Chapter 32
March 12 – Early evening
Dimholt
Aragorn, Legolas, the twins and Gimli all dismounted when they reached the door to the Paths of the Dead. The twins instinctively moved toward each other so their shoulders were touching. Gimli, surprisingly, stood a couple feet behind them and looked at the door almost fearfully. Aragorn and Legolas stood side by side closer to the door.
Gimli peeked around the twins anxiously, while trying not to appear as if he was doing so, "The very warmth of my blood seems stolen away."
Nobody even fully acknowledged the dwarf as Legolas read the warning above the door, "The way is shut. It was made by those who are dead...and the dead keep it." He looked at his husband as he finished, "The way is shut."
"Legend says no one who enters survives." Elladan said.
Elrohir let out a tiny whimper, "We could go back. It's not too..."
He cut off abruptly as a blast of cold air came though the door with an evil hiss. It sent a foreboding shiver down each of their spines and sent the horses into a panic. Almost as one the animals reared with fearful squeals, jerking their reins away from their riders, and fled.
"Brego!" Aragorn shouted, knowing it was pointless, the animal was long gone. Turning back around he scowled at the darkened door and half growled, "I do not fear death!"
That said he walked through the door and disappeared. Legolas shook his head, "Well, if you're going to walk willingly to your death you're not leaving me behind!"
The twins met each others' gaze, vastly amused by Legolas' giddy and highly illogical state. Simultaneously they shrugged before following their brother and the wood elf.
Gimli hung back and let out a little whining moan, "Well this is a thing unheard of. Three elves will go underground where a dwarf dare not." He whimpered again, "Oh, I'd never hear the end of it."
Stomping his feet a couple times to work up courage Gimli huffed determinedly and entered the mountain.
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It wasn't long before they reached a large hall that resembled an underground city. Aragorn held a torch high as they all slowed to a stop. Almost immediately a smoky green figure appeared at the top of a set of steps.
The King of the Dead glared at the trespassers, "Who enters my domain?"
Aragorn stared the ghost down and replied, "One who would have you allegiance."
The dead king sneered at Aragorn, "The Dead do not suffer the living to pass."
"You will suffer me." Aragorn said quietly.
A moment passed before the King reacted. He began to laugh, the sound echoing throughout the hall. As the echoes slowly died down once the ghost stopped laughing more Dead appeared. The king stepped toward Aragorn threateningly as the rest of the Dead surrounded the small group.
"The way is shut," the king said, menacingly, "It was made by those who are dead and the dead keep it. The way is shut." He paused, "Now you must die."
As the circle of Dead tightened around the 'breathers' there was a mix of reactions. Elladan and Legolas somehow ended up back to back, glancing around nervously. Gimli hefted his axe, glaring around at the army suspiciously. In the space of a single heart beat Elrohir had an arrow notched, aimed and released at one of the nearest ghosts. He uttered a curse in Elvish as it passed harmlessly through the ghost's forehead and clattered to the floor several feet away.
"That was not helpful, Ro!" Elladan hissed as he and Legolas slowly turned in a circle. Elrohir repeated his curse in his twin's direction.
Legolas moaned and pressed a hand to his stomach as his unborn daughter fluttered violently in his belly, sensing the tension in his body. Swallowing he took a deep breath, "I do not think our daughter likes this, Estel. Make friends quickly so we can leave."
Aragorn, who had remained calm through it all, stifled a chuckle at his husband's choice of words. He gave the King of the Dead a superior look as he said, "I summon you to fulfill your oath."
"None but the king of Gondor may command me," the king growled, crossing the last few feet between them and raising his sword.
Aragorn quickly brought Anduril up, blocking the ghost king's swing before grabbing him by the throat. The ghost glared at him, "That line was broken!"
"It has been remade." Aragorn replied before pushing the dead king away from him and facing the other Dead, "Fight for us and regain your honor. What say you?"
The Dead shifted uncomfortably, looking to their king for his decision. Aragorn, too, faced the King of the Dead once again and held up Anduril, pointing it at the ghost, "What say you?"
"You waste your time, Aragorn." Gimli said gruffly, earning himself a glare from the dead king, "They had no honor in life...they have none in death."
"I am Isildur's heir." Aragorn tried again, ignoring Gimli and giving the Dead the benefit of the doubt, ""Fight for me and I will hold your oath fulfilled."
There was still no answer and Aragorn's patience snapped, "What say you?!"
After another moment's hesitation the King of the Dead went to one knee, prompting his army to do the same, "We will fight for the king of Gondor."
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March 13 – Morning
Minas Tirith
It was barely an hour past dawn when Faramir was called before his father for the first time since he'd brought news of Osgiliath's fall to the enemy. He stood silently as Denethor chose an assortment of foods from the spread on the table. One never spoke to the steward unless spoken to.
Denethor dropped a cherry tomato on his plate and threw Faramir a glance, "I do not think we should abandon our outer defenses so lightly. Defenses your brother long held intact."
Faramir just barely resisted rolling his eyes as he thought, 'Osgiliath was not lost so lightly. I lost many men defending that city.'
Keeping that retort to himself Faramir asked instead, "What would you have me do?"
"I will not yield the river and Pelennor unfought." Denethor drawled, "Osgiliath must be retaken."
"My lord, Osgiliath is overrun." Faramir replied, "It cannot..."
"Much must be risked in war." Denethor interrupted, "Is there a captain here who still has the courage to do his lord's will?"
Swallowing back the threat of tears Faramir said, "You wish now that our places had been exchanged." He kept his wording vague, knowing Denethor still refused to believe Boromir lived, "You wish that I were gone...and Boromir still here."
Ignoring the break in Faramir's voice Denethor stared straight ahead, speaking almost to himself, "Yes. I wish that."
Lower lip trembling, tears flooding his eyes, Faramir sighed, "Since Boromir is not here...I will do what I can in his stead."
Denethor said nothing as Faramir gave a half bow and turned to leave, the knowledge that his father was currently wishing him dead shattering his already aching heart. At the door he stopped and looked back, wanting to see even a tiny shred of love in Denethor's demeanor. Seeing none, as expected, he sighed, his shoulders drooping despairingly.
"If I should return, think better of me, Father," was Faramir's last plea as he walked out.
The last ting he heard before the door swung shut behind him was Denethor saying coldly, "That will depend on the matter of your return."
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It was a dismal procession of mounted rangers who rode down through the city toward the gate. At the front of the column Faramir sat tall, as the steward's son was expected to, and stared forward emotionlessly. He neither noticed, nor acknowledged, the citizens throwing flowers to the ground in front of his horse's feet. His mind was elsewhere.
He was riding to his death, leading the men to their deaths, on his father's command. So many things he wished to do would remain undone; so many things he wished to say or see. Eomer would be heartbroken; Boromir's heart would be shattered. And Faramir couldn't even say good-bye.
"Faramir!"
The voice barely registered until Gandalf reached his side and walked alongside the horse, "Faramir, your father's will has turned to madness. Do not throw your life away so rashly."
"Where does my allegiance lie, Mithrandir?" Faramir asked tonelessly, "If it does not lie here...with Gondor."
Anything else the wizard said was lost on Faramir as the gates were opened and he rode out. He didn't even spare his beloved city a last farewell glance. It would only make the ache in his heart even more unbearable.
Once they were clear of the city the heavy gates slammed shut and Faramir sighed. This was it. Death was coming for him ahead.
"Form the line," he said to the ranger beside him, knowing the order would quickly spread through the small troop.
Slowly the rangers formed up on either side of Faramir. The center was the opportune position for any captain, as it put him an equal distance from the soldiers at either end of the line. Unfortunately, it was also the first place the enemy was bound to attack.
Keeping the pace at a slow run Faramir drew his sword. He felt a short moment of pride as his rangers did the same without a single order from him. These were all good men...and they risked their lives for Gondor every day. Yet today would be their last.
'Oh, how I wish things were different.' Faramir thought. But, even knowing they rode to their death, these men sat proud, knowing they died well, defending their home and loved ones.
Raising his sword to the enemy in challenge Faramir shouted the battle cry that had led the men of Gondor to war for centuries, "For Gondor!"
All along the line the shout was echoed as the horses broke into a gallop at the urging of their riders. This was their end. They would be remembered.
As they advanced on the captured city, a veritable wall of horse, man and sword, the enemy retaliated with a deadly wave of arrows. Each one hit it's mark, sending another good man to his death.
One by one the rangers fell. Each lost life pierced Faramir's heart like a needle. The only consolation for him was that he would soon be joining them.
No sooner had that thought entered his mind and Faramir let out a yell as he was simultaneously hit with two arrows, one at his left shoulder, one at his right hip. The impact knocked him from his horse and he hit the ground hard.
His last thoughts were of Eomer and Boromir before darkness claimed him.
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Same day – Afternoon
Quite possibly this had to be the stupidest and the most useless Elladan, Elrohir, Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli had ever felt. They were standing in some unnamed harbor, weapons drawn, watching as the Army of the Dead swarmed over the Corsair ships.
"Huh." Elladan grunted as he sheathed his weapons.
"That was easy." Elrohir returned.
"You mean we do not get to fight?!" Gimli asked incredulously.
"I wanted to fight!" Legolas wailed as he loosed an arrow toward the nearest ship just to say he did. Ironically, he wasn't even aiming and he still managed to hit a Corsair who was trying to make a break for it by jumping overboard. The man hit the water already dead.
Meanwhile, Aragorn had sheathed Anduril with an amused look on his face as he looked back and forth between his twin foster brothers. He gave a little nod...
"Now what?"
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At the time the group of five was boarding one of the Corsair ships (and Aragorn was trying to console a still wailing Legolas who was still looking for Corsairs to fight) the entire army of Rohan was following the mountains toward Minas Tirith. The plan was to keep riding through the night so the company would reach the city by early morning. But the question was...would the city still be standing?
The worry that they would be too late and that they would be slaughtered once they got there kept tensions extremely high within the company. And there was no other eored more stressed than Eomer's.
Since Theoden was in front of his army, as was his place as king, Eomer was covering the rear...and snapping at practically each and every one of his men.
"Someone should really tell him to calm down." Haldir commented with a slight hitch to his voice.
Farothen rolled his eyes at the Lorien elf. The two of them were riding a little ways back from the Rohirrim army, so they really made up the rear.
"No one else is complaining, Haldir." Farothen pointed out.
"They're soldiers under the command of the future king of Rohan...of course they're not going to complain," Haldir remarked.
"They were his friends before he became heir, Haldir." Farothen replied, "They understand he's tense...and very worried about Faramir."
Haldir opened his mouth to say one thing, stopped and turned to look at the half-elf riding beside him, "Who is Faramir?"
Farothen unexpectedly burst out laughing, "Oh, right. You missed that conversation."
"What conversation?"
"Faramir is Boromir's younger brother...and Eomer's lover."
Haldir nodded, but looked confused again only a second later, "And that's funny why?"
"We were all having a good laugh at Eomer's expense after Helm's Deep when he discovered that since the House of Hurin is descended from another line of Elros it is possible that Faramir may be able to conceive," Farothen said.
Haldir burst out laughing, "I bet that went over well." He paused a moment then got an evil grin on his face, "Does this mean Boromir may be able to conceive as well?"
"I do not know." Farothen replied, "Maybe."
"Well if you ever wanted to get revenge on him for the predicament you are currently in..."
Farothen mirrored Haldir's evil grin, "If it's possible I fully intend to...but it has not happened yet so somehow I doubt I will ever be given the chance to get revenge."
Before either could continue the conversation Eomer suddenly circled his horse around to the back where they were.
"Eomer...are you alright?" Farothen asked.
Instead of answering Eomer leaned over in his saddle and gave into the overwhelming urge to vomit.
"Hmm," Haldir responded dryly to Farothen's question, "Guess not."
Farothen scowled at the elf as Eomer sat up, rubbing his aching temples, eyes closed against the pain, and moaned, "I don't think I've ever been this tense." He opened his eyes and met Farothen's gaze, stubbornly ignoring the arrogant smirk on Haldir's face, "What are you doing back here?"
"By order of Ada, I am to go immediately to the seventh level of the city once we arrive in Minas Tirith with Haldir escorting me," Farothen paused, "Apparently Boromir told Ada about a way through the mountain that goes directly up to the top of the Citadel."
Eomer whistled, "I bet that went over well."
Farothen gave Eomer an impish grin which any elf from Rivendell (and probably Mirkwood considering that particular look had probably come from Legolas) would have been alarmed to see, "Oh I fully intend to do something...even if it is from behind the walls of Minas Tirith."
Eomer nodded somewhat distractedly before starting to spur his horse back to his eored.
"I'm sure Faramir will be fine." Farothen said soothingly to the horse lord, wincing inside at the little white lie he was telling. He also sent a silent prayer up to the Valar that Boromir's vision would prove false...that his husband would get there in time.
He found it somewhat ironic that he offered up a prayer for a man he didn't even know, but since Faramir was so important to his husband and to a friend, he was important to Farothen as well. It must have been a trait Aragorn had passed on to him...for Aragorn was one of the most selfless men Farothen knew.
Eomer barely even acknowledged that Farothen had spoken as he slowly galloped back to his men. Both Haldir and Farothen cocked a brow as they met each other's gaze, thinking the same thing. Eomer still looked a little green.
"Did the royal line of Rohan pick up any Elven or Numenorean blood over the years?" Haldir asked.
"I do not believe so. Why?"
"Well, Eomer has been getting sick for a while now so..."
"No!" Farothen interrupted, "He's not capable of doing that!"
"Are you sure?"
Farothen opened his mouth to reply, but instead of sounding convincing he only managed to stammer, "I...I...think so."
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Pelennor Fields – Early Evening
Boromir, in the meantime, was galloping the last few miles to Minas Tirith like a madman. He kept hoping to come past the mountain range bordering his country to the north and see his beloved city and the garrison at Osgiliath exactly as he'd left it so many months before. But he was a warrior, with a warrior's instinct, and his heart was sinking further with each mile he traveled nearer his home.
Something inside him told him that the battle was just over the horizon, waiting for him. The very air seemed darker and more filled with smoke than he remembered. Boromir even imagined he could smell death on the air and hear the sounds of approaching battle.
As Roch topped the last rise, which meant the end of the chain of mountains, Boromir's worst fears were confirmed.
His eyes first fell, not on Minas Tirith, but by some instinct, on Osgiliath. Even from his current distance he could tell that the city was lost, completely overrun by the enemy. The noise he'd been hearing for several miles had been the sound of orcs getting ready for battle, and trolls pushing wall-scalers through the fallen city.
Boromir nervously eyed the city and even though he couldn't see more than one of the Nazgul he knew they were there...somewhere. The one he could see was mounted on it's winged beast, perched atop the highest building of the desolate city
Swallowing the lump in his throat, Boromir turned his gaze away from Osgiliath and toward the field. A small group of orcs were chasing a fleeing horse and gaining on him. It took Boromir a moment to realize that they were able to do so because the animal was slowed due to it's fallen rider, who'd been hung up in the stirrup by his foot.
Without even thinking Boromir spurred Roch toward the fallen soldier. Whether the man lived or not, Boromir refused to let the vermin of Mordor have any more sons of Gondor for their perverse pleasure.
Fortunately for Boromir, none of the orcs noticed him galloping up until it was too late. With a couple swift strokes of his sword they were dead before they could ever draw their weapons. Unfortunately, this didn't go unnoticed by the Nazgul in Osgiliath. As Boromir was dismounting to attend to his fallen comrade, the Witch King sent out another group of about 20 or 30 to kill him before he reached the safety of the Citadel with the wounded man. Not that it much mattered; by the looks of things Minas Tirith wouldn't be safe much longer anyway.
Boromir, of course, noticed none of this as it registered in his mind who the fallen rider was. Faramir. His little brother...who was so close to death.
"Faramir!" Boromir gasped, kneeling down by the younger man to free his foot from the stirrup. Faramir's horse, freed from dragging his rider, immediately panicked and raced the rest of the way to the gates of Minas Tirith. Only his loyalty toward Boromir kept Roch from doing the same. However, it didn't stop the Elven bred stallion from nudging the Captain-General of Gondor roughly in the side, clearly thinking the man was crazy to stay on the battlefield.
Boromir didn't need Roch to tell him that an army was heading toward him, though. He could hear it.
Without looking toward Osgiliath Boromir quickly but gently lifted his brother onto Roch's back and climbed up behind him. Roch needed no order, nor encouragement, to take off for the city.
Faramir moaned slightly in his unconscious state, giving Boromir some sense of relief that he had at least arrived in time to save his little brother from death. As they neared the city gates Boromir pressed a gently kiss to Faramir's forehead, "Fret not, little one. Boromir's got you now."
Boromir's face was still covered by his Elven cloak from Lorien, ensuring that the men up on the battlements wouldn't recognize him. But they did recognize Faramir from his armor and fair hair (which was visible since his helmet had long since been thrown off) so they opened the gates without question since there were men waiting just inside to take Faramir up to the seventh level.
Boromir, thinking the men would bring Faramir to the House of Healing, relinquished his hold on his little brother without complaint. However, he was caught by surprise when Faramir was spirited away on a stretcher rather quickly and he, himself, was barred from going any further.
"Hold, stranger," one of the soldiers said, "We're grateful to you for retrieving Lord Faramir, but we cannot let you go further into the city without knowing your identity
"He'll be taken to a healer won't he?" Boromir asked desperately as he looked to where Faramir had disappeared up the ramp to the second level.
"But, sir...he's dead."
"He's not dead!" Boromir shouted in anger. The solider responded by drawing his sword, wondering what kind of man he'd let into the city. Boromir sighed in exasperation at the man's actions and quickly pulled back the hood of his cloak, "Let me past, soldier."
The man gasped and dropped his sword as he went completely white, "Lord Boromir!"
The cry was heard all throughout the square and anyone who hadn't seen Boromir pull off his hood turned in awe to stare at their beloved Captain-General.
"Lord Denethor claimed you were dead," one man exclaimed and suddenly all the soldiers began talking at once. Boromir held up his hands to stop everyone.
"I'll explain everything later," he promised, "But first I must see that Faramir is brought to a healer.
Turning to the soldier who had held him up (he was currently picking up his dropped sword) Boromir asked, "You are the captain on duty?"
The man straightened up, "I am. Captain Tarin, sir."
"Ready the men for battle, Captain." Boromir ordered.
"Yes sir." Tarin responded.
Boromir then turned to address all of his men, "You are all my soldiers and I know I can count on each and every one of you to defend our home to the end. Make me proud as you always have. We fight for Gondor...and the return of our king!"
Boromir then spurred Roch from a stand still into a gallop and headed after his brother to the sound of cheering behind him. Mingled with the cheers were several familiar shouts of, "For Gondor!"
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Denethor was a very hard man to follow being a man who was almost always grim, who never listened to council be it good or bad and whose actions often seemed veil sheer insanity. He had almost completely closed himself off after his beloved wife's death so many years earlier, choosing to shower one son with affection, bordering on obsession, and the other with indifference, bordering on hate. He never realized that he was actually destroying both of his sons.
Faramir's self-esteem was virtually non-existent. Despite Eomer's continued reassurance, Faramir still believed in his heart that Boromir was the only one who truly loved him. He never heard Boromir's praises, Gandalf's words of wisdom or saw men's and women's admiring glances. All he saw and heard was his father's opinion. If his own father couldn't love him, then who besides Boromir could?
Boromir, on the other hand, got not only Denethor's expectations, but all of Gondor's citizens'. Every man and woman in Gondor looked up to him. Every boy and man wanted to be him. But no one, not even Faramir, knew of the suffocating pressure that Boromir felt every day. Boromir had been raised to have such an elevated opinion of himself because of all the praise and adulation heaped on him that any time he failed to do a perfect job or fell just short of his goal, in his mind, he considered himself a total failure. However, he hid this from everyone else because he was still a soldier and he would do his duty...no matter what.
This was the true reason Gandalf despised Denethor. It wasn't his bitterness over never being king, nor was it his descent into madness. It was the fact that Denethor had made the two people who loved him the most feel like failures.
Of course, Gandalf knew nothing of Denethor's inner demons, of his struggle with a mind more powerful than his own. No one in all of Gondor knew the whole situation, even if quite a few knew something wasn't right. His struggle for his sanity might have even made Denethor forgetful at times, for as he ran toward Faramir's body he forgot that he'd ignored his younger son for decades and that it had been his order that had brought Faramir to this point. In that moment Denethor was nothing more than a grieving father who believed that everything he loved was gone.
"Faramir!" Denethor sobbed as he rushed to where the guards had set their fallen captain's stretcher down beside the White Tree. All the guards stepped back to allow Denethor access to his son, "Say not that he has fallen!"
Beregond, the Captain of Guard, spoke up tentatively, "They were outnumbered. None survived."
Denethor appeared not to have even heard Beregond as he leaned over Faramir's body. He didn't so much as flinch when cries of surprise and revulsion came from the lower levels as the heads of Faramir's fallen rangers were catapulted over the city wall.
Denethor finally stumbled up and away from his son's body. To look in his eyes was to think that the man had finally lost the battle for his sanity, "My sons...are spent," he mumbled as Pippin ran to take his place at Faramir's side, "My line has ended."
Pippin, in the meantime, felt a slight shudder of breath from Faramir, where his hands rested on the wounded man's chest, "He's alive."
"The House of Stewards has failed." Denethor continued, not registering Pippin's words.
"He needs medicine!" Pippin called frantically, hoping to get through to Denethor.
"My line...has ended!" Denethor yelled brokenly over his shoulder as he stumbled the last few steps to the wall and faced the Pelennor. Anything else was lost to him as he beheld the massive army right outside the city, stretching nearly from Osgiliath to Minas Tirith across the field. Not even the screams of his people as the enemy started catapulting boulders into the city registered.
"Rohan has deserted us. Theoden has betrayed me." Denethor murmured to himself before yelling loud enough for everyone in the city to hear him, "Abandon your posts! Flee! Flee for your lives!"
Many of the soldiers looked confused because they had just been ordered to prepare for battle and word was spreading that their Captain-General had returned. Denethor may have been their sovereign, but Boromir was more respected.
Up on the seventh level Gandalf was walking forward, intending to knock some sense into Denethor, but a cloaked man stepped in front of the wizard. Just as Denethor turned around the man stepped forward, swing as he did so, and punched Denethor hard enough for the steward to fall to the ground already unconscious.
Before this shock had time to register with the guards the man pulled his hood back to reveal none other than Lord Boromir.
"Everyone to your posts," he shouted, "Beregond, see to it that my brother is brought to the House of Healing."
All of the soldiers scattered to do their Captain-General's bidding as Gandalf and Pippin walked up to their friend. Gandalf put a hand on Boromir's shoulder, "You made good time."
"Yeah," Boromir nodded, "Remind me to give Roch an extra special meal when this is over."
Pippin looked up at Boromir, not acknowledging the friendly banter between the man and wizard. The hobbit seemed to be wrestling with an important decision.
"Boromir, before the battle begins, I'd like to do a special service."
Boromir smiled down at the hobbit, "Pippin, you need do nothing..."
Pippin seemed to disagree because he unsheathed his sword and knelt before his friend. Boromir sucked in a breath, "Pippin...what are you doing?!"
"Here do I swear fealty and service to Lord Boromir and to Gondor. In living or dying, till my lord release me or death take me."
Boromir had tears in his eyes as he knelt down in front of Pippin. The Captain-General was so moved by Pippin's act that he didn't even notice when Gandalf smiled and walked away.
"I accept, Peregrin Took, guard of the Citadel and knight of Gondor." Boromir said as he leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to Pippin's forehead.
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Several moments later Boromir made his way down to the lower levels. On the way he passed several trebuchets, none of which were firing. He instinctively ducked as a boulder hit a wall a couple levels down, "Why are we not returning fire?!"
One soldier straightened to attention and asked, "My lord...what are we to fire at them?"
Boromir sighed and looked around, "There are...boulders...everywhere."
"You wish us to fire pieces of our city?!"
Boromir winced, "Just do it before I change my mind."
Boromir then walked away, unable to bear the thought of seeing chunks of his beloved city flung out onto the battlefield. He took his place next to Gandalf at the head of the army.
"It's strange, Gandalf, I've been waiting for this day my whole life...preparing just for this. Now it's here...and I wonder if there will be a tomorrow."
"Are you ready then?" Gandalf asked.
"No." Boromir answered honestly, "I have never been more terrified in my life."
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Replies to reviews...
Angel of the Night Watchers: No we aren't going to kill Faramir. We can't do that to Eomer...or Boromir. Eomer and Faramir will most likely get married eventually. And as for Legolas having a girl...well...it was just what we decided. I kinda like the thought of two warriors like Aragorn and Legolas raising a baby girl to be a little lady.
msel: Welcome to the slash world and glad you like 'Second Chance'. As for liking all we write...we have several works in progress at the moment so we'll definitely be posting more once we finish 'Second Chance'.
arwen2004: We can't really answer your question right now because that would kinda ruin what we have planned for later chapters. But rest assured, the answer to your question will be revealed within the next few chapters or so.
Since that was all the questions we had we'll sign off with our classic...
Thanks to all.
Becky and Brina