LordStrange: Thanks. Again, I'll probably rewrite the early chapters because they're not particularly great.
Kuman: Baelish was politically desirable to just get rid of, though. He is very dead, yes.
Guest: Thanks. Updates are every Friday or Saturday depending on mood.
Guest2: You are right in saying that the Tyrells were centrepiece in organizing this. Olenna wanted Joffrey gone, Baelish for his own reasons, and Oberyn wants his duel with the Mountain. Honestly, Baelish looked too arrogant to ever think he'd just die randomly. The main butterflies coming will be with Lysa.
Oberyn
The Black cells were not the most comfortable place. As a matter of fact, they were logically made to be uncomfortable.
However, Oberyn had travelled to many places before, in Westeros or Essos, and truthfully, there were worse places to spend the night. At least, here, he didn't have to share the wooden bench that served as his bed, and there was enough hay around to make a decent pillow. And besides, the neighbors weren't very noisy, and he didn't have to share his cell with any of the city's common criminals or bandits.
The Tyrells had everything perfectly planned out. They'd managed to get a dozen fake witnesses from gods knew where, and Oberyn didn't even bother forming a coherent defence. He instead asked for trial by battle, and Tywin Lannister was forced to agree.
Then, if all went well, Oberyn would finally have his vengeance at hand when Tywin would name Gregor Clegane as his champion. Even if Tywin wasn't likely to risk his precious pet, the Tyrells would do what is necessary to force that choice. From then on, the fate of the mountain that rides would be sealed from the moment Oberyn cut him with his blade.
Oberyn heard a few steps, no doubt the guards were going to serve him some food. Lunch or dinner? It was hard to keep track of time in such a dark place.
He straightened up and looked at the door. It creaked open, revealing a man with a torch.
Then, the door creaked closed and the man approached.
It didn't take long for Oberyn to recognize who he was, the scar overlooking his right eye was a good indication.
Without a word, Quentyn approached with the torch, and put it on one of the few pillars inside the cell, illuminating his view just a little, letting Oberyn make out his wavy black hair, which had grown a little longer than usual. He just stood there motionless, arms crossed and furrowed brow.
"I figured you want some explanations?" Oberyn finally broke the eerie silence.
"I don't really need any." Quentyn continued to stand tall, judging him.
"How did you figure it out?" Oberyn then asked in turn.
"I knew the Tyrells were trying to get rid of Joffrey," Quentyn said simply. "I didn't think you were stupid enough to actually go to the Queen of Thorns and offer yourself to her to take the fall."
"If I didn't, who would they accuse?"
"Baelish?" Quentyn scoffed. "The man has grown too powerful for the Tyrells' liking. Lord Paramount of the Vale and Riverlands, likely stole away the last Stark of the capital…"
Oberyn's lips opened to say something, but he immediately closed them. Indeed, the Tyrells had proposed that Baelish would take the fall for this. However, Oberyn wouldn't be sure that that man wouldn't be able to defend his way out of it or find a way to leave the capital and this be judged and condemned without him being present. No, Baelish was too slippery. He, on the other hand, was the perfect fit.
Quentyn crouched down to his level, taking a seat on another wooden bench attached to a wall by two aging chains.
"Damn it, uncle." He whispered to him. "I had everything ready for Baelish to take the blame. Two bodies neatly lined up on the beach…"
"It was you…" Oberyn's eyes widened.
"Yes, it was me."
"You talked with Baelish?"
"No, I'm not a fool. He's been dealt with."
"Then you see where the plan fails. If he cannot be put on trial, then I cannot get the Mountain, nephew."
Quentyn's face darkened slightly, and not because of the dim light of the torch moving away.
"I had hoped that it wouldn't be necessary for us to be prisoners in the capital in order for you to get said vengeance," Quentyn told him. "The Tyrells could've just as well called a trial in absence, and you could've just as well proposed yourself as champion if you wished. After all, usually, the accused who run away are not there to ask for trial by battle."
"There would have been time for Baelish to be caught…"
"The Tyrells would need an expedited trial so that the lull in their situation does not last. It would have been faster, and you wouldn't have put all of us in danger!"
"You're not in danger." Oberyn scoffed. "You're still free."
"Yes, we've been forbidden to leave the Red Keep without a solid escort until your trial is over, how kind of them." Quentyn's frown deepened. "All of that could have been avoided if you just told me what you were going to do."
"Told you?" Oberyn couldn't believe it. "You're the one hiding everything from me."
"Because I don't trust you." Quentyn shook his head.
"You trust my daughter."
"I do."
"And not me?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Too stubborn. Too prone to opening your mouth."
"Is that why you didn't tell me about Lorch?" Oberyn suddenly stood up with rage in his eyes. "Because I'm too stubborn?"
"Sit down, uncle."
Quentyn's eyes met his. Oberyn stood defiant, but his nephew's unflinching gaze forced him to back down.
"I didn't tell you about what I was going to do with Lorch because I wasn't sure it was going to succeed until about five days before it happened." Quentyn sighed. "Besides, it isn't just your right to vengeance. Rhaenys and Aegon were my cousins, and Elia was my aunt. I had every right to slaughter that pig-faced animal as you did."
Oberyn's anger calmed down slightly.
"And you?" Quentyn asked. "Why didn't you say anything to me about your deal with the Queen of Thorns?"
"I…" Oberyn stammered. "I…didn't want you to be involved in this."
"Great job." Quentyn chuckled. "Wonderful job, actually. You know, we could've talked and gotten a plan that didn't involve all of the Dornish party being placed on house arrest."
"You've been confined to the Keep?" Oberyn asked again.
"If we wish to leave the Keep, we must do so with a solid goldcloak escort." Quentyn sighed. "As for the other Dornish, we've all been huddled in the same part of the Keep. I've ordered some to leave back for Dorne, meaning we're only half of our initial numbers.
This does still mean that our room, which was originally just Nym and me, has now expanded to include six people in all, for a room designed for two. Now, the wine that Ned brought with him is quite nice, but if you haven't noticed, a double bed for six people quickly becomes uncomfortable, be it the smell or the comfort, and the floor is a poor place to stay on. Not to mention that now it becomes even harder for me to execute my own plans."
"You had plans?" Oberyn asked, quickly regretting his question. "Baelish of course…"
His eyes suddenly wandered to his nephew and he asked.
"The Stark girl." He nodded to him, with a slight grin. "Was it…"
Quentyn didn't say anything. Instead, he just shrugged and pulled out a small piece of raven scroll, on which were written just a few words:
"Elinor got a nice nameday present, a husky from the mountains."
"What's a husky?" Oberyn asked.
"A sort of large dog," Quentyn said, putting back the raven scroll in his pocket. "A northern one."
"How did you…"
"We'll talk about this another time, uncle. A time when we will have some more privacy."
"A prison cell isn't enough?"
"Not with the place swarming with Lannisters and Tyrells." Quentyn frowned. "I had enough trouble snuffing out a torch this morning."
Quentyn pulled his vest back, revealing long scars on his forearm. It seemed someone had gripped them with long nails. But snuffing out a torch left burns, how did that matter?
"What have you done?" Oberyn asked.
"Cleaned a spider web, if you prefer." Was his only answer.
Oberyn looked at him in shock.
"Why did you…"
"He was too dangerous. He knew too much." Were Quentyn's only words.
"They'll find him." Oberyn's mouth was slightly agape, trying not to lash out where he would surely be heard. What was Quentyn doing? This was madness!
"No. Not for a while."
"His absence will be noted." Oberyn protested. Someone will know. Gods forbid, someone in this city will know very soon. You can't just get rid of the master of Whisperers like that."
"He has had long absences in the past, it won't go unnoticed if we leave before they start worrying."
"Leave?" Oberyn glanced at him. "We're not leaving till…"
"Till you have your vengeance." Quentyn sighed deeply. "I know, uncle. But your trial by battle is forthcoming."
"They've decided on who will represent the Crown?"
"Your Tyrell friends have done good work." Quentyn nodded. "Great work in fact. You'll face the Mountain that rides."
Oberyn started to smile.
"I hope you're happy." Quentyn sighed. "Because I don't fancy your chances."
"You disappoint me, nephew." Oberyn frowned. "I thought that you had me in higher esteem."
"After days of being underfed and without a single combat experience in the past weeks?" Quentyn shot back.
"I only need one cut to kill, believe me." He grinned.
"You don't intend on coming out of this alive?" Quentyn frowned again.
"I intend on coming alive and whole!" Oberyn raised his hands up. "But if it is my time to die, then I will gladly lay my life down to see that monster die a slow and agonising death. To play my part, and to lay my life for Dorne if necessary."
"I hope that when they bring your bones down to Dorne, they'll be buried next to mine when they inevitably come down too." Quentyn sighed.
"What are you talking about?" Oberyn asked. "Tywin would not harm a single hair on your head for fear of what would happen to Myrcella."
"And the Tyrells, uncle? What of the Tyrells?" Quentyn asked. "Because let me remind you uncle: if you lose, it means you are guilty. If you are guilty, it means Dorne might be guilty. If Dorne is guilty, then we are all hostages from the moment you die, and our conditions will be much worse than they are now.
And if one day I have a small accident, let's say I fall down some stairs and hit my head hard. Who would stand to benefit from this? Trystane is betrothed to Myrcella Lannister and Arianne to Willas Tyrell, uncle. If father decides to have Myrcella put to death for this, then the Tyrells have the royal road to see them acquiring Sunspear and King's Landing at the same time. Seven hells they might try for Casterly Rock through a cousin or relative, too! And if he doesn't? Well, then, Myrcella is a good consort as any, or the Tyrells will just manoeuvre and scheme their way into placing Arianne and Willas' blood on the Sun Throne.
And Nymeria, what will become of her? Have you thought about your daughter, uncle? I know that if anyone attempted anything on her, I would burn down castles to bring vengeance to those who harmed her. She would do the same for me. Do you really think that the Tyrells or Lannisters would keep her alive? And if they did, how long before Nym would've also asked for a trial by battle?"
Oberyn felt his stomach turn into knots.
"And Ellaria? And the girls? Do they not matter either? I know you're a selfish man, uncle, but I didn't know that you were this selfish. If you die, then what happens to Ellaria. She is supposed to grieve the man she loves till she dies? If you die, what will happen to Dorea, Loreza or Obella? Do you have to inflict on them the pain of having to grow up without a father to look up to?
If you die, what will happen with Obara and Tyene? You know they would burn down cities to bring vengeance. And Obara, do you think Obara is going to let the Lannisters get away with anything? Seven hells, she would kill every Lannister, man, woman or child to get vengeance, and you know it! And where does it end for her? Then she'd likely end up dead too, and then who will avenge her? Lady Lance? Obella? You know how wild they are and how much they love you. Would they in turn take up arms?
And Aliandra, uncle? Should she be subjected to having to grow up as a bastard without a father and a mother?"
"I…" Oberyn stammered, trying to bring a hand on his elbow. "Listen, nephew…I will live, there is no…"
"Seven hells, uncle, I know you!" Quentyn lashed out, knocking out his hand. "I know you don't think. After all, I paid for your mistakes and you didn't so much as apologize for it! Or should I remind you why exactly I stayed at Yronwood and what caused the rift between me and Arianne? Oh yes, it's because you really wanted to fuck the Bloodroyal's paramour, and then in all your wisdom, decided to poison your blade during your duel with him. Why? Why the fuck not! I bet you were young and wanted to teach the man a lesson, or perhaps you found him annoying or gods know what. And don't open your mouth to answer, I couldn't care less what he has done!
In the end, I was the one who had to pay for it! I was the one who was ripped from my family. I was the one that had to live at Yronwood all these years, only seeing my family very periodically. It created a rift between me and Arianne that father never even tried mending, and it caused the rift between father and mother to widen so much that mother went back to Norvos.
And you? You got to live a comfortable exile on Lys, no doubt fucking whores and playing at war all day long. What a great punishment, truly! Especially since I know that father was quite lax on the terms of your exile if I remember correctly.
And now you expect me to believe that you are selfless enough to swiftly defeat the Mountain. Tell me, uncle, will you ask for him to talk?"
"Yes." Oberyn nodded. "He will confess to…"
"Lorch confessed already. There is no need to do more."
"We need witnesses. The Seven Kingdoms must know…"
"The Seven Kingdoms likely know already. I don't want to die because you were too busy trying to have the Mountain confess that he shoved a dagger in your neck, or worse." Quentyn growled. "When you fight the Mountain, you will kill him straight away."
"I'm better than him." Oberyn stood his ground. "Have no fear, nephew, he will confess, and all will be right."
"I have trouble believing you, uncle." Quentyn sighed. "But then, you can show me how you mean to defeat him."
"How?"
"I have managed to get you one hour of combat training every day till the trial by battle is supposed to take place, in a week." Quentyn breathed heavily. "You will be escorted by two kingsguard at all times."
"I…nephew that's…wonderful." Oberyn smiled. "Thank…"
"No." Quentyn shook his head. "Don't you dare thank me."
"Because of your life, nephew I…" Oberyn started, trying to lay excuses, but Quentyn interrupted again.
"No. My life, I am not too worried about. I had contingencies placed in case you lose the fight to get out of here as soon as possible." Quentyn leaned towards him. "Know that I am not doing this for you, either. You made my life miserable for years, you didn't even consider me as family, didn't even care to apologize or visit. You created a divide in House Martell that will never truly heal. In short, uncle, I could care less about what happens to you.
No, I am doing this for Nym. Because I know she will be devastated if you happen to die, and her fury will shake the entire continent and I'm not losing her for another quest for revenge. I am doing this for Ellaria, because she's a wonderful woman and she loves you with all her heart, and it would be cruel for her to be separated from you.
I am doing this for Aliandra, because she deserved to know her grandfather. I am doing this for all the girls: Obara, Tyene, Sarella, Elia, Obella, Dorea, and Loreza, especially the last three, because I do not wish the fate of growing up without a loving father to anyone. And for all your faults uncle, you do love and care for your children.
Finally, I am doing this for my own father, because he would not be able to bear the grief of having lost his brother and his sister to this wretched city, and for all my father's faults, I do not wish that fate upon him either."
Oberyn sat silently for a few moments, and finally exhaled and nodded.
"I understand."
"Good." Quentyn nodded. "And know this, uncle. When the trial is over, and should you live and gods do I hope you do, you will stop hiding secrets from me. By nightfall on the day of your trial, every single Dornishman and woman will have left the Keep and you will be among them. You will not do anything stupid, you will not try anything against Tywin Lannister and you will not do anything else than follow my instructions after the trial by battle, do you understand?"
"Nephew, Tywin…"
"I don't care!" Quentyn scowled. "I really don't give two shits anymore. You've done enough damage as it is. Now, you do what I tell you to do, and we can all run back to Dorne. You will answer and be loyal to me, that is the only thanks I expect from my gift to you."
"Loyal?" Oberyn asked. "Quentyn, I'm already loyal to our house, you can't…"
Suddenly, it all became clear in his mind as he connected the bits and pieces left behind by his nephew.
"You…you want to oust your father."
Quentyn didn't answer.
"Answer me, nephew." Oberyn urged. "If you want my spear, answer me."
"Yes." Quentyn replied, stoically.
"And you want me to support you?" Oberyn scoffed.
"No harm will come to father; I will not be a kinslayer."
Oberyn looked at him in disbelief, hands clenched.
"Father has caused enough damage to our house, and he has already nearly made himself an involuntary kinslayer, whether it is through you or me." Quentyn sighed.
"You're going to call a council?" Oberyn asked.
"Yes." Quentyn replied.
"Are you sure you will have all the support you need?"
"After what I am about to do?" Quentyn shrugged. "Yes."
Oberyn sighed. Whether he liked it or not, Quentyn had Dorne in his pocket already. His brother's word was the only thing keeping him from making the decisions for Dorne as a whole.
He could refuse, and talk to Doran about the plot. But his brother would do something erratic, like exile Quentyn, when Dorne needed him the most. It wouldn't do. If there was a chance for greatness to come to house Martell, it was through Quentyn, and not Doran. And it pained him to think that.
"Fine." Oberyn sighed. "I shall support you, but I shall not fight any Dornish brothers if it comes to it."
"That's more than enough." Was Quentyn's only reply.
Oberyn nodded slowly, knots forming in his stomach.
"How did you manage to achieve this?" Oberyn asked.
"I called in every favor I could from Margaery," Quentyn answered slowly.
Oberyn's smile turned into a smirk.
"I knew it." He almost laughed.
"Knew what?"
"It's Margaery, then?"
"Yes." Quentyn shrugged. "She's an interesting woman, and we've met before."
"You love her." Oberyn pointed out.
"No," Quentyn growled.
"Love isn't really appropriate, I am sorry. Perhaps…no, care isn't it either…" Oberyn tried to find the right word for it, searching every corner of his brain.
"I like her?" Quentyn asked.
"Well, that's not it, either," Oberyn replied. "Let's just say you want to marry her."
"Uncle, Nym is the only woman I ever want." Quentyn sighed. "Quit playing your games."
"Yes, but my daughter is a bastard, and you need to marry a trueborn to have a trueborn heir." Oberyn replied. "And the Tyrell girl is pretty, smart and has learned a lot from her grandmother."
Quentyn looked at Oberyn with an astonished gaze.
"You've thought about it." Oberyn laughed.
"I did." Quentyn sighed, rubbing his wavy hair.
"And you and Nym discussed it?"
"We discussed a lot of names and hers was one of them." Quentyn nodded. "There is nothing more to it."
"And?" Oberyn asked. "It would be a good match."
"She's the enemy." Quentyn shrugged. "I doubt I can convince her to run away to Dorne with me so that I can use her to be my consort and bear my heirs while I love another woman that not only do I keep by my side, but who will likely be more of a princess than she."
Oberyn nodded simply.
"As you said, she's the enemy." Oberyn shrugged. "It would be a mercy."
"A woman who hates me, Dorne and our house as a whole." Quentyn's eyes narrowed. "You have truly wonderful ideas."
"I don't think she would ever hate you." Oberyn shook his head.
"I doubt that. Now let's get you a weapon and a sparring partner before I lose my patience." Quentyn swiftly stood up.
"Now?" Oberyn struggled to get up himself.
"Yes, now." Quentyn looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "The sooner we start, the sooner we can get you back into shape, uncle."
"I'm perfectly in shape." Oberyn stared down at his nephew while he walked out of the cell. "Probably in better shape than you."
Quentyn didn't even acknowledge the jape as he walked out of the cell. Oberyn, though, had to wait till two kingsguard came down the stairs to the Black cells, put themselves on either side of him, and escorted him back up the stairs.
Seeing the light again was welcome, it had been too long since he'd been closed off down there.
And as the kingsguard escort continued through the hallways of the keeps, he could feel the weight of the people's stares at him. Many stared on with contempt, others with fear and others with worry. Oberyn, though, paid them no mind. He wasn't going to let anyone judge him, after all, was he not innocent of all the charges pressed against him?
The sparring yard was still full of activity and full of Dornishmen for that matter. He felt the kingsguard next to him relax slightly, and half a dozen goldcloaks filled the room, blocking the exits and keeping a watchful eye on him.
Oberyn resisted the urge to laugh.
It wasn't going to be these pathetic little men in white or gold that would have stopped him from cutting his way out of this.
Although, he was not allowed any real weapon. Only blunted steel was allowed here, and he could see that the guards had confiscated every large weapon from the few Dornish in attendance. Of course, there were a few daggers likely lying around, quite a small prize and not really useful in an escape situation.
The kingsguard let him go, which meant Oberyn could free his legs a little. His gaze met Quentyn's, when suddenly, he felt a hug coming from the side.
"Father!" Nymeria's arms lunged at him. "I'm glad you are all right."
"I'm fine, my sweet." Oberyn smiled at her, returning the small hug.
"Quentyn explained everything to me." She looked at him with worry in her eyes. "I love and trust you, father, but you have to promise that you will win."
"Of course, Nym." Oberyn nodded back. "I promise."
He could feel his daughter, for all her martial demeanour and confident look, being stiff and uneasy. His words didn't seem to have the reassuring tone they once had.
"Nym, I won't let myself get killed." He tried to explain. "Everything will be just fine. Tell Ellaria that I've never been better."
Nymeria just nodded back, and let Oberyn step into a more appropriate dress. As he got ready, Quentyn approached him with something in his hand.
"What's that?" Oberyn asked.
"It's a helmet, uncle." Quentyn looked at him with slight disbelief. "You know, you wear it on your head…"
"Not needed, Quentyn." He waved him off.
Quentyn narrowed his look towards him, but sighed deeply.
"Suit yourself, uncle."
"Good." Oberyn smiled at his nephew, who also was in a sparring outfit, with some light armor and a sparring spear with him. "Now I suppose we should start, no?"
"Yes." Quentyn nodded. "But you won't be facing me."
"No?" Oberyn asked. "But you are a knight, are you not? It would be…"
"Pointless." Quentyn swiftly replied. "I am not a great swordsman, and I'm even worse with a spear. Nym is already a tough challenge for me, so I can't even believe I can measure up to you just yet."
"We've sparred before." Oberyn shrugged. "And while I agree that your martial abilities aren't the best, I can learn from it still."
"Nonsense." Quentyn shook his head. "When you'll be facing the Mountain, he will be taller than you, and likely in full armor with a greatsword. He won't have a small sword and shield and be half a head smaller than you, with ten times as less power in the swing."
"Unless you have Areo here, I fear that there is no one."
Quentyn smiled slightly, then whistled towards a door. Slowly, the door opened, shoving aside the goldcloak standing there, while a very tall man came out, clad in full armor and with a greatsword in hand.
"Have fun sparring with Arch, uncle," Quentyn tapped him on the chest and ran off towards Nymeria on the side of the sparring ground, leaving him alone against the Yronwood boy. "Act like your real trial by battle, if you may. You told me that you would show me how you would defeat the Mountain. Well, go right ahead."
Another good move, nephew.
Oberyn had almost forgotten Archibald Yronwood's existence, but yes, the man was imposing. Not as tall as the Mountain, but taller than any of the Dornish party. Although if he remembered correctly, Arch's strength wasn't with a sword, but a hammer. Although, the boy did wield a greatsword here…
"Ready, my prince?" came the cavernous voice inside the armor.
"Whenever you wish, Ser Archibald." Oberyn nodded.
The first swing caught Oberyn off guard. The greatsword, although made with blunted steel, nearly caught his spear right in the middle and out of his hands. Clearly, Quentyn had taught Archibald to stay as close to the Mountain's style as possible, that is, brute force your way through everything.
It was good practice, with Oberyn letting Ser Archibald exhaust himself with every swing, staying right out of range while he played with his distance, unleashing his spear once in a while.
To the Yronwood boy's credit, he did not budge. Standing his ground, he did not give in to Oberyn's tactic of leaving him an opening. However, with every parry, he could feel the giant tire more and more.
Finishing him off was quite easy then. All Oberyn had to do was wait till Ser Archibald's breathing started becoming quicker and louder, and then striking at him. Disarming him was easy, and so was shoving him to the ground.
"Well done, Ser Archibald." Oberyn grinned in front of the applause from the Dornish crowd. "Do you yield?"
"I do, my prince." Ser Archibald said between two deep breaths.
"Reassured, nephew?" Oberyn turned to Quentyn and Nymeria, who were both observing the scene with worried looks. Although Nymeria was now smiling too, Quentyn just stood there, arms crossed, frowning. "It takes a lot more to…aaaaah!"
Suddenly, he felt himself being swept off his feet. The ground came in at lightning speed, with him finishing first on his stomach, his head ringing as his cheek collided with the sand of the sparring ground.
Painfully, he tried to get back up, slowly rising, but he was kept from doing so by a massive weight dropping on his right side. Suddenly, he felt cold steel on his throat, and when his head started ringing, all he saw was the figure of Archibald Yronwood above him, his helmet still down, holding a small dagger to his throat.
"You're dead, my prince." Came the cavernous voice from within the helmet.
"What?" Oberyn looked at the knight, confused. "You yielded!"
"But I didn't confess, my prince." Ser Archibald's voice rang again as if taunting him.
"Confess?" Oberyn heard footsteps approaching him from behind, and everything started to become more apparent.
Ser Archibald pushed himself off of Oberyn, letting him recover, while he could make out Quentyn's silhouette approaching him.
His nephew said nothing and just threw the helmet at his feet.
"You truly never learn." Were Quentyn's only words as he turned heel.
Slowly, turning his back to Oberyn, he left towards Nymeria, who had now lost her smile, and was looking at him with a mixture of sadness and disappointment. She had her fists clenched, and she made a point of staring at him for a long while, before taking Quentyn's arm and leaving the room with him. Neither spoke another word, leaving Oberyn shocked in the middle of the courtyard, feeling blood run down from his lips and with sand and gravel in his hair.
Yet when he finally got up, it wasn't the ringing that continued to sound through his ears while he was escorted back to the Black cells for another day in the dark, it was his nephew's voice.
You truly never learn.
