his ears. Her strawberry pink dress floating reagally around her legs as she swished her hips, an obvious attempt at seduction, coming closer to where he stood. "You're so droll."
The other approached in much the same manner, the tacky lemon yellow of her satin skirts looking sickly in the moonlight, offsetting her tight blond curls. Dornessiti's hair falls in silken waves, loose curls, if you will. He shook his head slightly as she began to speak. "I assure you m'lord it is nothing to venture for. One of our own kin disgracing themselves in such a manner." She sniffed indignantly. "I do not wish for one of your station to see such acts of debassing crudeness, for it would be embarrassing to have such an act have any effect on your memories of our otherwise perfect realm."
"I would never dream of it." He smiled comfortingly, the smile that usually brang females -human and elven alike- stumbling to their knees and lifting their skirts. A smile that spoke of kindness and trust and no judgment of any kind.
The one in pink fluttered her eyelashes, the gaudy colour looking equally as horrendous as her companions, and shoved her elbow discreetly into her friends side. "If you so insist my lord, I shall tell you the mutes location, though please do not cast her ugly reputation on us."
"Of course not, such two fine ladies should have nothing to fear, even if the mute is parading around naked, showing her body to all who wish to see it." He locked his gaze on her eyes before moving to the next elf. They both swooned. Typical.
"I am afraid that may soon be the case my lord." The one in yellow began.
His mind went empty. Dornessiti in…. Nothing. For all the world to see… Red rage overcame him, a fierce possessiveness and need to ensure that that never happened. At least not to anyone but him.
"But if you ever need to fulfill such…. Desires." The one in pink continued, looking at him what he assumed her to believe was an innocent/slutrily gaze from under her eyelashes.
"Our flet is on the third tree to the left of the old well. Two stories up to the left." The pink one finished, sliding a piece of paper into his hand, with the address of the Dancing Lady tavern. And their flet.
"My thanks." Was all he said before brushing past the two giddy females.
When he finally arrived at the famed Dancing Lady tavern he did not have to look far to find her. She was sitting at a bar stool, signing to the waiter, a few tears drying on her cheeks. Males at a nearby table were laughing at her antics, even the waiter was smirking.
"Hmmm? Oh I'm sorry. I can't hear you." The make said with false kindness.
I would like a cask of ale please. Dornessiti signed.
"Aren't you drunk enough you dumb mute?" A bystander called, rings of laughter echoed around and through the tavern.
Give me the fucking drink shitbrains. He could almost hear the growl he knew would have gone with the statement had the fiery-she elf had the ability to make any vocal noise at all. A far cry from 'I would like a cask of ale please.'
An elf came up behind her and grabbed her shoulder, his face unseeable through the hood covering his features. "I think it's best you go mellon. (Elvish: friend) Come, let me help you." The nameless stranger helped her out of her chair and took her outside. Legolas followed silently. Ignoring that cat calls and whispers until a male on the sidelines yelled;
"Slut!"
He punched the disgraceful being in the nose, not bothering to do any more than walk out the door where he found the stranger walking away, Dornessiti in his arms. Jumping onto the rooftops he followed the pair through the tree branches, watching with keen eyes when they finally stopped before a simple but will tended homestead. Through the windows he saw the stranger lay the now openly weeping Dornessiti on a stuffed bed, the silent tears wetting the pillow beneath her head. He took off his cloak to reveal- Haldir. The Marchwarden smiled sadly at the crying she-elf as he sat down beside her, wrapping his arms around the distraught maiden. WIth his elf hearing Legolas could hear each word of the interaction, though he couldn't help the small pang of what he refused to admit as jealousy watching the scene unfold.
Why does everybody I came to care about die Mellon? Dornessiti signed through her tears, leaning into the Marchwardens hold. What did I do so terribly wrong?
"Surely not everyone-"
Did you know that my parents died when I was four? She 'said' bluntly, tears drying up. Orc raid. I thought everybody was dancing. Fire was everywhere. She laughed a silent laugh. Fire is beautiful. She teared up again, and turned to Haldir dead serious, or as much as you can be when you have drunk enough liquor to intoxicate and elf. But it is very scary, and dangerous. Don't play with fire, you'll get burned!
"Thank you for the warning." Haldir said, playing along with the drunk elf.
Dragon fire. She repeated. DRAGON FIRE!
"Hmm?" Haldir hummed.
I saw it twice you know. She signed matter-of-factly. Back when it first happened. She sighed mutely. I broke the king's orders to save my family from the dragon, got this from it too! She hoisted up her shirt, showing the jagged scar across her midsection.
To Haldir's credit he did not balk in disgust or shock, in fact he just looked- sad.
Other time I was with Leglas. But shhhhhhhhhhh he doesn't member me. And she burst into tears again. Doesn't member me, doesn't member me, doesn't member me. She signed dejectedly.
Taking it as he cue to interfere when she started making up events the Mirkwood Prince in question jumped down from his tree branch and walked up to the door, knocking sharply thrice before waiting impatiently. When Haldir opened the door he barely had a second to register her before Dornessiti launched herself past Haldir and into Legolas's arms. Wrapping her arms around his neck, legs around his torso and burying her face in his neck he could feel her fingers tracing eleven words into his back.
Leggy! Leggy? What in valars name was a leggy? We were just talking about you! Ha… talking…. The movements of her fingers became more and more slow until all she was doing was swirling her finger over his back. She hiccoughed.
"Ni tul- net- -rya -o símen, Haldir. Hannad tye (Elvish: I will take her from here, Haldir. Thank You.)"
The elf looked uneasy at the prospect but nodded, "Net- grith- -o -rya. (Elvish: Take care of her.)" As Legolas turned to leave Haldir added. "Er oilima nat, se mentioned tye knew símen. Yenya, ni faica. Nigh on i lú -o i battle -o i lempe armies. Na- i sanda? (Elvish: One final thing, she mentioned you knew here. Before, I mean. Nigh on the time of the battle of the five armies. Is that true?)"
Legolas paused. Something tugged at the back of his mind, a memory perhaps, the dreams he had of the unconscious elleth in his arms -of them traveling through mirkwood with a dwarf of all things to get to lake town before Smaug, the battle of the five armies. But that was all they were. Dreams and nothing more. He would remember if anything had.
"Lala, yenya sina quest, ni had never seen Dornessiti -esse mime coiv-.(Elvish: No, before this quest, I had never seen Dornessiti in my life.)"
Almost three weeks later, nigh on a month since the fellowship first entered Lorien, the fellowship departed from the silver wood and the shelter it provided. Laden with gifts from the Lady of Light herself each member left with a heavy heart. Never was the night at the Dancing Lady brought up again amongst the three elves -Haldir, Legolas and Dornessiti herself- though the incident remained in each elves memory until the day they faded into mere mist on the horizon. Dornessiti, leaving with a far more meaningful inspiration stemmed from meetings with Galadriel, fingered a small vial in her gloved fingers before slipping in into the pocket of her black suit, wondered -and hoped- she would never have need to use the contents of the tiny bottle.
And wondered if she ever truly would get her voice back.
Thank you to everyone who reads this!
As always please, please, please comment and review (though a favorite and a follow would be nice too). The more of these things I get the better I feel about my story. And really feel like it is being appreciated more than just seeing that stats and thinking. 'They must not have liked it enough to comment.' To those of you who do I couldn't be more grateful. As I said I am responding to reviews now so anything you wanna ask or talk about I am open to my fine readers.
Love you all!