Author's Note: Here's a little insight. From this point, Iron, Steel/silver-steel, and Ebony armors in Westeros should be seen as the Skyblivion models. Different continent, different style, plus they look way better.

6: The Reluctant King

Théoden came back to consciousness slowly, his entire body aching as his mind swam through a thick fog. "I think he's coming around." He heard who was nearby say.

"About bloody time," there was a voice he would recognize anywhere; Argis was with him. He opened his eyes to find the large Nord and Serana standing over him with looks of concern on their faces. "Decided to rejoin the land of the living, eh, old friend?"

The Dragonborn smirked, "Only because I'd be able to hear your complaints all the way to Sovngarde." He said as he became more lucid, "What happened?"

Argis sighed, shaking his head slowly, "Dragons, my old friend, the three we've been tracking the last several weeks." He said, "They attacked, and burned down half of the city. Lot of good men died that day."

"And how long have I been out?" Théoden asked wearily as Serana helped him to sit up.

"Several days," the vampiress said, "It was touch and go for quite a while. I even considered turning you again to bring you around, but Argis wouldn't let me." She gave the brawny Nord a dirty look as he grinned at her.

Théoden chuckled, "He was right to stop you." He sighed, "And? What's the queen doing to help the people?" Serana and Argis looked at each other, "What's the matter with you two, now?"

Argis pinched his brow, "My Lord," he began slowly, "Queen Elisif was killed in the attack." Théoden looked at him sharply, "A moot was held directly after the attack, and it was decided that you would be the next High King...or Balgruuf of Whiterun if you ended up dying while you slept."

The new king groaned, covering his eyes with his hands, "Is it too late to go back to sleep?"

Serana frowned, "If it helps, the Thalmor are already petitioning for one of their Imperial puppets to be placed on the thrown."

"Oh, how convenient," Argis growled. "This was their doing, I'd bet my fortune on it!"

"I agree," Théoden made to stand and was supported by his two friends, "And I have no doubt that Jon is in just as much danger as we are at the moment."

The doors to the bedchambers were pushed open, and in limped General Tullis and Raylof, "You wouldn't be wrong." Raylof said, "Those dragons flew across the sea right after they were done roasting the city."

Both men looked like they had put up a good fight, and were covered in bandages, Tullius having a damaged left eye, and bad burns across his arms. "Aye, and the Thalmor as Lady Serana has said are moving to put a puppet on the throne."

"And Elisif wasn't?" Théoden growled at the man, "Don't act as if you aren't just as bad as they are, Tullius. I knew from the start that Elisif was going to be your puppet, but I withheld any arguments because I knew you were trying to help my people!" He stood to full height, standing eye to eye with the Imperial general, "And what does this Thalmor puppet want? To ban the worship of all the Divines and go back to worshiping Daedra?"

Tullius shook his head, "He's trying to pin this dragon attack on you." The man said, much to the growing anger of the Dragonborn. "He claims that, because you haven't gone on to slaughter all of the dragons left from Alduin's return, that you used these dragons to attack and weak the holds so that you could take the throne for yourself."

Serana huffed, "If they knew anything about Théoden, then they'd know better than to even suggest him wanting the throne."

The man frowned as he pinched his own brow, "My son, gone from my side where he belongs, dragons attacking, and a dear friend dead," he raised his eyes and glared coldly at Tullius, "I hope your injuries aren't too serious, General, because you and I are going to raise this land up again, and we are going to need help to do it."

"Serana, I want you to ride to Hammerfell, you have connections there," he turned to Raylof, "Raylof, find someone you trust and have them ride to Highrock, and tell their king that the Dominion is moving to conquer again. Argis, go back to Lakeview and have Rayya ride for Morrowwind. She once told me that she had friends there that were against the Aldmeri Dominion. And bring back the Aetherial Crown. If I'm to be a king, then I need more than a silly circlet."

Tullius began to smile, "What about Black Marsh?"

"Leave them out of this," he said, "The Argonians are more likely to join the Dominion. In the mean time, ride to all the holds and find out all that you can, and start recruiting. I don't care what race they are from, because from now on, the White Gold Concordant, as far as I'm concerned, is void!"

"What are you going to do?" Serana asked, "Call for the dragons?"

"Run damage control," Théoden sighed, "And possibly throw a few Thalmor off the highest balcony I can find in this infernal palace!" He limped toward the door, "Someone find me and assistant! I need some errands ran!" He roared to the court where servants and men at arms were trying to get everything cleaned and back in order. "Is Falk Firebeard still alive?"

"And kicking," the man himself said as he came forward, his right arm in a sling, "What can I do for you, My King?" He gave a bow, fully knowing how Théoden hated such things.

"Bow to me like that again, and I'll break off your legs, and shove them up your arse 'til you've toes for teeth!" He snapped, "I need letters sent out to the Orsimer clans across Skyrim, telling them that Mhurren calls for the aid of his brothers and sisters for war against the Altmer." Falk looked at him in confusion before the new king waved it aside, "Mhurren is my Orc name when they named me bloodkin." He explained, "Tell them that any ore mines that they have control over will be needed, and that we will pay them in gold, or livestock, however they wish it. And send word to Whiterun to have Eorlund Gray-Mane sent here to start working metal. To the stone masons and lumber mills to repair the city, and the holds damaged by the dragons. Well, man, what are you waiting for!?"

"With pleasure, Your Hi - " He yelped as Théoden nearly made good on his threat with a kick aimed at him.

Théoden marched toward the gates, and saw that the once strong doors had been reduced to nothing but ashes. As he stepped out into the city, he grew pale and sick. The air was thick with the scent of smoke still and charred flesh. The houses had all been almost completely destroyed. Women and children were crying. Men where howling with rage. The city, his city, was in ruin. "There's much work to be done."

ESV

"What's so damned important that you had to drag me down here so early in the morning, Ned?" Robert half-whine-half-demanded. "I haven't even had my morning drink, yet."

Eddard shook his head in ill humor, "Trust me, Robert, I think that this will prove more important to you than a drink."

"You haven't got a touch of hangover, Ned," Robert grumbled as he looked at the man's back, "And the dungeons? Not a bad place to hide from my wife, I'll admit."

The lord of Winterfell snorted at that, knowing that the woman was quite possibly worse than his own wife when her temper flared up. "We're not hiding from your wife, Robert, we're interrogating a prisoner that Jon brought in a day or so before your arrival. I thought it best that we both saw him." He stopped and turned to his old friend, "But I warn you, you may find it hard to believe me when you see him."

"Why?" Robert asked with a chuckle, "Does he have two pricks or something?"

"He's an Elf," Eddard said and continued on. "Jon's seen several races in Tamriel, but when I first saw this one, I was far too furious with what he had been doing in my lands to be too shocked by his appearance."

Robert was silent, not sure he had heard his friend right rather deciding to see it for himself. "What all has this...Elf...done to the North, Ned?"

"Too much, Robert," Eddard growled, "For weeks, long before Jon arrived, he and his people have been sending creatures from their lands that would seem like walking nightmares to you and I. Trolls bigger than ice bears. Rats the size of hounds. And a plague that makes legends of wights seem so real that I nearly felt my heart give out when I saw it for myself."

"By the Gods," Robert muttered as the stopped in front of a cell.

Chained to the wall was a man...Elf...dressed in black, his fair skin marred by bruising on his head and face. Robert could see the long pointed ears on his head, as well as an ornate circlet made from silver and rubies upon his brow. He looked up with golden green eyes and smiled, "I could hear the pair of you breathing the moment you entered these halls." He looked to Eddard, "The Northern barbarian," he turned to Robert, "And the drunken horker you call a king."

Eddard slammed his fist against the bars of his cell, "Show some respect!" He snapped.

The Elf lunged against his bindings, "I have none for a lesser race such as yours!" He yelled back, "For all your bluster, and supposed power, you have no chance against what is coming!"

"And you think you and your ilk are unstoppable?" Robert asked, gesturing to himself and Eddard, "You're looking at two men that toppled a dynasty!"

The Elf laughed at them, "And look what you have become," he cackled, "A fat whore-mongering fool that has indebted his crown to two different sources of gold and silver. All to feed the emptiness he feels after becoming a king!" Robert tried not to show it, but the Elf's word cut him deeper than any blade could. "And a barbarian lord of a frozen wasteland that employs brutish beasts to do his dirty work!"

"If you're talking about my son, then you might want to mind your tongue before I cut it out," Eddard growled, and the Elf cackled even more, "Stop laughing, you foreign sprite!"

The Elf just grinned at him, "That thing is your son?" He chuckled darkly, "Oh, he must not have told you. Of course he wouldn't." He smiled cruelly, "He thinks I didn't recognize him, but I know the signs." He looked at Eddard with absolute glee, "Your precious son shows all signs of being a werewolf, O Great Lord of the Blind!" He sneered mockingly.

Robert looked at Eddard who shrugged, "What are you talking about?" Demanded Eddard angrily.

"Were his eyes always that silver color?" The Elf asked with a growing grin, "Are their times when even the quietest noises bother him, or perhaps he can hear people talking from long distances away? Does he smell like a wet dog?"

"That last one was just plain rude," Robert commented as he reached for his mace, "Now, you had best stop with these riddles I come in there, and start breaking bones."

Eddard agreed, "I hear that the knee is particularly painful when broken."

"Not as bad as broken fingers, I would say," Jon said as he appeared behind the two men, startling them, "Hello, Father, Your Grace."

Robert put his hand over his heart, "Lad, you should know better than to sneak up on a man like that," the king said, "You made my heart damn near stop."

"How long have you been here?" Eddard asked of his son.

Jon took a deep breath, "Long enough to know that I made a mistake by letting this High-nosed Elf live." He said, looking at his father, "What he said about me...is true, I'm no longer completely human."

"Not human at all, I would say," the Elf chuckled, only for Jon to slam his fist against the bars, warping them out of shape with this strength.

Robert and Eddard were startled by the show of strength, "Jon..."

"Don't test me, Elf, else I might come in there and sate my appetite!" The young man snarled, his eyes turning from silver to red as the wolf in him tried to claw its way out. The Elf tried to scrabble back further against the wall away from the werewolf, "Now you are going to answer me; why are you interested in conquering Westeros?"

"Why else, you filthy beast?" The Elf snarled, "To expand! But everywhere we seem to turn, the land is infested with lesser races, be they man or mer!"

Eddard stepped up to the bars, scowling fiercely, "And you think that gives you the right to invade my lands and threaten my people?"

"Or mine?" Robert growled, "I'll admit that I'm not be the warrior I was all those years ago, but I'll be damned if I let a faithless little sprite like you take my lands from me, or any under my rule!"

The Elf just smiled at the three of them, "You won't have a choice soon," he said, "The bloodfiend strain of the vampires is here, and those that don't turn will rise as undead slaves for our great lord!"

"And you won't see any of it," Eddard promised the Elf, "I know enough now to bolster my forces here in the North, which means you can stay down here and rot, a captive of a lesser race as you seem fond of calling us." The Elf spat at him, causing Eddard to glare at him coldly, "Enjoy your stay."

Eddard turned away from the cell and strode back down the hall, "Jon, you and I will talk in the solar." He said aloud, "Robert, would you join us?"

"Damned right I will," Robert said and followed his friend, casting a glance at the boy, "Beast or not, Jon, he still loves you, and don't think anything will change that."

Jon nodded, "Thank you, Your - Robert." He corrected himself before the king grinned at him and strode down the hall to catch up to Eddard.

ESV

Lydia smiled as Sansa and Myrcella fussed over the four unicorns which loved the attention they were being given by the young girls. Mycella, as she had noted the day before, was a near mirror image of her mother, save that her eyes still held the innocence of childhood, and her hair had bouncy little curls while her mother had straight, well-groomed hair.

"Of all the creatures that could have been brought here, why these?" Sansa questioned as she brushed the young mare she had bonded with, "They're not dangerous, are they?" She asked, turning to Lydia.

The shield-maiden shrugged her shoulders, "No more dangerous than any other horse if you're hostile toward them," she said, "The Elves we dealt with a few days ago were using them as mounts." She smiled as the stallion came over and nuzzled Myrcella, "And they were doing a piss poor job of tending to them. A unicorn deserves better than being whipped and half-starved to death."

"That they didn't," said Sir Roderick as he lumbered over to the trio with Arya lagging behind him, "'Specially not that mare that Sansa's tending," He smiled as the girl turned to him in question, "She's with foal. The stable master confirmed it last night."

Sansa beamed, "Oh, that's wonderful!" She laid a kiss on the mare's cheek, "You're going to be a mother, Princess."

"That's a stupid name for a unicorn," Arya commented.

"Oh, shut up, will you!" Sansa snapped at her while Myrcella giggled at them.

Lydia rolled her eyes, "Come, now, Arya, it's passed time for your archery lessons." She said as she walked over to the archery range, taking her Stalhrim bow from her shoulder, and grabbing a quiver of arrows to use from the shed. Arya had a small hunting bow, unable to use a full-sized long bow as Lydia did.

"Now, remember, keep your arm up," Lydia instructed as she demonstrated for the girl, "Steady hand. Sight along the arrow...loose!" She released her arrow, and struck the target dead-center.

Arya giggled as Lydia made an elaborate bow before she tried to imitate her. It was harder for her, but Lydia could see the strength in her shoulders as she drew the bow back, took aim and fired. Her aim was just slightly off, and the arrow hit the outer edge of the target. "Not bad," she said as Arya frowned at her arrow, "You need a steadier hand. Use all four fingers, not just three. Draw all the way back to your cheek."

Arya tried again, "Imagine the target as something you need to take down," Lydia instructed. "A troll. When taking on a troll with just a bow, aim for the third eye above the other two. It's a straight shot to the brain." This time, when Arya fired, the arrow flew straight and true, and hit the bull's eye. "Well done!" Lydia smiled.

"Hardly a healthy skill for a budding young lady to have," said a lyrical voice from above them, and Lydia looked up to see the queen standing with her oldest son at her side. "Is it customary for women in Tamriel to carry such weapons?"

Lydia smiled and dipped in a small bow to the queen, "My queen, Lady Elisif, never goes anywhere without a sword at her side, or at least a dagger," she said, the queen's brow rising, "And she was once quite formidable on the field of battlefield."

Arya looked at her in surprise, "You have a queen? What about a king?"

Lydia shrugged, "He died in combat before the civil war started," she relented, "I'll tell you the whole story tonight at dinner, sweetling." She promised before turning her attention back to the queen, "You remind me of her a bit, My Lady. She is known as Elisif the Fair for her beauty, as well as her judgement in the courts." She said with a smile on her face, "She even has the same eyes as you do. Quite lovely unlike my dull ones."

She knew that she was laying it on thick, but Jon had warned her not to take any chance of getting on the woman's bad side, and flattery was about the only thing she knew would work on a viper.

Arya piped up beside her, "But you've got pretty eyes, too, Lydia." The girl said.

"Oh, go on, Jon said they look like pine needles!" Lydia giggled with a girlish blush on her cheeks.

The queen looked down at her with a kind smile, "Don't be so quick to sell yourself short, young lady," she said, "There is a certain beauty about you. I'm sure that your friend finds you more than attractive."

"So long as he doesn't mind women in armor," Joffrey grinned down at them, his eyes lingering on Lydia, making the girl cringe. There was a cruelty behind those eyes that she did not want to see come to a head.

The queen looked at her son, "Now, Joffrey, that was unkind. The land in which she was born is, after all, different from Westeros."

He was saved from answering when Catelyn came out of the castle looking around frantically, "Oh, Lydia!" She shouted as soon as she laid eyes on her, "Please, have you seen Bran and Prince Tommen?"

Lydia shook her head, "Not since breakfast, My Lady," she said, "Is something wrong?"

"One of the guards thought they saw something scuttling around the castle, and I thought that it might be another skeever," she said frantically, "And Bran, Tommen and Summer have been missing since this morning!"

"What is a skeever?" The queen asked, sounding unconcerned for her son for the most part.

Lydia, however, was not pleased, "Arya, go get your sister and the princess, then you both find your direwolves, and stay with them!" She called out, "GHOST! FWEET!" She whistled as the white direwolf bounded out of the castle. "Find Bran," she commanded as the wolf rushed passed her, the Nord hot on his heels.

"Oi, Lydia," Theon Greyjoy shouted as she rushed passed him, "What's the rush?"

Catelyn saw him, and shouted down, "Go with her, Theon, she's looking for Bran, and there might be skeevers after him!"

Theon looked ready to argue, but Roderick tossed a sword at him, "Get going, or I'll let the lads use you as a practice dummy!" Theon turned on his toes and pelted after the girl.

ESV

Eddard burst into his solar with Robert and Jon trailing behind him. Luckily for him there was a bottle of that powerful mead Jon had brought with him. When Robert entered the room it was to see Eddard tossing the bottle back right before sputtering as the Black-Briar Reserves burned his throat.

"I might need a nip of that when your done." Robert chuckled as Eddard handed him the bottle. Robert was smarter about the drink and only took a small drink, "Ah, now that is a man's drink!"

Jon chuckled, "Glad you like it, Robert."

Eddard turned to his son, "Explain it to me son," he said evenly, trying to keep himself calm, "What did you mean that you are not completely human anymore?"

"The sprite called you a werewolf, whatever that is, and seemed to think you were some bloodthirsty monster." Robert put in and Eddard nodded in agreement, "I'll stand by what I said down in the dungeons, lad, but keeping secrets is not something a family like yours should be doing."

Eddard winced at that, but kept himself in check, "Well, son?"

Jon took a breath, and leaned against the table, "First of all, I chose this, no one forced it upon me," he said making himself clear with his father, "In Tamriel, there are several races; humans are a majority, but there are four or five different types of Elves, Beastfolk that resemble cats and lizards, Orcs and Dwarves. There are even crosses between races like Bretons who are half-elves."

"And...you're one of these beast-people?" Robert chuckled with a shake of his head, "You certainly don't look like a lizard or a cat." He chuckled.

Jon shook his head, "Werewolves aren't a race...not really," he said, "They're more of a...a group of people that are blessed, or cursed, depending on who you ask, with the beast blood." He looked at his father and the king, both of whom didn't understand. "Let me put it a different way. Father, you've seen the horned idol in my room, haven't you?"

"I have," Eddard said, "You said it was an image of a Old God of Tamriel."

Jon nodded, "His name is Hircine, and it's through him that people of any race can become werewolves...his hunting dogs."

"Hunting dogs?" Robert sounded offended at the notion, "He makes you hunt for him?"

"Not until after I die." Jon shrugged, "But the point is that through him a person can become a werewolf, his vision of the perfect hunter," he said, "You can make an offering to him and ask for the blessing or do as I did and be blooded by a werewolf that wants you in their pack."

Eddard scrubbed his face, "And you chose this path?"

"I did," Jon said, "my foster father was furious that I had become a werewolf, but later was happy for me because I could control my wolf." He frowned, "Werewolves, when they're blooded for the first time, run wild and attack anything that moves, so they have a bad reputation. When I took the blood, my sire and her pack mates were ready for a fight. But I was different. They were my friends, and I did not want to hurt them."

"And this power of yours," Robert said, "makes you literally change into a wolf?"

Jon thought for a moment, "I'm a little bit bigger than a troll when I change." He said, "Aela, my sire, says I'm one of the biggest that's ever been changed."

"Who else knows of this?" Eddard asked, "I assume that Lydia knows since you two are so close?"

Jon snorted, "She was upset because Aela chose me instead of her to make the change." He smiled fondly, "But she always says I need to bathe more to get rid of the wet dog smell." He said before he looked at his father, "Arya found out."

Eddard looked at him sharply, "And how did that happen?" He demanded.

"That day that the Septa was picking on her she followed Lydia and I out on a hunt." He explained, "I had just taken down a troll in my beast form when she came rushing out of the bushes with her bow drawn thinking that I was going to attack Lydia." He shook his head with a chuckle, "And she put and arrow through my leg."

Robert sputtered on his drink laughing, "Added to the legend of you getting shot in that arse, did she?"

"I swear Lydia is never going to let me hear the end of that story." Jon shook his head, and then looked back at his father, "I'm still myself, Father. Nothing's changed about me other than the fact that I can transform into a werewolf."

Eddard nodded slowly while Robert just grinned, "I think it's quite fitting," the king said, causing Eddard to look at him strangely, "The symbol of the Starks is the direwolf. Six young direwolf pups now inhabit the hold, bonded to you and your children, and now, one of the pack comes back a full-fledged wolf."

Eddard would be a fool to say that he did not see the irony of it all. "When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives," he quoted, looking at his son, "Son, how is the blooding done?"

Jon stared at his father, "You...you can't mean - ?!"

Eddard smiled at his son, "You are a lone wolf in this land, Jon, and I mean for you to survive." He smiled at his son, "Will it change who I am?"

"Only if you let it," Jon said, "But Father, you have to understand...werewolves grow stronger by...feeding...not on beasts, but other beings." He gestured to himself as his father's face visibly paled, "I don't do it often, but I have had to sate my wolf's hunger for man-flesh more than once. That is the greatest price you have to pay for this gift."

Robert frowned at the two of them, "It seems a hefty price, Ned," he cautioned his friend, "I've no business stopping the two of you from doing this, but Jon is right in that you should think longer on this, Ned. What would Catelyn say if you took this power? She's Southern-minded, and that's not to mention the Church of the Seven. Those bastards would march on the North singing hymns of a holy war against demons. Magic and supernatural creatures have no place in their religion, and they would seek to stamp out every trace of either one of them."

"He's right, Father," Jon told him, "Werewolves have many enemies. In Tamriel there are two groups that devote themselves to wiping out vampires like the ones we killed in that camp a week back, and werewolves. One is a religious group, but they aren't fanatics and are reasonable. The other one is called the Silver Hand, and they dedicate themselves to hunting down, and slaughtering people like me. I've fought them before, and they are utterly brutal to my kind."

Jon shivered as he recalled his time with the Companions. "A friend of mine that was like an uncle to me when I was getting the hang of my transformation was murdered by them," He frowned, "They paraded his corpse throughout their stronghold while others butchered and skinned other werewolves that they had brought down." He took an unsteady breath, "Many of them were just cubs, children, I mean, no older than Arya."

"Gods," Eddard felt sick, "Why would anyone do such a thing?"

Jon looked at his father, "Because we were different, and they were afraid of us." He told him, "To people like them, we're monsters, man-eaters no better than animals."

Robert frowned, the conversation sounding similar to his and Eddard's back when the war ended. A man under the command of the Lannisters, Gregor Clegane, or the Mountain that Walks as he was generally known, had butchered the children of Elia Martell-Targaryen right in front of her before brutally raping and killing her as well. Eddard had wanted the man executed for his brutality, but Robert had shot him down, explaining that it was the way of war, and that he needed the Lannisters on his side for the time being. It was the worst fight the two of them had ever had.

"What happened to them?" Robert asked curiously, "This Silver Hand, are they still around?"

Jon shook his head, "The remaining members of the pack slaughtered them all in retribution."

"When you say the remaining members of the pack," Eddard frowned at his son, "Do you mean you joined in as well?"

Jon nodded, "I was eleven."

Eddard frowned in thought before smiling at his son, "This was a lot to take in, Son, and you're right...both of you," he said with a glance at Robert, "I will need to think on this more before I make my decision...but you are still my son, Jon, let no one ever tell you otherwise. Not even my wife."

Robert snorted, "Oh, she's going to hate that." He grinned before tipping back the bottle.

"NED!" Catelyn herself burst through the door with the queen right behind her along with a beaten and bloodied Theon Greyjoy. His left eye was swollen shut, his lip split, and his face bruised. Robert was so surprised that he spat out his mead.

"Blast it all, what is it with people scaring me out of my skin today?!" Robert roared.

Catelyn thrust a piece of parchment at her husband, "Bran and Tommen have been taken prisoner!"

"WHAT!" Robert roared and shot up from his chair. "WHEN THE HELL DID THIS HAPPEN?!"

Theon looked at the two as Eddard read the letter, "This morning a little passed noon, Bran had gone missing, and Lydia and I were sent out to find him."

"Where is Lydia, then?" Jon demanded. "Theon, what - ?"

"Silver Hand," Eddard said quietly, looking at Jon, "They're here, and they've taken all three of them." He handed him the letter, "They're demanding that we turn over our werewolf in exchange for their lives."

"What the hell is a werewolf?" Cersei demanded, "Is it one of those beasts your children have running around with them?"

Jon's knuckles had gone white with rage as he read the note, "They want me," his eyes began turning red, spooking Theon away from him as Catelyn and the queen gasped. "They can have me...and my fury!"

ESV

Author's Note: I did say that Jon's status as a werewolf would come out negatively. And Skyrim has a new king that's on the road to war on several points. In the next chapter we see just how much damage an angry werewolf can do alongside and vengeful Jaime Lannister (Tommen is his son, you don't think he would volunteer to go?). We also have an OC character I'm rather proud of coming up.

Anyway, ya wanna see what happens next, then ya know what to do!

Adios Amigos!