Thanks to Raiseth (on SV) for beta-reading this chapter for me. Much obliged!

The Red Wedding

Katarina watched from her bedroom window as her father set off on his quest to rescue Anne from the clutches of Walder Frey, along with his handpicked group of twenty good men, Sir Rennifer Roebuck, Keith and Maria. She wished she could go with them, but knew it was impossible; her mother would never allow it. In fact, her mother was in a foul temper and seemed disinclined to allow her to do anything, even to leave her room, except at mealtimes and to go to lessons. Besides, she had to look after Sienna, who insisted on running and leaping around as if she were training to become an acrobat, despite the fact that her health was still delicate. She needed someone to nurse her, which Katarina was happy to do.

"I wish Anne was here," she said, clutching her best friend close to her as if she were her favorite doll. "I wish I knew she was safe and well."

"She will be soon. Your father will rescue her," said Sienna, with more hope than conviction. Fortunately, she didn't seem to mind being crushed against Katarina's bosom.

"It's my fault," said Katarina. "She'd never have been kidnapped if I hadn't, um…"

"Done everything you could to save my life?" said Sienna, in a voice tinged with acid. "I will always be grateful to you for that. And I hope you will never have cause to regret it. Besides, you couldn't have known about Lord Sherry's mad scheme to kidnap his daughter and sell her off to the highest bidder!"

"Is that what you think he's trying to do?" asked Katarina. "That seems… foolish of him."

"I suppose he must owe someone a lot of money."

They settled down on the bed together, nestled in each other's arms. Sienna sighed contentedly and snuggled closer to Katarina. "I love you so much," she murmured.

"I know," said Katarina, kissing her on the forehead. "I love you too."

She was surprised when her beloved kissed her back, on the lips.

"We're not supposed to kiss! Mother forbade it!" she cried, startling backwards.

"You started it. And anyway, she doesn't have to know," said Sienna, nuzzling against Katarina's neck.

"She could walk in at any time. And I dread to think what she'll do if she finds out that I've disobeyed her again. Besides, it wouldn't be fair on Keith. He should be here with us." In Katarina's mind, what she was saying made perfect sense, though if she'd been asked to explain her reasoning she would have found it impossible.

"Oh, of course, you want us both." A knowing smirk spread across Sienna's face. "Don't you think that's greedy of you?"

"The two of you are my dearest friends. If it's a sin for me to want as much of you as I can possibly have, as much as you're willing to give… Well, that doesn't keep me from wanting it."

Sienna pulled away from her, sat up and burst into tears. "Y-you always do this to me," she sobbed. "If… if I didn't know better, I'd think you were doing it on purpose."

"Um… I'm sorry," said Katarina, regarding her with bafflement.

"Maybe it's wrong of me to love you as I do, since you clearly d-don't understand. But that doesn't stop me from wanting you."

"Well, that's all right then," said Katarina.

"Indeed." Sienna gave a lofty sigh. Then, getting up, she dried her eyes, wiped her nose with her handkerchief and said, "I'd better go. I need to do some more exercises."

"Must you?" asked Katarina, following her. "Don't you think you're pushing yourself too hard?"

"I have to. I need to be ready."

"For what?"

"For whatever happens," said Sienna, stuffing her handkerchief up her sleeve and putting on a determined frown.

"Ever since we visited Maggy the Frog, you've been so careful, tiptoeing around like a frightened mouse, and now you want to risk everything? What's got into you?"

"I don't want to be afraid anymore. I want to be in control of my own life."

"Are any of us in control of our own lives?" asked Katarina, who thought Sienna was being rather silly. "I can't do whatever I wish. I have to listen to my parents, obey them and marry the man they have chosen for me. Even if that man will one day kill me."

"Trust me. I know what I'm doing," said Sienna, sounding as if she didn't even trust herself.

Katarina regarded her in silence for a few moments. "Try not to get yourself killed," she said, at last. "Or else I'll never forgive you."

"Yes, well… that goes without saying," Sienna muttered, as she fled the room.

"Honestly!" cried Katarina, flinging herself back down upon the bed and screaming into her pillow. "Why is everyone so stupid?"

However, there was no one to witness her amateur dramatics, so after a few minutes she gave up and looked around for something else to do. She could read a book or gaze out of the window or… Well, the possibilities were limited, but anything was better than just sitting around, waiting and worrying about what was going to happen.

Thanks to Maria Campbell's magical ability to rejuvenate tired and injured horses, Duke Claes and his intrepid band had reached the manor house belonging to Lord Sherry, the Baron of Darkwine, by late afternoon. They found it guarded by a group of loutish, foul-smelling ruffians, even worse than the former bandits the Duke had offered employment as a reward for saving his daughter from a pack of wolves. Possibly the Baron had a similar reason for hiring these men, but that seemed unlikely.

"I will speak to the guards and ask to see the Baron," said the Duke. "But there is something wrong here. We must be ready for a fight. For that reason…" He cast his eyes over Keith and Maria. "You two should stay back, out of sight, where you will be safe."

Even if Keith hadn't been his adopted son and Maria a lovely young woman to whom he owed a tremendous debt of gratitude, they were vital to this rescue mission, so he didn't want them to be hit by stray crossbow bolts or for the Baron's thuggish henchmen to try to take them hostage.

No one saw fit to argue, so after a few moments he approached the manor's main gate with a dozen armed men riding beside him. The others had been instructed to stay in reserve, to guard Keith and Maria, and to apprehend any of the mansion's occupants who tried to escape, should it be necessary.

"Where is the Baron?" he demanded to know, when he was close enough that he could see the bored faces of two ruffians in the elevated guard station next the gate; they were slumped over a table and playing cards, barely pretending to be on sentry duty.

"Not here," said one of the ruffians, hawking up a gobbet of phlegm and spitting it into the dust next to the Duke's feet.

"Gone," said his colleague.

The Duke frowned. "Gone where?"

"What's it matter to you?" The first ruffian sneered. "None of your business."

"I am the Duke of Duskendale, the Baron's liege lord," said the Duke. "I assure you, it is my business to know where he is and what he is doing. Now, open this gate."

"Shan't," said the first ruffian.

"Piss off!" His colleague sneered.

Both of them seemed to think they'd ascended to the highest peaks of wit. Grinning like performing monkeys, they fell about laughing, apparently not realizing that there could be negative consequences to their insulting one of the most powerful men in the Seven Kingdoms.

The Duke gave a small nod. "Very well, then. You give me no choice."

He spread his arms wide and concentrated on the deep well of earth magic hidden within him. Though he lacked Keith's natural talent and untrammeled strength, that didn't mean he was powerless. He should have more than enough to bring down a relatively flimsy structure such as this gate.

The ground rumbled underfoot. The wall began to shudder and crack. After a few moments, the gate parted from its hinges and crashed to the ground.

"Onwards!" cried the Duke, drawing his sword and using it as a pointer. "Let's show this rabble how to fight, shall we?"

His men surged forward, over the fallen gate, bellowing a bloodcurdling battle cry.

An hour later, all of the ruffians had been overcome, rounded up and locked in one of the manor's extensive cellars. The Duke's men had suffered only minor injuries: a few bruises, gashes and scrapes that Maria was able to heal with scarcely any effort.

"Such a treasure," said Sir Rennifer Roebuck, admiring her from afar.

"She's only twelve years old," the Duke warned him.

The young knight laughed lightly. "Old enough for a betrothal, surely?"

I'm sure she can do much better than you, the Duke thought to himself. He didn't like Sir Rennifer, mainly because he wasn't sure if he could trust him; House Roebuck was an offshoot of House Buckwell, one of the noble families that had fallen from grace and been supplanted by House Claes after the Civil War. Sir Rennifer had offered his support on this rescue mission, which the Duke had seen no way to refuse without causing resentment and hostility, but why had he done that? Was he merely trying to ingratiate himself with his liege lord or looking for an opportunity to betray him? Did his loyalties still lie with the Buckwells? The Duke couldn't be certain of the answers to any of those questions, which made him uneasy.

"I'm sure Miss Campbell will have no shortage of suitors when her extraordinary talents become more widely known," he said. "In the meantime, I plan to offer her a position as one of my daughter's ladies-in-waiting. And I will arrange a dowry for her and make sure she receives a proper education."

Sir Rennifer smirked at that. The Duke didn't know why and wasn't about to ask.

He has his men fetch one of the ruffians out of the cellar so he could question him. Then, when he'd learned as much as he could without wasting too much time, he told them to put him back and fetch another one. In this way, he discovered that they'd been hired by the so-called Black Walder Frey, great-grandson of old Lord Walder Frey, to whom Lord Sherry owed massive gambling debts. Apparently, this had enabled Black Walder to bully and blackmail the Baron, making him lend his support to some of the Freys' political maneuverings as well as driving him deeper into debt by forcing him to feed and house a group of disreputable mercenaries at his own expense. The mercenaries had been instructed to behave badly so their misdeeds would cause further trouble for the Baron who was ostensibly their master. In desperation, the Baron had agreed to marry his illegitimate daughter, Anne, to old Lord Walder Frey in the hope that this would enable him to pay off some of his debts and regain control of his life.

"But wouldn't he still need to pay her dowry?" he wondered aloud. "How would he manage that?"

After a moment's thought, he gave up trying to make sense of the Baron's actions. Anyway, there was no need. What mattered was that Anne had been taken to the Freys' formidable fortress, known as 'the Twins', where she would be forcibly married off to their vile old patriarch. At least, that was what would happen if she wasn't rescued in time.

The Duke knew he must make haste. But first, he must decide what to do with the mercenaries. By making a few discreet inquiries among the household staff, he ascertained that they had been mistreated by the musclebound thugs who for the past few months had taken over their workplace. In particular, the young maidservants had been sorely used.

When he heard that, the Duke decided the mercenaries deserved nothing better than to be hanged from the nearest tree. Perhaps they ought to have a fair trial, but that would take time he could ill afford to waste. So, he gave commands and, a little while later, the mercenaries' strangled corpses were decorating the trees on either side of the Sherry manor's driveway.

For some time after that, as they rode away and took the road north, Maria seemed troubled by what she'd seen that day. "Those men you killed… They were bad men," she said, when the Duke inquired as to what was wrong. "They deserved to die, didn't they?"

"Undoubtedly. They were robbers and rapists," the Duke told her. "Spare no sympathy for them."

She gave a small nod and fell silent. In fact, she didn't speak again until much later that evening.

"So soft-hearted," said Sir Rennifer, giving her an amused glance. "But then, I like that in a woman."

That night, when they set up camp and lay down to sleep, the Duke made sure that Maria's sleeping mat was close to his, so he could protect her from unwanted attentions. Just in case.

It took several days for Anne and her captors to reach the Twins. Along the way, she was closely guarded, as if they feared she might at any moment attempt to escape. Of course, she had better sense than that; even if she succeeded, where would she go and how would she get there? Most likely, she would be lost in the wilderness and end up starving to death, possibly after she'd been turned away by suspicious villagers who assumed she was just another wandering beggar. And so, she was as docile a prisoner as they could have hoped for, even while she was silently, fervently praying to the Seven that someone would save her.

Her captors took pains to reduce the chances of her being rescued: they avoided towns and villages where the locals might notice and think it peculiar that they had a bound prisoner with them; they slept by the side of the road each night so there'd be no need to answer questions from curious innkeepers; and they maintained an uncomfortable fast pace by repeatedly swapping their tired horses for fresh ones, which delayed them on more than one occasion while they attempted to negotiate what they thought was a fair price. Anne had no idea how they managed to find so many swindling, shifty-eyed horse traders along the way. If she hadn't been so mired in gloom and fearful anticipation, she might have been impressed.

And then, on the evening of the third day, they met a group of Freys who were waiting for them in what seemed to be a prearranged meeting place. In all, there were five of them: a young man with a pimply face; a stocky middle-aged man; one who was tall and stooped; one who had a fat belly and a silky beard; and their apparent leader, who was a wiry man with a black beard and stern countenance. Even at a glance, their family resemblance was obvious: they all had the same ill-favored and weaselly look about them.

When their leader saw Anne, he looked her up and down, saw how she was tied to her horse's saddle, and smiled thinly. "Good. She'll do nicely," he said.

There was something about the way he looked at her that made Anne want to shrink back and stay far away from him. However, that wasn't possible, so she could do nothing but sit and tremble while he examined her as if she were a prize cow being offered for sale.

"So, she's to be our new great-grandmother," said the pimply youth, sounding dubious.

"It's not as if she'll be expected to do anything more than pop out another child every few years," said the fat man. He gave a sardonic laugh. "Most women manage that without much difficulty."

"Except when they die in childbirth," the tall, stooped man reminded him.

"That's what the maester and his little knife are for."

The men who had escorted Anne until this point remained silent while the Freys smirkingly assessed her, but shifted uncomfortably when the black-bearded man began to feel her up and down, put his hand around her neck as if enjoying the thought of throttling her, and then ripped off her necklace of simple wooden beads.

"What is this cheap and tawdry rubbish?" he scoffed, scattering them on the floor. "Is that all your father and Duke Claes ever gave you? Don't you deserve better?"

I do, Anne told herself. I deserve better than to be treated like you, your family and your minions have treated me.

But she knew better than to say that out loud. Instead, she stared at the floor, wondering what had happened to her necklace. When Maester Marwyn had given it to her, the beads had been made of pine, cut into rough spherical shapes and then smoothed until they shone. Now, they were grayish-white, the color of wood ash, and the symbols of various different gods and religions had all been crudely excised save one: the seven-pointed star, which was red and oozing like an open wound. There was a faint smell of incense in the air.

Her necklace had changed. When had that happened and what did it mean? Would the Seven answer her prayers? And, if so, when and how would they come to her aid? Her thoughts raced, but she could find no answers.

"Bringing her here was expensive," said one of her escorts, with a meaningful glance at the black-bearded man. "Horses are expensive, you know."

"Yes, you'll be fairly recompensed for your hard work," he said, rather sourly. "Have no fear of that."

After that, the conversation devolved into wrangling; the mercenaries demanded to know exactly when and how they would be paid. Meanwhile, Anne was glad because it meant the black-bearded man turned away from her and she was able to escape his notice for a little while.

When the journey continued, over the next day and a half, Anne learned a number of things she would rather not have known. For instance, the stern, black-bearded man was called 'Black Walder Frey', great-grandson of the man she was doomed to be married to, and it seemed he had every intention of cuckolding his great-grandfather, apparently not for the first time. Moreover, he seemed to think she would find it some consolation to know that, after she'd endured old Walder's feeble thrusts, she could take refuge in the arms of 'a real man'. She had to bite her tongue and draw upon her remaining reserves of willpower to resist the temptation to reply, 'That's good to know. Do let me know when you find one.'

She came to dread the times when he contrived to speak to her alone and out of earshot of the other Freys who were his brothers and cousins. If she complained to them and told them what he had said to her, would they do anything with that information? Or would they merely store it away for future blackmail purposes? Perhaps they already knew but had sworn to keep it a secret, for whatever reason. Surrounded by so many vipers, she had no way of knowing who might be a potential ally.

There had been times when she'd dreamed that someday, a man would find her attractive, despite the fact that she was a rather plain woman with horrific burn scars she did her best to keep hidden. Nevertheless, in spite of this, she found it distressing when Black Walder gave her lustful looks. Perhaps she should have been more careful about what she wished for.

At last, when she arrived at the Twins, she was bundled into a small bedchamber overlooking the moat. The windows were barred and the door was locked except when the maids brought her food twice a day. She was told she would be married at the end of the week, after Lord Frey had called his closest vassals to join him in celebrating his latest wedding. From then on, the hours passed slowly, in fear and misery. All she had left was her prayers to the Seven: 'Father above, do not forsake me in my hour of need. Crone, lend me your wisdom. Warrior and Smith, help me muster the strength to go on. Mother and Maiden, make them ashamed of what they have done… and what they intend to do to me. For you… you are with me even when there is no one else. I will never be alone for as long as I am in your light…'

On the morning of the day when Anne was due to be married to Lord Walder Frey, two burly middle-aged women – she couldn't tell if they were maidservants or members of her soon-to-be husband's family or both – came to make sure she was washed and dressed ready for the occasion. To this end, they held her down and scrubbed her as if she were a pet dog.

"Her hair is too short," said one of them, scowling. "She'll have to wear a wig."

The wig they chose for her consisted of golden curls done up in an unflattering and matronly style, which Anne eyed with extreme reluctance when she saw it was infested by at least one wriggling louse. Despite her protests, they insisted on arranging it upon her head.

Finally, they adorned her with multiple layers of undergarments and a dress that looked as if it'd had at least two previous owners. She knew there was a custom among peasant women for their wedding dress to be their best dress, which they would continue to wear on all special occasions after they'd got married, and she couldn't help but wonder if the Freys had a similar custom.

When they were satisfied with her appearance, they frogmarched her to where her father was waiting. He was gaunt and gray-haired, wearing a dark brown doublet and hose, with a thick mustache like a caterpillar clinging to his upper lip. Nervously shifting from one foot to another, he mopped his brow with a handkerchief and breathed a deep sigh of relief when he saw Anne.

"Good morning, father," she said.

Without saying a word, he grabbed her by the arm and led her into the great hall.

There, she saw Lord Walder Frey for the first time. Reputed to be more than a hundred years old, he was ancient and withered, with a long neck and scrawny shoulders. His limbs were like sticks and his face was sunken-in. Lolling in his wheeled chair, he looked as if he was mere inches from death.

Next to him was a plump, red-faced man in the robes of a septon, who was gently swaying from side to side. Even from several feet away, Anne could smell cheap liquor on his breath.

Black Walder Frey and his henchmen stood to one side. They had a restless energy about them, as if they were ready to leap into action at a moment's notice. Maybe they were just bored and hankering for some excitement, but it was almost as if they were hoping someone would cause trouble that they'd need to deal with.

Seated at long tables all around the room, there were finely-dressed noblemen and women, most of whom were unfortunate enough to have the weaselly look that marked them out as members of the Frey family. Only a few wore the colors and sigils of other noble houses, none of which Anne recognized.

There was a roaring fire in the hearth, the floor was lined with rush mats, and pewter plates and cutlery had been laid out ready for the wedding feast. A bugler announced Anne's arrival. Her father dragged her down the main aisle to where Lord Walder Frey was sitting. Each footstep was a death knell.

"We are gathered here today," said the septon, even before she'd got her breath back, "for the wedding of Lord Walder Frey and, um…"

"Anne Sherry," her father snapped at him.

"Ah. Anne Sherry. This young lady."

"Yes, yes. Get on with it!"

The wedding service continued in this manner for most of the next hour. Near the end, Lord Walder Frey had to be shaken awake for long enough to say, "I do."

When Anne was asked the same question, she gave a different reply: "I do not."

The septon looked aghast. "I… I beg your pardon?"

"I refuse!" cried Anne. Desperation filled her with reckless, defiant courage. "You can't make me! Not even the High Septon can force a woman to marry against her will!"

There was a moment of shocked silence. Then, an explosion of pain and a sickening crunch. Anne stumbled backwards, blood dripping from her broken nose. 'Who hit me?' she wondered, confused. 'Was it father or…?'

Black Walder loomed over her, snarling like a mad dog. "You brainless harlot! What did you think would happen–?"

There was a thunderous noise that didn't stop, but went on and on, growing louder and more discordant. Other noises joined the cacophony: shouts and screams of panic and confusion, a crunching and grinding of broken stones, a mighty crash and then a rumbling groan. Anne wasn't the only one who fell to the floor when it shuddered beneath her feet. The walls quaked. Cracks spread through the stonework. Dust was dislodged from the ceiling.

An armed guard clad in the livery of House Frey rushed into the room and cried, "We are under attack!"

"By who?" asked Black Walder. He straightened up and turned away from Anne; but even as he did so, he took the opportunity to deliver a vicious kick that left her gasping. "Tell me who!"

The guard had no answer; he could only resort to mutely shrugging his shoulders.

"I am surrounded by fools and incompetents!" Black Walder declared, marching over to the guard and wresting the sword from his belt. "Give that here!"

A few other Freys, those who did not lack courage, rose to their feet and seized whatever weapons they had to hand. Most of them had the belt knives they used to cut meat, but one was gripping a silver candlestick as if it was a club and another was trying to hold a ladle in a menacing fashion.

More guards hurried through the open door. Some were injured. Others were panting with exertion. It quickly became apparent that they had been fleeing.

Their pursuers followed them. Well-armed men who wore the livery of House Claes, they moved with swift and deadly purpose, cutting down any of the guards who continued to resist. Anne was shocked to see that the Duke himself was with them.

With a furious bellow, Black Walder charged at the Duke, sword outstretched and aimed at his heart, as if this was a tourney and he was wielding a lance. Presumably, he was willing to bet that the invaders would be disheartened and easily defeated if he killed their leader.

Coolly, the Duke stepped to one side and caused the flagstones to rise up ahead of Black Walder's pounding feet, causing him to trip over and crash into the nearby wall.

"What is the meaning of this?" one of the Freys – a pale, slender man with a permanently constipated expression – demanded to know. "How dare you come here, break into our home and murder our guards? Are you thieves? Bandits?"

The Duke ignored him. Instead, he gazed around at the assembled Freys and their guests, most of whom were cowering behind or under the tables. "None of you have to die. If you release Anne Sherry, I will spare your lives and leave you in peace."

He indicated to two of his men that they should step forward and help Anne get up off the floor.

"This is a wedding!" the septon blustered. "It's supposed to be a joyous occasion! But you–"

"In that case, it's a good thing I stopped it before it went any further," said the Duke. "I can't think of anything less joyous than kidnapping a young woman from her home and forcing her to marry a man more than five times older than her. Frankly, all of you should be ashamed of yourselves."

No one else tried to argue with him.

Blood dripped down Anne's face and spattered her wedding dress. She glanced at her father, hoping for the merest sign that he regretted what he'd done, but he refused even to look at her. He just stared at the wall with dull eyes and an expressionless face. Unsure of whether to be enraged or disgusted, she turned away. I hope I never see him again.

Duke Claes signalled for his men to lead her over to him. For a moment, she thought he would embrace her. Instead, he seemed to shiver. "I'm glad you're all right," he murmured.

"Well… thank you, your grace," Anne managed to say, despite her shortness of breath and the pain in her chest. She smiled through the rivulets of blood that still poured from her broken nose. Then, she remembered the horrible blonde wig she'd been forced to wear; she pulled it off and tossed it away.

"I'm sure Miss Maria will be able to heal you," said the Duke, reaching out a hand to steady her.

Anne had no idea who 'Miss Maria' was, but she nodded anyway.

"Now, let's get out of here, shall we? Do you need someone to carry you?"

"No, I'll be fine," said Anne, taking his hand. "I can walk."

And she did. She walked away, leaving the Twins and her would-have-been husband far behind

Black Walder surveyed the wreckage of his plans, cursing his luck. That cockteasing bitch… No, Anne Sherry wasn't important – had never been important, except as a means of securing his hold over her father – but this was a disaster. He and his family had been humiliated, their home was partially ruined, and he was likely to lose a substantial amount of money and influence in the near future. No doubt his rivals were sharpening their knives already.

There was little chance of getting revenge for what had happened. House Claes was rich and powerful, much more so than House Frey. Plotting against them would be the height of foolishness. On the other hand, if they appealed to the King for justice, they might just get it. And that would be calamitous. Besides, any investigation would unearth a number of buried secrets he didn't want anyone to find out. If he had any sense, he'd swallow his pride and pretend today had never happened. And yet…

Several of his family members were having a muffled conversation beside his great-grandfather's wheeled chair. They were talking in furtive, hissing voices, which almost sounded accusatory. Curious as to what they were saying, he took a step closer. As he did so, he saw that Lord Walder Frey, who'd ruled the Crossing for longer than anyone could remember, was dead at last. Apparently, he'd been dead for quite some time. Perhaps he'd been dead ever since the first loud noise that had signified the arrival of Duke Claes.

So, it finally happened, he mused. I thought he'd outlive all of us. Hah!

A smile broke out upon his face. This presented him with an opportunity. Yesterday, he had been third in line to be the next head of House Frey, after his father and elder brother, since his grandfather, Stevron, had died more than a decade ago. Now, he was second in line. Tomorrow… Well, who knows what I'll be tomorrow? After all, who could say how many of his brothers, uncles, cousins, nephews and assorted distant relations had been killed when Duke Claes had smashed his way into their home? No matter what rumors reached the King or Duke Tully, they would have no way of picking apart the truth from the lies and wild exaggerations. With that in mind, why shouldn't he take advantage of the confusion to settle a few old scores and clear the way for himself?

A little while later, after he'd finished congratulating himself for coming up with such a masterful plan, he discovered how many of his relatives had been mulling over similar thoughts. Their daggers glinted in the dark.

Author's Note:
I'm sure you've noticed my enthusiasm for this fic has been waning for quite some time. Nevertheless, I want to complete the current story arc at least. And maybe I'll come back to it occasionally after that. For now, I hope you enjoy this latest chapter.