Episode 1: The Prophecy and the Bastard
"Concerning non-violence: It is criminal to teach a man not to defend himself when he is the constant victim of brutal attacks."
- Malcom X
Chapter 1: Maternal Instinct
Morgana slept fitfully that night, haunted by visions of a deep pit. She was chained to the grimy, stone wall, accompanied by her loyal dragon.
"Aithusa!" She coaxed the young dragon closer as soon as she woke, soothing them both with promises of victory. She wasn't going to let Arthur's Bane slip through her grasp again. They would find the Diamere, and secure Camelot's throne once and for all.
"We have to think of a way to get out of here," Merlin whispered yet again, more loudly than was strictly advisable. They were trudging through the snowy mountains, chained to the back of the slavers' wagon and Arthur was trying to think. It was just difficult to formulate a suitable plan when he was surrounded by distractions. "We can't let them take us to Ismere."
"Shut up, Merlin. It's your stomach that got us into this mess," Arthur pointed out.
"I told you we should have gone back to Camelot," Merlin defended.
"And I told you to turn back."
"It's not me that I'm worried about, Arthur! Morgana will kill you!"
Ragnor called a halt, angrily jumping down from his horse to round the cart. Mordred had turned back to watch, and although Arthur still hadn't quite got a handle on the boy's strictly-controlled facial expressions, his eyes usually gave him away. He looked irritated by Merlin's disruption. Well, Arthur could sympathize, but there was something else to it that almost looked like... concern?
"Oi!" Ragnor struck Merlin upside the head with his canteen before laying a heavy-handed blow into Arthur's side. "You speak when you're spoken to!" He waited for a second to see his point set in, then tromped back up to the front and resumed riding. When Arthur looked back up to the front Mordred had already turned away to stare straight ahead at the snowy road. Arthur wondered what would happen to the boy when they escaped. He had revealed his connection to them to the slavemaster when he stood up for them. It was obvious that he was otherwise obedient. However... Arthur shook the thought from his head. There would be little opportunity for both Merlin and himself to break free, let alone the young slave. He needed to be realistic.
Morgana left her cold, empty throne room and climbed the north tower. Aithusa was curled up napping by the window, so she cuddled with the sleepy reptile while gazing out at the courtyard below. Ruadan had reported his daughter's capture to her that afternoon. She had tried not to let it stir her own bitter memories while assuring him that the girl's sacrifice would not be in vain.
There was nothing that he could do. The girl was obviously bait in a trap. Morgana was no fool. She knew her friends-become-foes well. Despite her advice, the Priestess was almost as certain that Ruadan would ignore her council and walk into that trap. Ruadan's loss would be a shame, but Morgana had come to accept that people were unreliable. People lie; they betray; they allow traitors' mind games to chase them away from their ki-
Morgana caught herself. She had let herself become distracted by M- his loss again. That would do her no favours. She closed her eyes and buried the pain deep down inside. It was just more fuel for her vengeance now. Arthur and his father had taken everything from her, whether it was her birthright, her freedom, or the one person in this world who would always be hers. I will have my vengeance, she reaffirmed. That was Morgana's purpose now: to make them pay. For Morgause, for Ruadan and his daughter, for Mordred and all of the countless others lost under the Pendragons' cruel tyranny.
"What are you looking at?" Ragnor called to Merlin. The warlock was still chained to the back of the wagon like all the of the other slaves, save Mordred. Despite the late hour Merlin was still wide awake. He sat watching their captors eat by the fire while Arthur slept by his legs.
"Is it this?" Ragnor held up a loaf of bread that had been warming by the fire. "Here, catch!" He tossed it so that it fell short of Merlin's reach, rolling onto its side on the icy ground. He broke into a cruel laugh, amused by his own antics while Merlin glared.
"Perhaps you should feed them," Mordred suggested. "They'll be nothing but skin and bones by the time that we reach Ismere."
"Morgana wants slaves, not fat hogs for the fire," Ragnor corrected. "Eat your own supper now and be glad that I bother with you at all."
Mordred looked down at his own lump of stale bread. It was all that he ever got most nights despite all of the hunting that he did for Ragnor and his men. It wouldn't do to waste it. He dutifully finished his 'supper' before trying another tack. "Slow the pace at least? We don't want them collapsing before we reach Morgana."
Ragnor's rough, beefy hand clamped down around the back of his slave's neck as an unspoken reminder of who was in charge. "The sooner I get to Ismere, the sooner I get paid." He leaned closer to speak directly into Mordred's ear, "There is no 'we'. Don't you go forgetting that."
"Yes, Ragnor," Mordred submitted, keeping his eyes locked on the ground until the grip on his nape released.
"Get to sleep," Ragnor dismissed, acting as though his command were already being followed. He thought he had enough control to know that it always would be, that he had broken Mordred. That was exactly what Mordred intended him to think.
A lone black silhouette sat slumped in the snow. As Morgana stepped closer, she noticed the red border of blood staining the ground between them. The silhouette was a teenage boy curled in on himself, his dark locks falling into his face while he stared down at his hands. The chainmail that he wore under his cloak was splattered all over with blood, as was one side of his achingly-familiar face. She ran towards him but her progress was unnaturally slow. Morgana saw his hands now that she was closer. They were dripping with blood and she prayed, against all reason, that it wasn't his. She dropped to her knees in front of him as his scarlet-stained lips curved into a sad smile and his haunting, crystal-blue eyes looked up to meet hers.
"Mother?"
Morgana jerked awake, screaming, "Mordred!" For a brief moment she didn't know where she was, looking desperately about for any sign of her lost child. Then she remembered. He was long gone. All the spies she had sent out in search of him had found only vague hints and traces, then nothing at all. They had all concluded that he was most likely dead, and with a heavy heart Morgana had moved on. "Mordred," she sobbed, letting a little hope seep back into her heart. They were wrong. That was no ordinary nightmare that Morgana had just experienced. She was a Seer and a High Priestess of the Old Religion. She knew an omen when she saw one. Mordred was alive, and she was going to keep him that way.
Early the next morning, Mordred made sure to wake up ahead of most of the others. As he'd predicted, Emrys still sat next to Arthur, wide awake with his legs pulled up against his chest. He was half frozen to death, and still in chains. That didn't dissuade him from his stern vigil, guarding the King from who knows what. From Mordred, if his distrustful looks were anything to go by. It made the Druid wonder: does Emrys know of my curse? It was certainly possible. Mordred walked over to him, taking care not to disturb those sleeping around them and knelt before the half-frozen legend.
He revealed the lumps of bread that he had pilfered earlier and hidden underneath his furs while the others were distracted. "Do you want them?"
"Why are you doing this?" Merlin replied. It sounded as though his face was going numb. Mordred fleetingly battled the urge to grab the other man's neckerchief and cover his lower face with it; that would be rude.
"He once saved my life," Mordred said, looking at the slumbering King beside them. "I owe him a debt. Don't be so quick to judge me." Their eyes met. Mordred could feel himself being assessed by the far more powerful being facing him. He continued nonetheless, "You fear me, Emrys, don't you? I know the hatred and suspicion with which men treat those with magic. You and I are not so different. I, too, have learned to hide my gifts." He set the bread down beside Emrys, adding, "I promise: your secret is safe with me," before standing and walking away on silent feet.
"What is Morgana searching for in Ismere?" Emrys inquired, stopping him in his tracks.
"The Diamere," Mordred answered, turning to watch the older man without revealing any hint of the joy he felt from this small victory.
"The Diamere?"
"In the language of my people-" Mordred stopped short. They both looked down to watch Arthur stir in his sleep.
Emrys returned his expectant stare to the Druid once it was clear that Arthur wasn't waking up.
"It means 'the key'."
"The key to what?" Merlin prompted, studying the younger magic user speculatively.
"The key to all knowledge," Mordred provided, turning away to resume his expected position beside Ragnor's sleeping area. Merlin considered the lumps of bread. He was silently arguing with himself over whether or not to accept it.
(As he leaves, Mordred confides "Food is a basic need. Magical or not, Man is a social beast. The kind of trust that I can count on is forged by mutually beneficial exhanges. Emrys needs food for his King, to get it, he needs an ally who will provide it." He looks back to see Merlin cautiously tear a piece of bread off and taste it before waking Arthur in order to share the rest. Mordred faces forward again with a conspiratorial look.)
Later that same day, Mordred paced forward, letting his senses numb to his surroundings while the procession marched forward through the icy chill. They had been walking for hours and he had fallen into a light trance, anchoring himself on the steady hum of Arthur's mind behind him and the brilliant shining star beside it that was Emrys' core. That was why it was somewhat puzzling when Emrys' fearful shout broke through the monotonous drum of hooves and boots over snow.
"Stop! Wait!"
Mordred turned back to look with a subtle crinkle of his brow. As far as his magic was telling him, they were both perfectly fine. Ragnor jumped off his horse and stormed over to investigate. Sure enough, Arthur was slumped face-down on the ground, having collapsed there in 'exhaustion'. Oh. Mordred didn't let on, deciding to sit back and watch so long as they didn't need his help.
"He needs water," Merlin urged the slavemaster.
Ragnor dragged Arthur up off the ground and held his head in a vise grip. "Not so much the great warrior now, are you?" he mocked with a bitter chuckle, and shoved the King away.
Merlin caught the stumbling blond before he hit the ground. "I'll help him," he assured Ragnor. The idiot strutted happily back towards his horse, unaware that his knife was now in Arthur's hands. Mordred couldn't help feeling a bit insulted by that. Ragnor had always been more observant where he was concerned. That had been a cheap trick, and yet it blew right past him.
A loud crash brought the procession to an abrupt halt and Ragnor angrily rode to the back end of the wagon, demanding answers.
"What is this!" He dropped down off his horse. "Who did this! Tell me now or you'll all pay!"
Arthur jerked his head towards Merlin.
"We need to rest!" Merlin insisted.
At the other end of the procession, Mordred braced himself. This was it.
"Oh you can rest!" Ragnor threatened, drawing his sword. "You'll rest forever!"
Arthur darted forward and punched the slavemaster in the gut with both unbound hands. The locks on his chains had already been picked in preparation for the break, as had Merlin's. He then spun round and threw his stolen knife into the nearest guard's throat. Merlin's eyes flashed gold while Arthur's back was turned, directing the other guard's horse to rear up and shed it's flailing rider. Arthur turned back to grab a handful of Merlin's shirt and they darted around the nearest ridge.
"After them! Stop them!" the slavemaster yelled. Mordred was already running past him, pretending that he was obeying the furious slaver's direction.
When he rounded the ridge, Mordred saw Merlin trying to widen a chasm separating them from their pursuers with a fallen slaver's battle axe. Arthur was crouched behind him on the other side of a snowdrift, using his own stolen crossbow to cover his servant. The first of the two slavers jumped the gap only to be shot down once he'd reached the other side. Merlin threw more force into the next strike of the axe.
"Merlin! Wait," Arthur called out, having seen Mordred. Unfortunately, Merlin had magically fortified his last strike and the ice broke off. Mordred and Merlin's eyes locked as the great chunk of glacier went tumbling down into the deep crevice between them. It hadn't been a mistake.
Mordred skidded to a halt just in time and the last of the pursuing slavers grabbed him by the back of his neckerchief, simultaneously anchoring him and choking him. Merlin fliched in sympathy, despite himself. Arthur aimed the crossbow at the brute while Merlin ran away and slid over the top of the trench to join him. Mordred caught Arthur's eye, giving the slightest shake of his head. His plans of getting them all out of this in Ismere were out the window. Now he had to focus on damage control. Arthur could not appear to be helping him.
"Come along, Boy," the slaver ground out. "Let's get you back where you belong."
On the other side of the chasm, Merlin snapped at Arthur, "You should have shot him!"
"It wouldn't have done any good. Mordred already looks guilty enough, thanks to us," Arthur disagreed.
"Should have shot him, too," Merlin muttered to himself but Arthur heard it anyway.
"What is wrong with you?!"
"He was leading us to our deaths!"
"I don't see it that way. Why are you being like this? It isn't like you to be so... bloodthirsty," Arthur interrogated, rising to his feet. "Come on, we need to keep moving."
"I didn't see any chains on him! Did you?" Merlin argued, following after him.
"You know what they say, Merlin: appearances can be deceiving."
"Not in this case."
Arthur shook his head, letting the issue drop for now. His manservant's uncharacteristic aggression was worrying, but he figured that it must just be the stress of their situation bringing out the worst in him.
Morgana looked up, drawn out of her meditative trance by the caw of a raven. The bird was perched on her windowsill with a scrap of parchment tied to its leg. She walked over and untied its burden, unraveling it to read the message inside. Ruaden had gone against her advice, as she'd expected.
Morgana,
I bring bad tidings. Arthur did not return to Camelot, but continues on to Ismere. You must not despair, Morgana. Soon you will have the Diamere, and Arthur's Bane will be in your grasp. Soon, the Pendragon's reign will come to an end.
There was blood smeared on the bottom of the hastily scribbled note by Ruadan's bloody hand. She wouldn't be seeing her old Druid advisor again. Not in this life.
Merlin and Arthur crept up to the edge of the hill and watched the procession passing by on their way to Morgana's imposing block of a fortress. Mordred was limping now. He had been demoted to their place behind the cart. It was hard to tell whether he was bound or not. He looked up and for an instant, Arthur could have sworn that the boy was looking straight at him. It was impossible. At least, he thought it was. Mordred looked away, giving no indication that he'd seen anything of note.
"We are never going to get in there," Merlin complained, regarding Morgana's fortress.
"You are so negative today, Merlin. Of course there's a way," Arthur corrected, patting his shoulder.
...And that was how they ended up squeezed into the waste shoot, trying not to think about the stinking piles that they were climbing around or over.
"How did you talk me into this?" Merlin questioned, just before a bucketful of garbage showered over his head from the hole above.
"Genius, Merlin. Ughh," Arthur pressed a hand over his mouth to block out the rotting smell.
"Genius," Merlin hissed acidly.
"You've got a bit of um..." Arthur gestured to the top of his head. "Carrot in your hair." He considered it again. "At least, I hope it's carrot."
When they got inside the palace proper, Arthur immediately crossed over to the window to see the slavers arriving in the courtyard below. Merlin leaned into the open space on his left to see what he was looking at.
"Are you ready?" Arthur verified.
"For what?"
"Our carriage awaits," Arthur responded mysteriously, leaving Merlin staring after him while he continued on his unspecified plan. They ended up hiding in a mining trolley on its way beneath the fortress, and knocking a couple of Morgana's knights out in order to take their uniforms.
Morgana sat beside her window, watching the bustle of the moonlit courtyard. The slavers' loud, boastful conversation was floating around her mostly unheeded. The loudest one, who laughed far too harshly and too often for her tastes had been threatening one of his underlings before. Now he had moved on to boasting and mocking the others while he prepared his new shipment for display. There was something about the dark, limping figure upon whom he'd been venting his anger. Morgana frowned. For some unknown reason her magic was fixating on the young man's presence. He turned towards Morgana and for a moment, her heart stopped. She found herself running down the stairs before she had even realized that she'd moved, feeling like she was lost in a dream. This had better not be a dream!
She wrapped her furs around her as she descended in a rush, only to stop and stare just a few steps beyond the outer doorway. The slavemaster was hassling him again, prodding one big, beefy finger into the teenager's chest while he spoke. They both glanced over at her, and the slavemaster's face split in a greedy grin.
"My Lady, I am honored by this opportunity," he began his spiel, striding towards her. "I have brought you eight of my finest-"
Morgana turned a gaze on him similar to that used to regard a dead and rotting animal discovered across one's path. She pushed past him. He didn't matter. The only other person in her world who mattered in that moment was...
"Mordred," Morgana whispered, smiling dreamily up into her son's face.
Mordred began to smile back.
"I am terribly sorry, Milady, but this one's not for sale," Ragnor informed her, walking back towards them. The genuine smile vanished from Morgana's face as her jaw clenched in fury.
"What?" she spat.
Mordred tensed, seeing a spark of madness flash in the Priestess' eyes.
She slowly turned away from him to face Ragnor, leaving her hand resting on Mordred's shoulder all the while.
"That one's part of my personal collection. He's not worth much to be honest, but he's mine. I have better stock for you to choose from over this way. If you would just follow me," Ragnor offered.
"You own him?" Morgana asked, in a barely restrained voice.
"For almost two years now. Caught him myself! Tell you what, I can see that you have your heart set on him, perhaps we could discuss a special pr-" Ragnor's hands reached up to grab pointlessly at the phantom hand cutting off his air supply. Morgana kept her fist raised, reveling in his pointless struggle.
"Morgana..." Mordred began, stepping up beside her. Morgana cupped his jaw with her free hand and tilted his head to inspect the scratches marring his chin and nose, taking note of the fresh bruise over his cheekbone.
"You beat him," she hissed out, turning furious, glowing eyes on Ragnor. His sheathed sword tore away from his belt and she caught it out of mid air, inspecting it with care. "With this?"
The slaver gurgled in the small amount of air her hold alowed him, unable to respond.
Morgana looked up at Mordred, following his hastily-aborted glance to a pile of wooden building supplies in the cart. She called the heavy, wooden hammer into her hand. It was the type used to drive stakes into the ground, and was flecked here and there with fresh blood. "With this," she concluded and struck Ragnor across the jaw with it, knocking several of his teeth out.
"Morgana! Please, you'll kill him," Mordred objected, catching her arm in a tight grip. He sheid away when she turned to look at him. The madness left her eyes the split second she'd noticed.
"You're right. I seem to have lost my temper," Morgana agreed in a much calmer tone almost sounding like when she used to coax him back to sleep after a nightmare. The feral harshness returned the moment she looked away, gesturing to Ragnor with the bloody hammer. "Gaurds! Take this man to the dungeons. I will deal with him in my own time." She rested a gentle hand on Mordred's arm, her expression softening once more.
"Now. Why don't you join me for supper?"
Percival spun round to face the newcomers in response to Arthur's firm tap on his shoulder. The shirtless knight relaxed immediately at the sight of their familiar faces.
"Sire. What are you two doing down here?" he whispered, relieved to see them.
"You didn't think we were just going to leave you here, did you?" Arthur replied. "Where're the others?"
"Um, scattered around," Percival nodded at the other clusters of slaves dispersed throughout the mine.
"And Gwaine?" Merlin prompted.
"I saw him a couple of days ago," Percival said uncertainly, glancing toward a junction of disused tunnels behind Merlin.
"Here," Arthur decided, pulling a stolen sword out of his belt, "see if you can use it to find some more."
"Arthur," Merlin cautioned, seeing some of Morgana's guards heading their way.
"Do what you can to free the others. We'll go after Gwaine," Arthur concluded.
Percival nodded and tucked the sword away in the top of his cart, pretending to continue his work while Merlin and Arthur slipped away toward the disused tunnels.
Morgana sat whittling runes into an apple at her end of the sturdy, oak dining table while she watched Mordred practically inhale his dinner. He was managing to maintain his table manners for the most part, but it was a close thing. The boy was obviously starving. Morgana waited for him to finish the meat on his plate and pause for a drink before she rose from her seat and walked round to Mordred's chair. The Druid waited, silently tracking her movements with wary eyes. He was clearly coiled in preparation to leap away at the first hint of danger. Morgana pushed his chair out with a measured gesture, allowing the mood of her magic to speak for itself. Then she knelt down beside him, brushing his bloody pant leg with the tips her fingers.
"Let me see."
"Oh. Thank you." Mordred relaxed and let her pull his injured limb into her lap so that she could begin healing him. They fell into an uncomfortable silence broken only by Morgana's barely-audible muttering in the Old Language. Mordred felt a tad guilty for mistrusting her. Morgana didn't owe him anything after the way he'd left.
"I feared you were dead," she told him, feeling proud that she had managed to keep the tremor out of her voice, for the most part.
Mordred set his goblet down and straightened to look at her.
"It's dangerous for those of us with magic," Morgana continued. "I had thought..." She swallowed, wrestling her expression back under control as she pulled his pantleg back down over the closing wound, and stood. "But you ran away."
"It has not been easy," Mordred conceded in a neutral tone, watching her return to her seat and clean her hands with a wet rag.
Morgana let out a derisive snort. "I could see that for myself. Despite whatever lies that traitor put into your head, I only ever wanted to protect you." She took up the knife and apple again, whittling patterns into the fruit.
"Morgana... I have learned for myself now the ways in which people like us are exploited. How we are feared... Sometimes even by our own-" Mordred stopped, closing his mouth and blinking rapidly as he reconsidered his words. "I know that you must be angry with me."
"No," Morgana reassured him. Her voice was suddenly gentle, caring. It reminded him of the kind young woman who had nursed him back to health all those years ago when he was just a scared little boy lost in Camelot. "That traitor manipulated you." And just like that, the old Morgana was gone again. "I should have killed him before he had the chance to poison your mind."
Mordred watched her with a carefully blank expression, not wanting to dissuade her from her mistake. He tried not to lie to people whom he cared about, crazy or not. That didn't mean that he would not allow them to deceive themselves.
"It is no matter. Attitudes will change soon, and the Old Religion will reign once more," Morgana assured him with a smile. It was her attempt to lighten the tension.
Mordred relaxed his shoulders, allowing a small smile to grace his features, which caused her smile to broaden in turn.
"There will be nothing more to fear once Arthur and his kind are cleansed from the Earth," she continued.
Mordred's smile faltered and he looked down at his plate. He could feel her contentment turning to confusion as she noticed.
"We had Arthur in our grasp." Mordred didn't know why he said it. When he looked up to meet the Priestess' intent stare, she had stopped toying with her apple. The knife in her hand was poised, nearly-forgotten, over the tender, red flesh. "He escaped," Mordred admitted.
Morgana placed her knife and apple on the table with a precise movement. "Who let him go?" Her voice was dangerously even.
"He got away," Mordred clarified, sensing the frigid flow of Morgana's much more powerful magic building and coiling in response to her failing temper.
"How? Who let him go?" she repeated coldly, sounding a hint more firm. Her pale green eyes locked onto his crystal blues, and he could feel the building pressure pool around him.
"It was an accident," Mordred replied, letting his voice sound timid in the midst of the witch's deadly ire.
"Kill him! That's all they had to do!" Morgana surged up out of her seat and knocked her plate and goblet aside. Her magic constricted around him in synchrony with her outburst, but it flowed over his skin as it moved without causig him any true harm. He merely felt as though he'd been squeezed a bit too hard by a great frosty cushion. Mordred did his best to recollect himself while Morgana dove into a murderous rant.
"I am a High Priestess of the Old Religion; I hold the power of the heavens in my hand- and yet he continues to defy me!" she raged, eyes wild.
"Lady Morgana..." Mordred tried to gently coax her back down to Earth.
"I want his annihilation, Mordred," she continued, unhearing.
Mordred swallowed down the painful lump in his throat. There was a familiar, crackling haze flickering in and out of existence around Morgana's body. It was becoming more prominent the more that she spoke. Mordred didn't know how he'd never noticed it before that moment. Perhaps, it was because he had wanted so badly not to see it. Now that he had, he couldn't stop, and Morgana was still talking.
"I want to put his head on a spike, and I want to watch the crows feast on his eyes!"
"Morgana," Mordred urged, his voice cracking, as he too stood. "Calm yourself."
Morgana drew out of her wretched reverie to meet her son's gaze. The pain -and was that resignation in his eyes?- were enough to snap her back to the present. Her brows drew together in puzzlement while she took a closer look at him. "We shall have our victory soon enough." She gestured for him to sit back down, moving to reclaim her own seat. "Go ahead, eat. You're all skin and bones."
Mordred tentatively returned to his meal. Well, no, Morgana was watching him more closely than he seemed to think. He was going through the motions, but he wasn't actually eating anything anymore. She leaned forward with a sigh to call him on it when the warning bell began to ring, Morgana smirked.
"Arthur..." She got up and strode past Mordred's end of the table to get a more detailed report from her men, touching his shoulder affectionately on her way past.
Mordred hesitated.
"Come along, Little Lamb," the sorceress called without pausing to look back. "I know that you aren't eating anymore."
Mordred closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath before tucking the table knife into his sleeve. She simply had to use that pet name, didn't she? He thought to himself, torn between annoyance and heartache. Mordred wasted no more time in following Morgana, lest she notice that something was wrong. He didn't want to have to use the knife, but he knew that he needed to take precautions if he was going to remain. Morgana was one of the clouded people. It was an affliction that he did not know how to cure. She would have to save herself, and until she did, she was a danger to everyone around her, even to him. Keep, your distance. You can find a way through this, he told himself, running to catch up with his impatient guardian.
"I am not a lamb," he denied, as always, falling into step with Morgana.
She smiled up at him, poking teasingly at his cheek before she led him out into the foyer.
A/N: Okay, so this one was a bit cannon heavy, but the story will diverge again soon. I hope you guys enjoyed this anyway. Special thanks to 'Offline' for the encouraging/perplexing review. If I understand you correctly, he'll pop up in the next couple chapters? Feedback is always welcome folks, and thank you all for reading!