hello everyone! as always, i have to give the customary apology for being a terrible writer who never updates. i didn't think it would take me this long, but right after i posted the last chapter finals hit me like a truck... honestly it's a miracle i'm still alive. i've been on summer vacation for a month now, but my family and i were actually traveling in italy which was amazing but did not allow for the best internet connection. but i'm back now and ready to write!! okay, so on to what y'all actually care about, this story. or at least i hope you still do. right? let's say yes for my sanity.
And with that, Rowan turned and walked out the door, unable to bear the emotion in Aelin's eyes, unable to face what he'd done, and shut it behind him.
Rowan's POV:
Rowan had spent the last three hours in his hawk form flying over the forest that surrounded Mistward, consumed by the image of Aelin's back that had burned itself into his brain. The slab of ruined flesh, the marks from the whips she'd been struck with permanently etched in her skin, glistening from the bath water and illuminated by candlelight, had been enough to make Rowan feel physically sick.
He'd seen far worse injuries over the course of his immortal life, had bestowed them on friend and foe alike without a second thought, and yet this had pushed him over the edge. When she'd first told him, every part of Rowan had gone quiet with lethal rage, the desire to rip her tormenters apart with his bare hands all-consuming. Then, it had been replaced by a rush of shame and self-loathing as he'd remembered all the wretched things he'd said to her.
Why don't I give you the lashing you deserve?
Rowan had shifted as soon as he'd passed the wards, the desire to escape into the familiar world of wind and ice almost unbearable. It hadn't worked as he'd hoped it would. The roaring of the wind was nothing compared to the battle being raged in his own mind as his rage and grief and self-hatred began to thaw the numbness he had grown accustomed to.
Maeve had lied to him, or at least not told him the whole truth about Aelin. If he'd known...
Rowan didn't know what he would have done. Would he have pitied her? Perhaps, though he knew Aelin wouldn't have appreciated it. Maeve had likely decided not to tell him for that exact reason, but it didn't matter. Whatever his queen's reasons were, they didn't excuse Rowan's own behavior. He'd threatened to whip her for gods sake, and when she'd lost it, when she had gone quiet and still and then stormed off into the trees, he'd dismissed it as an overreaction. In his arrogance, Rowan had been determined to see it as the actions of a spoiled, temperamental child, had rejected her attempts at civility in favor of harsh words and cruel taunts. And as for the other things he'd said...
You're worthless.
Spineless and pathetic.
You are nothing to me, and I do not care.
You would probably have been more useful to the world if you'd actually died ten years ago.
The word's were on an endless repeat, tearing into him like the whips had once torn into Aelin's flesh. He'd enjoyed it even, had found a depraved sort of satisfaction in seeing her flinch as his verbal blows found their mark, at watching her fade into nothing day after day. He deserved her hatred, deserved the wicked truths she'd spat at him, as well as the pain of the burns she'd given him.
Emry's word's echoed in his head, a cruel addition to the chorus of all the cutting insults he'd snarled at Aelin.
You shove her down when she so desperately needs someone to help her back up.
If he hadn't been so damn proud, perhaps he would have listened. Perhaps Aelin might have trusted him enough to tell him.
That was what bothered him the most, Rowan realized. More than Maeve's deception or even the fact that Aelin had endured Endovier at all, though the thought of her marred flesh still sent a bolt of rage coursing through him.
She hadn't told him.
Aelin hadn't trusted him, hadn't wanted him to know. And why would she? He'd given her no reason to, had been nothing but cruel to her these past weeks. Even now, with her weak and defenseless after her near burnout, he'd given into his rage and left her alone. Again.
Alone. Aelin was alone, unable to defend herself, and he was... he was too far away. If something happened...
A different brand of rage filled his veins, born of a primal need to protect and defend. Rowan could usually control the possessive, territorial side of his Fae nature, but not this time. He flew back to Mistward, fast as the winds could carry him, motivated by that singular, instinctual need.
It didn't take him long to find her. When he arrived at her rooms, Aelin was already asleep, and she didn't even stir when Rowan opened the window with a gust of wind and shifted into his Fae form, landing on his feet without making a sound. Aelin was curled into a fetal position beneath the covers, shivering so hard he would have heard her teeth chattering even without his Fae senses. Rowan didn't bother waking her as he leaned down and pulled her into his arms, blankets and all.
Aelin's hair was still damp from the bath, and the wet strands brushed against the skin of his neck as her head fell to his shoulder. She was trembling, the blankets she'd wrapped herself in doing little to combat the chills racking her body.
Rowan still wasn't used to this Aelin. He half-expected her to make a snarky remark, to bare her teeth and snarl and order him to release her. But she didn't do anything but lie limp in his arms, shaking and trembling from the aftermath of her burnout and the rooms bone-reaching chill, and Rowan felt another wave of guilt wash over him.
He shouldn't have left. He'd let his anger control him, both at himself and those who had harmed her. He knew what him leaving like that would have made her think. It was likely the exact reaction she'd feared him having, and he'd certainly delivered. Either she had assumed he didn't care, or that he thought she deserved it, neither of which were acceptable.
He'd fix it, he would. He had to.
Aelin shifted against him, a faint whimper passing her lips, but Rowan was already moving. In less than a minute, he'd carried her down the hall and up the two flights of stairs to his rooms.
The heat of the fire crackling in the hearth met them at the door, an unwelcome reminder of how cold Aelin's room had been. Her skin was leeched of warmth, it's chill reaching Rowan's chest even through his clothes, and her trembling hadn't ceased. Rowan laid her on the bed, wrapping her in a quilt that had been warming by the fire. He made sure his movements were gentle, knowing how sensitive her body would be to even the slightest shift of the mattress. Her magic came with more heat than ice, but the consequences of overextending your power were the same. The aching muscles, the pounding headache, the exhaustion that made every bone in your body feel like lead.
It was then Rowan realized he was staring. He couldn't help it. She looked different like this: buried in blankets, her damp hair glowing in the firelight, the blank, peaceful expression on her face. Younger. She looked younger. With all of her arrogance, Rowan often forgot that she was barely more than a child.
He sat on the other side of the bed, careful not to shift the mattress with his weight. There was so much he needed to tell her, but when he opened his mouth all that came out was, "You're staying with me from now on."
He'd almost thought she was asleep, but then Aelin turned to face him, the fire in her gaze dull. She didn't say anything, but the question in her eyes was clear.
"The bed is for tonight," he told her. "Tomorrow, you'll get a cot. You'll clean up after yourself or you'll be back in that room."
Empty, useless word's. Say something, you bastard.
Aelin saved him from having to continue. "Very well," she said, her voice uncharacteristically quiet. It sent a shiver down Rowan's spine.
A long moment of silence followed. Rowan was staring at the fireplace, unable to meet Aelin's gaze. He didn't know how to do this, didn't know how to quantify how sorry he was into words.
Aelin nestled into the covers, and when she spoke her voice was muffled by the thick quilt. "I don't want your pity."
That, Rowan had been expecting. "This is not pity. Maeve decided not to tell me what happened to you. You have to know that I— I wasn't aware you had—"
The word's were far more disjointed than he'd have liked, his usual indifference burned into nothing by Aelin's steady, quiet gaze. He wanted her to tear into him, to confirm that she despised him just as much as he knew she should.
Instead, Aelin reached out and grasped his hand, her grip firm despite the exhaustion in her gaze. The natural warmth of her reached him through his jacket, and when Rowan saw the raw emotion in her eyes his heart stumbled. "I knew," she said. "At first, I was afraid you'd mock me if I told you, and I would kill you for it. Then I didn't want you to pity me. And more than any of that, I didn't want you to think it was ever an excuse."
"Like a good solider," Rowan said, finally meeting her gaze. The firelight was reflected in her eyes, though the effect was less disturbing than it had been at the bonfire. He hadn't noticed before, but the rich blue of her irises was ringed with gold.
Rowan took a deep breath, lacing his fingers through Aelin's as he spoke, and felt a rush of relief when she didn't pull away. "Tell me how you were sent there," he said. "And how you got out."
He thought she would refuse, but as usual, she surprised him. Aelin met his stare, the trust in her eyes perfectly damning as she began to tell him her story. Her tired gaze sparked slightly when she spoke of her time spent in Rifthold, of stealing Asterion horses and riding them through the desert, of dancing till dawn with friends and foes alike, and then darkened when she told him how'd she'd lost the first man she'd ever loved in the same wretched, twisted scheme that had gotten her sent to Endovier.
Rowan tightened his grip on her hand when she arrived at the story of her first whipping. A flicker of pride slipped through his icy rage when she told him how she'd spat blood in the overseer's face, but it was dampened by what followed. The darkness of the cell they'd used to break her, how she still had nightmares because of it. The lines of slaves that never seemed to end. The grueling work and the never ending sound of screaming. How she'd snapped on the anniversary of her parent's murder, had stopped caring whether she lived or died as she sprinted to a false freedom.
And as she spoke, as she revisited her pain and grief and torment, Rowan never let go of her hand. She was clearly exhausted, but the word's were coming with ease now, and Rowan wasn't going to stop her. He knew what she was experiencing, had not forgotten how it had felt to share his past with her as they'd trained. As if a weight was being lifted from his shoulders, one he hadn't even realized he was carrying.
Aelin's entire body seemed to grow heavy when she arrived at the night of her release, the evening when she'd been offered the position of champion for the tyrant son of the man who had murdered her parents and destroyed her kingdom.
Eventually, Aelin stopped talking, yawning as she nestled further into the covers. The room was quiet without her voice filling it, the fire crackling in the sudden silence. Aelin's breathing slowed, it's steady pace and the warmth of the fire pulling Rowan towards sleep.
The last thing he felt before he closed his eyes was the weight of Aelin's hand in his, resting against his chest as his exhaustion dragged him into oblivion.
•••
Rowan was fairly sure Aelin wanted to kill him.
She was in no state to do so after her burnout, but the glare she was sending him over her tea was vicious enough to make Rowan nervous. He didn't need to hear her speak to understand the unspoken words in that look. It said, If you ask me if I'm hungry one more time, I'll drag myself out of bed and strangle you with my bare hands.
Still, for all her complaints that he was smothering her, Aelin had eaten everything he'd brought her and was now nursing her fourth cup of tea. It was ginger, an old recipe of his mother's he vaguely remembered her making when he was sick as a child.
It was late afternoon, the golden light of the setting sun pouring in through the open window, and Rowan was once again studying the maps that showed the locations of the drained bodies. The lack of new information regarding the creature's whereabouts was making him almost as restless and irritable as Aelin.
"You know," Aelin said as she sipped from her mug. "I highly doubt that anyone is going to attack me now, if they've already put up with my nonsense for this long."
Rowan didn't even bother to look up from the map he was studying. "This isn't negotiable."
He hadn't allowed Aelin out of bed all day, even when Emrys and Luca had come to visit. Rowan hadn't been able to contain his growl at the sight of them, the urge to tear their throats out for just being within speaking distance of Aelin almost unbearable. It hadn't mattered that they weren't a true threat to her, he'd still wanted to kill them. Fae males were naturally territorial, a trait that only magnified itself when another Fae, especially a female, was injured or vulnerable. Rowan was usually better at controlling his instincts, but something about Aelin's current state had every bone in his body burning with the desire to protect and defend.
"So you mean to tell me that whenever someone comes close to burnout, she not only goes through all this misery, but if she's female, the males around her go berserk?" The irritation in Aelin's voice was genuine enough that Rowan might have laughed, if not for the wince that followed. Despite Aelin insisting that she was fine, her hisses of pain every time she moved or spoke told a different story.
"This is hardly berserk," he said, turning to her. "At least you can defend yourself by physical means when your magic is useless. For other Fae, even if they've had weapons and defense training, if they can't touch their magic, they're vulnerable, especially when they're drained and in pain. That makes people— usually males, yes— somewhat edgy. Others have been known to kill without thought any perceived threat, real or otherwise."
"What sort of threat? Maeve's lands are peaceful," Aelin said, leaning over to set her empty mug on the nightstand. Before she could move more than a few inches, Rowan was at her side, taking it from her and ignoring Aelin's incredulous look as he refilled it and returned it to her.
"Threats from anywhere— males, females, creatures... you can't reason against it," he explained, reaching for the tray of food at the edge of his worktable. "Even if it wasn't our culture, there would still be an instinct to protect the defenseless, regardless of whether they're female or male, young or old."
With that, he took a bowl of broth and a slice of bread and held them out to her. "Eat this."
"It pains me to say this, but one more bite and I'll be sick all over the place." Aelin was doing her best to seem annoyed, but the subtle layer of emotion behind her words made Rowan think she wasn't as bothered by his hovering as she wanted him to think.
So, he ignored her protests, dipping the bread in the broth before offering it to her again."You need to keep up your energy," he told her. "You probably came so close to burnout because you didn't have enough food in your stomach."
Aelin sighed, taking the tray from him even as she rolled her eyes. Rowan ignored that too, checking the fire to ensure it wasn't in danger of going out again. When he'd woken this morning, the hearth had been cold and empty, and Aelin had been shivering beside him. He looked around the room again, but nothing was out of place. The window was open in case she had hot flashes, the door locked to prevent anyone else from entering, and a pot of tea was steeping on the table.
Fine, so maybe Rowan was fussing a little.
He could sense Aelin's eyes on him, their gaze burning a hole in the side of his head. Rowan turned to her, unable to stop himself from frowning at the sight of her. She was paler than usual, her skin shining with sweat. Her hair was damp and lifeless, and even though she managed to look irritated her eyes were glazed with pain.
Despite her protests, Aelin finished the broth and the bread, so Rowan crossed the room and took the empty bowl from her before setting it on the table.
It was a testament to her exhaustion that Aelin didn't insist she could do it herself. Instead, she winced and reached a hand up to massage her forehead. "So when the magic runs out," she said, her pain-heavy eyes meeting his."That's it— either you stop or you burn out?"
"Well, there's the carranam," Rowan said, returning to his place at his work table.
Aelin looked intrigued, so he continued. "It's hard to explain," he told her. "I've only ever seen it used a handful of times on killing fields. When you're drained, your carranam can yield their power to you, as long as you're compatible and actively sharing a blood connection."
Aelin tilted her head to the side, considering. "If we were carranam, and I gave you my power, would you still only be using wind and ice— not my fire?" Rowan nodded. "How do you know if you're compatible with someone?"
"There's no way of telling until you try. And the bond is so rare that the majority of Fae never meet someone who is compatible, or whom they trust enough to test it out. There's always a threat that they could take too much— and if they're unskilled, they could shatter your mind. Or you could both burn out completely."
"Could you ever just steal magic from someone?" There was no malice in the question, only her typical curiosity.
"Less savory Fae once attempted to do so—to win battles and add to their own power—but it never worked. And if it did, it was because the person they held hostage was coincidentally compatible. Maeve outlawed any forced bonds long before I was born, but… I've been sent a few times to hunt down corrupt Fae who keep their carranam as slaves. Usually, the slaves are so broken there's no way to rehabilitate them. Putting them down is the only mercy I can offer," Rowan said, doing his best not to think of the times when he'd found the Fae who'd had bonds forced on them by their carranam.
The image of a Fae female, crouched in the corner of a cell, chained and trembling, flashed through his mind. The memories were distant, and Rowan didn't think he'd allowed how much they unnerved him to show, but Aelin's said her next words with a degree of gentleness. "Doing that must be harder than all the wars and sieges you've ever waged."
The memories had begun to fill Rowan's mind, but something in Aelin's voice made it easy to ignore them. "Immortality is not as much of a gift as mortals would believe," he told her. "It can breed monsters that even you would be sick to learn about. Imagine the sadists you've encountered– and then imagine them with millennia to hone their craft and warped desires."
Aelin shuddered, the shadows creeping back into her gaze. Rowan immediately regretted saying anything at all, but then Aelin shook her head and buried back into the pillows. "This conversation's becomes too awful to have after eating," she said, and there was a hint of mischief in her eyes when she turned to Rowan. "Tell me which one of of your little cadre is the handsomest, and if he would fancy me."
Rowan choked on his words, the images her words invoked not ones he ever wanted to become reality. "The thought of you with any of my companions makes my blood run cold."
It was the truth. The thought of Aelin with Gavriel or Vaughn or gods forbid Lorcan made him shudder. Fenrys would certainly show some interest. Hell, he had. Rowan knew his offer to train the princess had been mostly about escaping Maeve's clutches, but he couldn't bring himself to care.
"They're that awful?" Aelin asked, a not-so-subtle smirk on her lips. "Your kitty-cat friend looked decent enough."
Rowan raised his eyebrows at her, not quite able to process her referring to Gavriel as his kitty-cat friend. "I don't think my kitty-cat friend would know what to do with you— nor would any of the others. It would likely end in bloodshed."
Aelin was grinning now, and Rowan decided she was having far too much fun with this. "They would likely have very little interest in you, as you'll be old and decrepit soon enough and thus not worth the effort it would take to win you," he told her, hoping that it would end the conversation.
Aelin just rolled her eyes. "Killjoy," she muttered, but Rowan was just relieved that she seemed to have dropped the topic.
It was silent for a moment, during which Rowan studied Aelin. Her skin was still damp with sweat, and even though she appeared to be lucid enough he could see the exhaustion in her gaze. His eyes traveled down her body, pausing at her bare wrists, the thin scars that looked like bracelets. She had once told him they were the result of her master's training, but he now knew that was a lie. He didn't blame her for it of course, they'd still been at each other's throats then. But...
"A skilled healer could probably get rid of those scars— definitely the ones on your wrists, and most on your back," he said.
Aelin went still, and for a moment Rowan thought he had gone too far. He would understand if she didn't want to talk about it with him, if last night had been a fluke and she still didn't trust him enough to explain. She had every reason to hate him, but when she spoke there was no anger or resentment in her voice– only a resigned sort of pain that made him want to hit something. "There were cells in the bowels of the mines that they used to punish slaves," she said, both of them ignoring the way her voice shook. "Cells so dark you would wake up in them and think you'd been blinded. They locked me in there sometimes— once for three weeks straight. And the only thing that got me through it was reminding myself of my name, over and over and over— I am Celaena Sardothien."
Rowan had heard rumors of the wretched conditions in those camps, but...
Aelin looked at him, as if she was waiting for the request to stop. When it didn't come, she continued.
"When they would let me out, so much of my mind had shut down in the darkness that the only thing I could remember was that my name was Celaena. Celaena Sardothien, arrogant and brave and skilled, Celaena who did not know fear or despair, Celaena who was a weapon honed by Death." Aelin paused, running a shaking hand through her hair. The sight of her like that, broken and scared and exhausted as she buckled under the weight of old memories, made Rowan want to tell her to stop, but his voice was no longer working.
"I don't usually let myself think about that part of Endovier," Aelin said, her voice so heavy with anguish Rowan felt it in his very bones. "After I got out, there were nights when I would wake up and think I was back in those cells, and I would have to light every candle in my room to prove I wasn't. They don't just kill you in the mines— they break you."
In the silence, Rowan tried to find the right words to say, but Aelin beat him to it. "There are thousands of slaves in Endovier, and a good number are from Terrasen. Regardless of what I do with my birthright, I'm going to find a way to free them someday. I will free them. Them, and all the slaves in Calaculla, too. So my scars serve as a reminder of that."
Rowan believed her. Even without seeing the fierce, raw emotion in her eyes, he would have believed her.
"What happened ten years ago, Aelin?" The question had passed his lips before he could stop himself. Gods, what was he thinking?
"I'm not going to talk about that," she snapped.
Fair. More than fair, actually. She didn't owe him anything, least of all an explanation. Still...
"If you took up your crown, you could free Endovier far more easily than—"
Aelin interrupted before he could finish.
"I can't talk about it."
"Why?" There was enough pain her voice that Rowan made sure to soften his own. He told himself if she still refused to tell him after this, he'd stop pushing. Rowan knew he wasn't making this easy for her, not like he should be, but he was finally starting to understand her and didn't want to stop now.
Aelin sighed, the sound heavy with exhaustion, and Rowan felt a wave of momentary guilt consume him. She raised a hand to her forehead, her face wrinkling in pain at the pounding ache. When she finally spoke, her voice was cracking and hollow. "There is this... rage," she said, shaking her head. "This despair and hatred and rage that lives and breathes inside me. There is no sanity to it, no gentleness. It is a monster dwelling under my skin. For the past ten years, I have worked every day, every hour, to keep that monster locked up. And the moment I talk about those two days, and what happened before and after, that monster is going to break loose, and there will be no accounting for what I do."
"That is how I was able to stand before the King of Adarlan, how I was able to befriend his son and his captain, how I was able to live in that palace. Because I did not give that rage, those memories, one inch. And right now I am looking for the tools that might destroy my enemy, and I cannot let out the monster, because it will make me use those tools against the king, not put them back as I should— and I might very well destroy the world for spite. So that is why I must be Celaena, not Aelin— because being Aelin means facing those things, and unleashing that monster. Do you understand?"
The problem was, Rowan did understand. Almost too well. He was familiar with the rage she felt, the burning need for vengeance that felt like a firestorm caged by your bones, begging to be released. It was a brand of anger that was often easier to bury than face. They'd both done it for years, all under the guise of sparing the world from their wrath. But perhaps that was only an excuse, a lie they'd told themselves to hide the fact that they'd been carrying that rage and pain and despair with them for so long they didn't know who they were without it. There was a part of them that didn't want to stop feeling this way, that thought they deserved it. The weeks they'd spent together had allowed Rowan to realize how similar he and Aelin were in that respect— they were both masters at punishing themselves.
"For whatever it's worth," he said, "I don't think you would destroy the world from spite."
Aelin looked at him, the shock and apprehension in her gaze urging him to continue. "But I also think you like to suffer. You collect scars because you want proof that you are paying for whatever sins you've committed. And I know this because I've been doing the same damn thing for two hundred years. Tell me, do you think you will go to some blessed Afterworld, or do you expect a burning hell? You're hoping for hell— because how could you face them in the After-world? Better to suffer, to be damned for eternity and—"
"That's enough." The words were barely a whisper, but they made Rowan stop speaking quicker than her shouting would have. Gods, what was he doing? Aelin had just told him of her enslavement at the age of seventeen, hell she was still recovering from her near burnout, and he'd—
It was silent as Rowan turned back to his work table. There was the sound of Aelin nestling into the blankets, and after a few moments her breathing slowed. Rowan glanced at her over his shoulder, small and vulnerable and shivering, and stood, abandoning the map he'd been staring at for the past hour.
Aelin didn't react as Rowan moved to sit beside her on the bed. They weren't touching, but it was close enough for him to feel her heat through the blankets. There was a moment where he thought she might order him back to the worktable, but then, without opening her eyes, Aelin shifted imperceptibly closer to him. It was quiet after that, the only sound the familiar, reassuring rhythm of Aelin's beating heart and soft breaths.
Finally, Rowan regained his ability to speak.
"At least if you're going to hell then we'll be there together," he told her. He didn't know if it was a comfort, but he needed Aelin to know they were the same, that he thought no less of her after hearing her story. If anything, he admired her more.
"I feel bad for the dark god already." Aelin's response was muffled by the thick quilt, a soft whisper of embers and smoke, but it made Rowan feel warm in a way that had nothing to do with the fire.
It was almost subconscious, then, when he brushed a hand through her hair. It moved through his fingertips like water, it's soft blonde strands shimmering in the firelight. When he realized what he had done, Rowan thought Aelin might bite him on principal, so when she made a noise that was something close to a purr he did his best to conceal his shock.
"When I'm back to normal, can I assume you're going to yell at me for almost burning out?"
Rowan chuckled, his hand continuing it's movements. "You have no idea."
An echo of a smile graced Aelin's lips, and Rowan's hand stilled in her hair. It was not a smirk or a sneer of contempt, but the kind of grin that came from true happiness.
Aelin went still beneath him, as if expecting Rowan to recoil. He didn't. The thought of leaving her side was almost unbearable, the feeling of her hair beneath his fingers and the warmth of her body a welcome relief, but he needed to say one more thing to her. "I have no doubt that you'll be able to free the slaves from the labor camps some day," he told her. "No matter what name you use."
Aelin didn't say anything. Instead, she reached over and placed a hand on his chest right above his heart. She shifted closer, her head all but resting on his shoulder, and Rowan realized he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this at peace with anyone— friend or lover.
"Thank you for looking out for me," she murmured into his chest, her breath warm against Rowan's skin. He made a faint sound of thanks, of dismissal, and then felt Aelin soften against him as her body went lax with sleep.
Rowan looked at her, curled up beside him with her blonde hair splayed across the pillow. It was the most relaxed he'd ever seen her, and Rowan loosed a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He moved his hand from her hair to grasp the one she's laid on his chest, and it's warmth was the last thing he felt before he was dragged into the depths of sleep.
ahhhh i'm so happy rn!! this chapter was painful to write for some reason, and it was getting really long so i decided to split it into two parts— the next one should be up soon!