Title: Crowning Tristan
Author: Sedri
Rating: PG-13 / T
Summary: We've seen Tristan grow from a boy to a man, but how does that man become a king? A gapfiller between the end of the battle and the coronation. Movieverse, with elements from the book. Canon pairings. Discontinued; final chapters summarised.

Disclaimer: I do not own Stardust in any way. This is just for fun.

Chapter Twelve

Everything happened very fast. There was a shriek of metal as Shakespeare drew his sword, a thud as the redhead was shoved aside, a crash and clatter as tavern patrons scrambled away, and a roar of voices crying, "THAT'S OUR CAPTAIN!"

Five scruffy pirates burst out from the dark far side of the bar, weapons drawn as they charged Oltran. The captain faltered and Shakespeare's blade hit his with a crash. There was a mad uproar as the townsfolk screamed and fled, knocking down chairs and tables as they hurried out of range.

The guards drew their swords, ready to take on these dangerous criminals, and all might have dissolved into bloody chaos had Tristan not found the breath to shout, "CAPTAIN, STOP!"

Remarkably enough, they did stop. They all stopped; the soldiers because they had been trained to, the pirates in surprise, recognising that voice. Nearly everyone turned to look at Tristan, and if he had realised how he sounded – calm, confidant, coldly angry – he might have looked it, too. As it was, his hands shook as he pushed his way out of the protective circle.

He approached the two captains, watching Shakespeare intently. The pirate, who had been focused on the crossed swords, finally saw him, and for a moment their eyes met. A very quick, trusting look passed between them, and though the captain had no idea what was happening, he gave Tristan a short, sharp nod. He did not lower his blade.

Tristan's boots clacked in the silence as he reached them, his own sword now sheathed and one hand resting on the hilt. Oltran, who understandably thought that the order was meant only for him, stared at his prince in disbelief. Tristan stared back. "Captain, lower your weapon."

"But, Sire–"

"Now."

It was the first time Tristan had given such an order; flat and final, without any explanation. It was the kind of order Oltran was used to. He obeyed.

Tristan turned to the other pirates, whose hands were tight on their swords as they kept up a wary defence; they weren't nearly as trusting as their captain. Tristan wished he could say something, anything, to explain all this to his friends, but it just wasn't possible. He was a Prince of Stormhold, and they were outlaws.

By rights, he should arrest them all.

He couldn't possibly do that. Nor could he let them go without undermining any respect he might have earned from the soldiers. He didn't need his mother to tell him that a king had to put the good of his country above personal friendships.

He still couldn't do it.

A tense silence settled over the room as law-bringers and criminals faced each other. The townsfolk who hadn't managed to get out were watching from the far walls with a fascinated sort of wariness. Shakespeare's gaze flickered back and forth between Tristan and Oltran, trying to work out the connection. At last Tristan spoke.

"Captain Shakespeare," he said formally. "I didn't expect to find a man of your reputation–" he lingered on the word "–here in Hop."

Shakespeare's eyes glinted. Gruffly, he replied, "Where I go is none of your business, boy."

Oltran flared, "You will address His Highness as Prince Tristan of Stormhold!"

Shakespeare's eyes opened a little wider, but otherwise there was no fault in his acting. "I'll address 'His Highness' any way I please," sneered the captain, the tip of his sword still held level with Tristan's nose. "Now what do you want?"

Tristan kept his face and voice neutral, deliberately using the most formal type of speech he knew. "As a Prince of Stormhold, it is my duty to arrest you and your men for the illegal trade of magical goods."

"You're not going to do that," Shakespeare said confidently.

Tristan's expression flickered and for a moment he looked desperate. I need a reason, any reason...

He must have been silent too long because Shakespeare hurried to say, "See that, boys?" to his men, gloating. "Sometimes there's profit to be made from leaving 'em alive."

"I owe you," confirmed Tristan, back on solid ground and ignoring the look on Oltran's face. "What do you want?"

The captain smirked. Sheathing his weapon, he folded his arms and leaned against the bar. Picking up someone else's drink, he took a long swig and set the glass down with a clunk. "Very good wine," he declared. "Must be expensive. I'm glad you paid for it."

Tristan didn't dignify that with an answer.

"Let's see... We came here to re-supply, so it'd be nice if you could settle all our debts. A few more barrels of ale wouldn't go amiss. My ship's got a broken window, you can fix that... And," he said smugly, "our equipment is getting a bit worse for wear. You can replace it."

"That's going too far, Captain," said Tristan, making his voice as scathing as possible. "I won't do anything to help you steal more lightning."

"Won't you?" asked the pirate in a low, serious voice. "Too steep, you say?" He walked right past his 'enemy', calmly approaching the pack of soldiers until he was only two bodies away from Yvaine. "Do you really treasure a bit of spark over the life of your... very lovely companion?"

Tristan's face darkened and he glared in apparent fury – something he was becoming rather good at. "I think," he said coldly, "that we should discuss this in private."

Shakespeare spread his hands in a smug, sneering gesture of agreement and sauntered away, heading for a corridor that would undoubtedly lead to the inn's ground-floor bedrooms. Tristan spared a moment to glance back at his parents, who nodded at him with wary understanding, and saw that Yvaine was pushing her way out, intent on joining them.

He stopped and turned back, catching her by the shoulders. Just loud enough for others to hear he said, "Stay here, Yvaine."

"What? No–"

"Captain Shakespeare has a fearsome reputation," said Tristan. "I don't want you to get hurt."

She glanced at the pirate crew, who were now certain that this was some sort of act, then at Oltran, who was sure of exactly the opposite. Glaring, annoyed, she stepped back and muttered, "Moron."

Tristan pretended not to hear that.

He turned to see the pirate waiting impatiently at the mouth of the corridor. As he reached it the older man stalked ahead, opening the first door he came to and barging in. From inside, a shriek was heard, then a roar – "Out!"

An elderly woman, assisted by her son, scuttled into the main room in her nightclothes. Tristan offered them an apology as they passed, then had to stop for a moment as Oltran moved to enter the room as well. There was a brief but fierce argument, which ended with the solider waiting in the dark corridor, ears strained for any sign of trouble.

Inside, Tristan closed the door, let out a deep breath, turned around and grinned. Shakespeare tilted his head, smiled, and gently applauded. "Very nice," he said lightly. "Even I almost believed you."

"It wasn't you I had to fool," said Tristan, walking into the middle of the room. The captain shrugged merrily and reached out to hug his young friend, clapping him on the back.

"It's good to see you, my boy," he said fondly. "Now come, sit down – tell me everything."

They each took a seat at the room's small table, where the old lady's dinner was still steaming. The first thing Tristan said was, "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I had no idea you'd be here. The last thing I wanted was to get you all arrested."

"You couldn't have known," assured the captain; "we had a spot of trouble after you left us at the lake and changed our plans a little. You, however," he smiled, "are supposed to be in Wall with your Victoria."

Tristan grinned and glanced down. "My plans... changed, a little."

Shakespeare clapped his hands together like a merry schoolboy. "Ah! Wonderful. So, when's the wedding?"

Tristan's eyes shot up. "How did you know?"

"Oh, it was so obvious, my boy, just from a moment of seeing the two of you together – you know, secret smiles, unbridled happiness, that sort of thing; I even thought I saw her sparkle, even though you were arguing. True love always finds a way to shine through."

Tristan shrugged and smiled, blushing a bit and giving up the question. "Well, you're right. And we haven't really decided yet. A few months, probably; Mother says we should settle into life in Stormhold first."

Shakespeare's eyebrows lifted. "So you did find your mother?"

Carefully, Tristan said, "She's Princess Una."

"Aaaah," said the captain, leaning back and nodding. "That would explain it."

Tristan shrugged, fiddling with the silverware before him. "I'm sorry. I had no idea."

"Dear boy, none of us choose how we're born." He tilted his head and gestured wryly to his pirate garb and cutlass. "So, you're going to be our new king," he said cheerfully – then hesitated and asked, "Can I assume that Prince Septimus...?"

"He's dead," said Tristan. The captain looked extremely relieved.

"Well, I'm sure everyone's glad of that," he said mildly. "Very dangerous man to put on the throne. Very dangerous. Which reminds me – I'm so sorry about Bernard. New crewman," he explained with a delicate little shrug. "Found him at the lake, lost – haven't yet decided if we'll keep him. I had no idea he'd go and say something like that."

"Bernard – the redhead?" asked Tristan, squinting as he tried to place the name. Shakespeare nodded. "But how did he know about Yvaine? We haven't told anyone but you – and my parents."

The captain shrugged again, not knowing the answer, then frowned and furrowed his brow. "Am I to take it, Tristan, that you plan to keep pretending she's human?"

Tristan nodded. "If no one knows, there's no reason for them to threaten her," he reasoned.

Shakespeare looked doubtful. "Do you really think she can hide it? Stars glow, it's in their nature; she can't live a lifetime without doing so. How long will it be before someone else guesses? Even my crew figured it out, and they only knew her for a few days."

Tristan grimaced. "What good would it do to announce it?"

"It would give your men the chance to protect her properly," said Shakespeare solemnly. Then, glancing at the door, he said, "But that's for you to decide. Right now, we have other problems to solve, and not much time to do so."

With a businesslike nod, Tristan asked, "How long do you need to get everyone out of Hop?"

"Less than an hour. A few of us came here for a drink and to meet a contact – you'll understand if I don't tell you who he is – and the others are stocking supplies across town. When James sees us leave the gates, he'll fly low and pick us up just over the nearest hill."

Tristan nodded. "I can order the guard not to stop you and to stay in the town. I'll have to pretend to hate it..."

"Just act like you did before," said Shakespeare, patting his shoulder. "Grudgingly indebted. You did wonderfully."

"Thanks," said Tristan, and they both stood up. "...Captain?" Shakespeare turned; Tristan looked reluctant. "When will we see you again?"

The pirate shrugged, sadly now, and sighed. "I don't know. In another life, perhaps."

"But–"

"I can hardly drop by the palace to take tea with Your Majesty," he said with a little mock-bow and a smile.

"I know," said Tristan, smiling back. "Maybe... in disguise?"

"Maybe," said Shakespeare, but he didn't sound optimistic. "Tell Yvaine I'm sorry we couldn't talk, and that I'm happy for you both. And she really must work on that waltz," he added. "Queens do a lot of dancing."

Tristan chuckled. "I will. And the crew..."

"I'll tell them."

Both men nodded, approaching the door. "Ready?" asked Shakespeare. Tristan shrugged and arranged his expression into one of resolution and resentment. "Ease up a bit," advised the captain. "Use your eyes, not your jaw. We don't want them thinking I swindled you out of anything other than an arrest."

Tristan nodded and reached for the door. "Goodbye," he said.

Shakespeare nodded. "And to you. It really was a pleasure."

The prince smiled, rearranged his face, and opened the door.

Oltran looked unabashedly relieved, falling into step behind Tristan as they returned to the main room. He glared hatefully at Shakespeare.

No one had moved, not even Yvaine, who stood stubbornly outside the circle of protection. The soldiers still had their swords out, tips now resting on the floor, and the pirates were faking carelessness, leaning on the bar and tables, sipping whatever drinks they could reach. All looked up as their leaders came in.

"Captain Oltran," said Tristan, stopping and waiting for the man to step into his view, "these men will be leaving town immediately. You are not to stop them."

The soldier shook his head, frowning. "Sire, I cannot–"

"Yes, you can," said the prince in a quiet voice. "Send two men with them to pass on the order. No one is to follow them beyond the walls of this town." He turned his gaze to Shakespeare, who had resumed his mask of Ruthless Marauder And Cold-Blooded Killer. "Does that satisfy your terms, Captain?"

"It does," Shakespeare replied.

"Then my debt is settled. Goodbye."

He turned and walked away.

For the next hour, Tristan waited. He sat, very still, at yet another table in yet another rented bedroom. His feet were tucked under the chair and his fingers were in constant motion – small, twitchy moves kept tightly within the circle of his hands. Occasionally he drummed broken patterns on the tabletop. Firelight flickered in the corner of his eye.

Una sat beside him, slowly and calmly eating the fine dinner that had been set out for them both. Tristan's plate was untouched. She said nothing, but her eyes often flicked up to glance at him, then returned to the meal. Glass clinked, the fire crackled, and metal scraped against china; in the thick silence, it was all absurdly loud.

From beyond the walls came quiet thuds as people walked along the corridor, and a hazy murmur of jumbled voices drifted up from below. Every so often Yvaine's fierce tones or Dunstan's warmer ones could be heard through the left wall; the star, angered by her exclusion, had stormed off and shut herself in the next room. In other circumstances, Tristan would have gone after her, but this time it was his father who had cautiously knocked and followed her in, and after a while her sharp rants had been replaced with easy talk and light chuckles. From the few words that made it through clearly, it seemed they were discussing the other William Shakespeare.

In contrast, Una and Tristan sat in a tense, heavy silence. No word had yet come of the captain's escape, and everything that could possibly go wrong with his plan had occurred to Tristan at least twice; his ears were strained for any clang or crash, shout or scream – anything that might indicate a fight, or an arrest.

Nothing.

Una wasn't nearly so fearful, but ate with a stiffness that betrayed equal tension. Tristan, preoccupied, didn't notice. He was absorbed in the wait.

Of course, as is always the case when waiting for something, Tristan found himself very surprised when it actually happened. His mind had wandered from disaster scenarios to memories, and a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he remembered those few wonderful days aboard ship; days he wouldn't trade for anything. It wasn't just that he'd made so many friends among the crew – James, the first mate, Ralmon, the quartermaster, Izzy and Bren, Tirlan, Sam, Rudy – something about him had changed there, something important. But, swordsmanship aside, he couldn't put a finger on what.

But it made no difference, not to his current problems. However right or wrong it was to help pirates, those men were his friends. They'd taught him so much, and not just about catching lightning – they'd explained where they sold it, and why, and how it would slowly decay into useless sparks if left alone too long. They explained why it was such a valuable commodity and how the king tried so hard to keep total control over its harvest. They described the watch system of Lightning Marshals and told exaggerated stories of their own escapes, and all along Tristan listened, fascinated, asking as many questions as he could. He tried to be careful about it, constantly afraid they would catch on to his lie, but after a while it became clear that, no matter what he said or did or asked, they were never going to–

Knock, knock, knock.

Tristan jumped, a sharp white twang of fear shooting through his chest. He sat up straight and looked at his mother, who set down her fork and raised her chin, waiting for him to act. Tristan turned to the door and said, "Come in."

Captain Oltran entered with Captain Lorne, commander of the Hop garrison. They bowed in perfect unison. "Your Majesties," said Oltran. "The pirate Shakespeare and his crew have left Hop. As ordered, sire," he added, not quite able to mask his distaste.

Tristan closed his eyes, shoulders slumping slightly. He tried to look sorry, or angry, or anything but relieved, and settled for a blank expression. "Thank you, Captain," he said softly.

Una asked, "Was there any trouble?"

"No, Your Highness," said Captain Lorne brightly, still caught up in the glee of her miraculous return. "They left without incident."

"And where did they go?"

"So far as we observed, in a nor'north-easterly direction. Your Highness," he added, bowing deeply to his princess. She gave him a polite smile.

Tristan offered a warmer one and nodded at them. "Thank you," he said.

Lorne bowed again and retreated, but Oltran, who had been around Prince Tristan long enough to be a little braver, hesitated. "Sire," he said carefully, "if I might ask..."

Tristan shook his head. "No, Captain," he said gently. "Don't ask."

Una said nothing at all, so with that, Oltran had to be content. He bowed and murmured apologies as he left, closing the door behind him.

As soon as the metal catch clicked into place, Tristan relaxed completely. He slumped in his chair, tilting his head back towards the ceiling and let out a long breath, broken by occasional barks of dry laughter. Sitting up, he rubbed his face and smiled at his mother, reaching for the cooling food. "I don't know what I'm going tell him," Tristan said lightly, lifting some meat and nodding to the closed door. "This is all so strange."

"Best to not say anything," advised Una, eyes fixed on her plate. "You're not obliged to explain yourself to him."

"I know, but I don't like to do that." He shrugged, swallowed a bite and added, "I'm just glad it's over. This was too close."

"We were certainly lucky," Una agreed blandly.

Brow furrowing over the top of his glass, Tristan took a sip and peered at her. "Mother?" he asked. "What's wrong? I thought you'd be glad that this turned out so well."

"I'm not so sure it did, Tristan. You took a very big risk, and if anything had gone wrong..." She gestured absently across the room. "It might have ruined everything."

"I know," said Tristan, still feeling a cold echo of his fear, "but it was the right thing to do." She made no reply, and after a long moment Tristan frowned. "It was, wasn't it, Mother?"

Una put down her fork and sighed, laying both palms flat on the surface of the table. "I don't know, Tristan. It's... not what I would have done."

He tilted his head to the side, confused and rather disappointed. "But how else could they have gotten away? Should I have told Captain Oltran the truth?"

"Absolutely not," declared Una. "Consorting with criminals is one of the few things that could keep you from the throne entirely." Softening a little, she added, "I can't think of any other way to have achieved this result, but it was still much too risky."

"But it was worth it."

"That's up to you," said his mother, retrieving her fork and turning back to the meal. Tristan shook his head.

"Mother, I want to know what you think."

"I think you did the best you could."

"Mother," persisted Tristan, looking straight into her eyes, "what is it?"

She paused. Then:

"I don't trust pirates, Tristan," she said flatly. "Not any of them. I spent twenty years following Sal through Stormhold's criminal underworld, and I promise you, most of those people don't deserve to live."

Tristan sat back in his chair, shaking his head. "The Captain's not like that. He just pretends to be. I told you about it."

"And I believe you," she said. "I'm glad he's not half as terrible as they say, but tell me, Tristan, why must he pretend at all? Why couldn't he have tried to live a proper life instead of building up this reputation for cruelty?"

"...He promised his father," Tristan defended. Una said nothing, but her frown made it clear that this simply wasn't good enough.

"Tristan," she said at last, "I appreciate what you tried to do. It was the best choice you could have made under these circumstances, and I'm glad it worked out."

He waited. "But?"

"But now it's over, and I think it'd be best for everyone, including Captain Shakespeare, if you put this friendship behind you."

Tristan blinked. His lips parted, moving to form silent, broken words until he closed them and looked away. His eyes refocused on the familiar streaks of polished wood, and he pressed his thumbs together.

No. Just... no. That wasn't an option, that wasn't fair. How could he do it? How could she even ask it? Never mind that Shakespeare himself had suggested the same thing – it wasn't a choice Tristan could make. Forget the Captain? Forget his friends and those wonderful days in the sky? Pretend it hadn't happened and arrest the 'criminals' if they ever met again? No. Never. He couldn't do it.

Looking at his mother, he found no comfort. Una was sitting straight, hands neatly folded in front of her. She looked sorry and sympathetic, but there was a distance to her that Tristan felt very strongly. This was at all nothing like talking to his father; instead he was reminded of Mrs Cherry, his school teacher, and had a sudden urge to flee the room.

Instead, he asked, "Why?"

"You are a Prince of Stormhold," said Una, "and you have a duty to your people to do what's best for them. Pirates like Shakespeare make their living by undermining the system of trade that we need to keep our country running. Even if they aren't killers or blackmailers, they are working against the best interests of our people." Pausing, she reached out to take his hand. In her eyes was a warm spark of excitement that Tristan found completely unwelcome. "I have spent twenty years learning everything I could about this underworld; I know names, places, contact codes, supply chains and a thousand other things that we could use to bring down the black market." Her eyes bore into his, and there were flickers of fierce, determined joy. "We could uproot the entire network. Do you know how many beggars could be fed just with the money we lose to stolen lightning?"

Tristan looked away. It made sense – of course it made sense; everything his mother ever said made sense, but that didn't mean he liked it. Of course he wanted to help people. He'd seen the urchins scraping a living in the streets of Market Town – he'd gladly given a handful of coins to a tired, dirty woman with two ragged-looking children. In Wall there had been no such poverty, and it made him sad and angry to see richer merchants walk past the homeless without a second glance, yet...

Yet he simply couldn't connect their suffering with Captain Shakespeare. The friendly crewmen had explained, several times, that they turned to piracy because they just couldn't find any other work. They were without family, poor and largely uneducated – save for Shakespeare himself – and Stormhold already had plenty of labourers. They talked about the government as if it were simply hoarding the money for its own sake, and from the excessive wealth he'd seen Primus carrying on a supposedly rushed and urgent quest, Tristan found it hard to disagree. But Una's words made sense, too.

At last he replied, "I can do my job without forgetting the Captain."

"Forgetting will make it easier," said his mother, touching his shoulder, "and it's important that you don't appear weak. If you show mercy to these pirates again, others will try to take advantage of you. Not just criminals, either; you must be able to face down the noblemen. You have to prove yourself."

"I'm trying," Tristan said earnestly, and there was a glimmer of hurt in his tone. "I'm trying, Mother, and I want to learn. I want to help. But I can't arrest the Captain. If he's ever caught, I don't know what I'd do."

Una pulled her hand away and for a moment, it hung limply near her throat. Then she put it down and her gaze dropped to the plate. "With some luck," she said distantly, "that will never happen. Let's just hope you don't have to face such a choice."

The rest of the meal passed in silence.

In the next room, Yvaine sat at a table with Dunstan, happily eating her own dinner and talking non-stop. Still new to food of any kind, she insisted on trying everything, taking a piece of this and a bit of that until her plate was full and rather messy. Some vegetables were perched precariously on one edge to make room for bread and sausage, which itself was fighting for space against potatoes that were either dry and mashed or drowned in gravy. She was enjoying every moment of it, flipping her attention between the delights of taste and the conversation.

Dunstan, who knew exactly what he wanted and always left behind a very tidy plate, made no comment on her over-eager table manners; their discussion was much too interesting. "So, you could see every detail of the stage from above?"

"Anything that was open to the sky, yes," she replied, "it's just something stars can do – but only from above. Down here, my vision seems to be the same as yours." She shrugged. "Anyway, yes, I could see it, but sometimes the angles were bad, and it was a bit hard to follow the story when all I could see was the top of the actors' heads – especially if they wore big hats. It made me miss a lot of details."

"But you could hear what they said?"

Yvaine squinted a little and tilted her head sideways. "Sort of. It's much harder during the day, when there are crowds nearby, but after seeing a play four or five times, I could usually follow it – though there were always bits that didn't make sense."

"I suppose it would be hard," mused Dunstan, scraping a few more sausage crumbs onto his fork, "for anyone who hasn't grown up in our world to understand all the historical references Shakespeare makes."

She made a face. "It still sounds like you're talking about the Captain."

With a smile and a shrug, Dunstan took a bite and paused to consider the girl across from him. "But how is it," he asked, "that you could spend an hour arguing the finer points of Hamlet with me if you missed so many details?"

"I really don't know," she said, absently scooping up some greens. "I just... watched, and I listened to people talk. I understood the characters, more or less – once I knew how it would end, it was easier to figure out the beginning."

He laughed again. "I'm sure it would be."

There was a pause, then, and Yvaine fiddled with her glass. Her silver ring tapped against it, making a pleasant ping sound. With a smile, she tapped it again, listening to the sharp, fluting noise and gazing at the blue stone. "I should talk to Tristan," she said suddenly. "You were right, I wasn't being fair. I just wanted to see the Captain."

"He'll understand," assured Dunstan. "He's just worried about your friend; otherwise he would be the one sitting here."

"Worried?" asked Yvaine, brow furrowed. "About what? Their lie worked."

"Things could still go wrong – but I think it's all right," he added quickly. "I heard soldiers talking next door a while ago, and if anything had happened, I'm sure someone would have told us."

Not the least bit satisfied, Yvaine frowned and stood up, striding out the door. Dunstan followed a moment later to find her questioning a guard in the corridor. By the relieved slump of her shoulders, he could easily guess what was said.

A few minutes later, they had joined Una and Tristan in the next room, and Yvaine made her apology quietly, looking rather embarrassed. Tristan, holding her hand, just smiled and said it was fine.

He looked relaxed, Dunstan noticed, but there was an odd twist to his face that didn't quite fit. Una, of course, was as cool and calm as ever, and as Yvaine started to ask a steady stream of questions about different kinds of food and drink, leaning over to smell every dish, Dunstan simply shrugged and joined the conversation.

A short while later, Una excused herself. "If you plan to be here for a while," she said to Yvaine, "I think I'll take a bath before bed."

The others simply nodded and said goodnight, thinking nothing of it; Una loved baths, and had been taking so many that Yvaine joked that she must be trying to make up for all her years of slavery in a single week. They turned back to the conversation, jumping from topic to topic and chatting merrily for at least another two hours.

At last Yvaine started to yawn and, after saying her own goodnights, left for the next room, absently combing out her hair with her fingers. She smiled at the soldier who opened the door for her, walked in without really looking, and managed three steps before stopping dead in surprise.

Una was curled up on the bed, wrapped in a blanket, and crying.