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5. Brother and Sister

With a sigh that spoke more of relief than it spoke of bitterness, Éomer entered the stables with long, weary steps, passing the many boxes filled with steeds of impeccable condition, all belonging to the royal household and the nobler people of the capital, until he arrived at his destination at long last. Pulling out a fresh carrot, dangling it in front of the barred box, the stallion quickly came out of the shadows, and what a fine beast it truly was! A proud white head shaking the silver mane, strong flanks that showed an energetic body chequered in grey and white, and dark-grey legs that had faithfully carried this noble beast and its master into a hundred battles and rides.

'Hello, old friend.', the king, that was now only a man, said, and handed the treat over to his eager four-legged companion. Leaning on the bars, watching the animal devour the carrot almost in one bite, languorously chomping away, Éomer stroked its neck and hide with an unusual amount of affection that was reserved only for those friends closest to him, speaking of a bond between horse and rider that had lasted for many, many years. The great grey stallion by the name of Firefoot, having devoured his little snack, now greeted his master in appropriate fashion, shaking his mane, throwing his head back and forth as though in a nodding movement, before giving his friend and master an affectionate albeit clumsy nudge.

'Yeah, I missed you, too, mate.', Éomer chuckled slightly as he stroked his animal friend behind the ear, earning him a whinnying sound of affectionate approval and perhaps even a little disappointment for the small amount of treats. For a moment he smiled freely, as much and as happily as he hadn't done in a long, long while, but then the smile was gone, as quickly as it had come it had vanished again, and with its disappearance the sombre thoughts returned.

With another sigh – and this time it spoke only of bitterness – the king could not help the old worries return with their full might and with them came new worries, and some of them even heavier than the old ones. Busying himself with saddling his horse, Éomer tried, unsuccessfully, to block out the thousand and one worries and thoughts that, by now, seemed to plague almost every hour of his day.

In the mornings he woke with a heavy feeling in his stomach that told him he had no business sleeping in the king's bed. When he got ready for the day, washing his face, looking up in the mirror, he was met with a face that was not the face of a king. When he donned his crown (which he did not do very often, mind you) for official audiences and council meetings, he felt its weight doubling, bearing down on him, telling him that he didn't have the makings of a king. In the evenings when at last he went to sleep, he would find none, because even in the subconsciousness of his dreams he would be followed by his perceived certainty that he was neither a true king nor ever would be.

To be eaten up alive by doubts and worries about your own self-worth, that alone would have been enough to drive any man insane and to look for the smallest retreat in the unlikeliest of places; but he was not any man, he was a king, and what was more, he was king to a country that appeared to drown in more and more problems every day. Not only was the Westemnet still crawling with enemies from Dunland, wild, dirty, vicious men without sense and honour; but lately bands of renegades from among his own people had formed, men, old and new, boys even, who roamed the wild, driven to cruelty and thieving by desperation, loss and hunger – and that, too, was an ever growing problem.

After all, just because the war was over, it didn't mean that all was well: they had been victorious on the battlefield, yes, but their victory was a hollow one – as to be expected with the outcome of any war, the harvest was poor and hunger was rampant, and this war had not been like any other. This war had been a new one, and it had come to their very homes, had raged in their very hearts; and amidst the carnage and the killing, the wanton destruction and the loss of family and friends, the realisation had dawned on them that they were no longer untouched or unscathed by it – they had won, yes, but the price for it they were still paying.

So, of course, worries weighed him down greatly, almost more than the burden of his own self-doubts, even more so because it seemed that there was not a single damned thing he could do about the suffering of his own people. Every day, for months now, council meeting chased council meeting, one bleaker than the other, each detailing the true scope of the poor harvest, the lack of food, the lawlessness that disturbed the peace of the outer regions and the omnipresent threat of old enemies lashing out again and again – and he did not know how to phrase it, how to nail it down, but if he were to find words for it: he was simply fed up with it, exhausted, overwhelmed.

As he saw it he had neither the training nor the makings of a good king. And as he forced himself to suffer through meeting after meeting, to make political decisions that felt worse and worse by the day, to endure the endless and useless debates of his councillors, it became clearer to him more and more that he was not cut out for this – and the only true retreat, it would seem, that he had left were his morning rides. On top of his faithful steed and closest companion, for once, he did not have to think of his own short-comings or the misery of his people, and while kicking his boots into the flanks of his stallion and spurring him on, for once, he could forget all of his worries and his self-doubts.

Therefore it was understandable that Éomer king was less than thrilled – when he had finally prepared his steed, after he had saddled and bridled him, when at last he led him towards the entrance of the stables, ready to leave it all behind, at least for an hour or so – that he was met with the bright smile and mischievous wink of his sister Éowyn.

'Good morning, brother.', she hummed with a cheeky tone, and there was something about the way she leaned again the stable doors, the way her arms were folded, that told that she was up to no good – more than usually. Sighing with no little amount of vexation, Éomer rolled his eyes at his sister, barely trying to hide his annoyance, and he didn't know what bugged him more in this moment – the fact that she had managed to disturb the only time of his day that was truly his, or that she had managed to startle him with her devilish lightness of foot, even if his pride as a warrior would not allow him to admit to such. Truly, ever since she had taken up her studies of proper conversation and proper dancing and proper curtseying and other proper lady-like nonsense she had become remarkably stealthy in her steps, almost frighteningly so.

'What do you want now, Éowyn? I'm kind of in the middle of something here.', he grunted pointedly and pulled at the reins, leading his horse further towards the entrance of the stables, hoping that she would catch his more or less subtle implication and it would be enough to discourage her from any further intrusion in his private hobby, but he would be disappointed, because as he neared the doors, the shieldmaiden simply stepped in front of him, barring the way with a smile unparalleled in its cheekiness, 'Do I need a reason to join my beloved brother in a morning ride?'

'Listen, Éowyn – ', he started, feeling the impatience tugging at him – after all, she had just interrupted one of the last simple joys he had as the king of a struggling kingdom – which explained why his words came out harder than necessary, 'I really don't have time for your nonsense right now. I'll be overseeing two trials later, siting through three different meetings with my councillors and I'm not particularly looking forward either to suffering through yet another painful calculation session with the royal tax collector – so, if you don't mind, allow me some time for myself!'

'Oh, fear not, brother, in a few months' time you'll be having all the time for yourself.', she countered coldly then; with a flash her smile had vanished and she turned sombre and serious. It was a low blow and they both knew it, but it was effective all the same. All of the sudden the air between them shifted – it was no longer the tension of everyday life as an unwilling king or the mischief of a slightly intrusive shieldmaiden, but instead it was the melancholic heaviness of their upcoming separation that hung over them both. It was true, in their day-to-day life it was easy to block out her upcoming wedding; in the hustle and bustle of everyday life it was easy to block out that all that preparation, all the lessons and dresses, that all of this would eventually lead to the departure of his sister and it would mean the inevitable separation of the once so inseparable siblings.

Éomer froze, closed his eyes and sighed, feeling the sting of something tug at his heart. He loved his sister, more than anything in the world he loved her, and he wished nothing more than for her to find the happiness she deserved, and yet he would have sold his crown, his kingdom, his sword and his horse – if only she could have found that happiness here and not out there, in the treacherous South, so far from their home. It had always been them against the world; since they were children, since their parents had died, she had relied on him and he had relied on her; they were each other's mirror, they were so similar, in their strengths and also in their faults – but soon they would no longer be a team, soon enough she would be gone. Any brother who had a sister that he loved would feel the pain that he felt at that exact realisation, and perhaps it even was that feeling of dread that led to him caving in.

'I'll wait.'

At his yielding his sister beamed with unbound glee and rushed to him to plant an affectionate and no less triumphant kiss on his cheek before running off to prepare her own horse for a ride-out. Looking over his shoulder he saw her saddle and bridle the mare she had been given upon their return from Minas Tirith, and it seemed almost a lifetime ago, though he remembered it as if it had been yesterday. According to their traditions and given the renown she had won in the battle on the Pelennor field she had been honoured along with all the other warriors and that typically involved the gifting of a horse of their own choosing. Now of course it had been a little bit unusual for a woman to be honoured for her deeds in battle, but his sister, undoubtedly, was a great shieldmaiden, and even if she would never be a knight in the sense that the other honoured warriors were made to be, she was still a warrior that had won renown and for the Riddermark and its people and its king she would forever be the Lady of the Shield-Arm.

'As it so happens, I do have one thing I wanted to talk to you about.'

Torn out of his thoughts, Éomer looked back to see his sister coming towards him, pulling her mare along, her face the mask of a child pretending innocently not to be responsible for a cheeky prank – oh, he knew that face, he had seen a thousand times before, and he knew it was never a good sign. Rolling his eyes he started to walk – perhaps he could outpace her and whatever it was she wanted to talk about? – but his sister came straight after him, and so he simply sighed, 'Here we go again.'

'You know, I've had a lovely little chat with your lovely little wife. Charming woman, really quite charming.', his sister began, eagerly trying to keep up with his walking pace as they slowly but surely left the stables behind.

'Is there a point to all of this, Éowyn? Or are just flexing your new-found lady-skills on me? Because if you are, I really don't have the – '

'I also had a lovely little chat with our two favourite maids.', she countered, ignoring his annoyed interjection, 'As it would seem not all is well in the golden bedchamber of Meduseld?'

At this Éomer stopped dead in his tracks, for a moment desperate enough to pretend that he had not just heard what she had very much just said, but as he turned to her and beheld the challenge that sparkled in her grass-green eyes he knew there was no way he would get out of this so easily.

'No, I'm not having this conversation with you.', he said sternly, and with that he simply put his boot in his stirrup and swung himself on the back of his horse, trying to put some distance between himself and his sister, trying to put an end to this conversation before it had even begun. But Éowyn was not so easily discouraged, and he should have known she wouldn't leave it at that, she was a shieldmaiden after all and his sister; and so she simply mounted her mare and came straight after him, unrelenting in her insistence, 'Oh, yes, you will, dear brother.'

'No, Éowyn. No.', he refused once more, this time with even more force, shaking his head, the warning clear in his voice but she was too much like him to heed it.

'Brother, there is no shame if one needs a little help – '

'I don't need help.', he growled with smouldering anger, the words, quite menacing in their tone, pressed through clenched teeth, 'I know how it's done.'

'Well, obviously, if that were the case, I wouldn't be here now, would I?', she questioned sweetly, but the bite in her words was barely masked by her sweet tone and even sweeter smile, and though her brother mumbled something to himself (and it was the only real sign he showed that he even acknowledged her at this point) it was too low for her to make out what it was, though she doubted not that he had long come to regret his brotherly indulgence from before. With a cheeky smile that hid a serious endeavour she pushed on, intent on pulling him out of his comfort zone, 'I know it can be tough for a man sometimes to admit to a lack with regard to certain qualities in – '

'There is no lack regarding any qualities here, Éowyn!', he shouted then, whipping around so quickly it very nearly spooked their horses and very much drew more than just a couple of eyes towards them; noticing this, they both spurred on their horses before the king took a deep breath and continued with a lower voice but with no less threatening meaning in its tone, 'And keep your voice down, for Béma's sake! I'd rather not be embarrassed in front of the whole of the Riddermark, thank you very much.'

'No lack in any regard, huh?', the shieldmaiden continued then, tentatively, after a short ride, after a short while, after they had already passed through the gates and slowly but surely left the city-fortress of Edoras behind; generally, she was not a cruel person, and she knew how uncomfortable this conversation was for her brother, but nonetheless it was a conversation that needed to be had, and even if she could be swayed to not take a swing at his pride in the earshot of others, it didn't mean she would be very mindful of that pride on the whole, 'Well, apparently, your wife seems to be of a mind to disagree.'

And that did the trick. The King of the Riddermark stopped his horse dead in its tracks, clearly rattled, though he was too proud to grace her with any direct answer nor did he acknowledge her so much as to turn around. But it mattered not, she had achieved what she had set out to do. As she had expected, one word, one mention of his wife and the mighty warrior was caught off his guard. But Éowyn only smiled as she stopped her mare next to him; she had long figured out her brother's feelings for his little wife, and no matter how many walls he sought to build, the embers of it were smouldering relentlessly, and he could deny it all he wanted but he wouldn't fool her. Her brother had been in love with his wife the moment he had laid eyes on her for the very first time, and all he had left to do now was to realise it.

'Your reaction seems to suggest at least a minimum of regard for her feelings, and that's good.', the shieldmaiden started cautiously and her keen eyes did not miss the way his shoulders tensed at her words and it was the tension of a man afraid to be found out and the dread of something more coming, and he would not have been wrong as his sister was prepared to wage an all-out war to have him surrender and see reason, even at the cost of manly pride and sibling love, 'You know what would be even better? If you were to find some of that manly prowess and started to act on that regard.'

Éowyn watched with satisfaction as the mighty king shifted uncomfortably in his saddle, the tips of his ears turning red and redder – the tell-tale signs of brotherly flushing. And though he didn't turn around to show that reddish embodiment of his inner turmoil, she knew him well enough to predict with impeccable accuracy that right now her beloved brother was blushing in the brightest scarlet red, though whether embarrassment was the cause of it or rather anger, or perhaps even both, she could not say. But other than that he gave no further reaction to her provocation; no, a brisk and brusque response was all the answer he was willing to give.

'I'm not having this talk with you.'

Shaking his head in that no-nonsense manner of his, the king spurred on his horse gently, leaving his sister behind, leaving the shieldmaiden to spur on her mare in return and to follow in pursuit.

'Oh, we are having this talk, dear brother, whether you like it or not!'

'I'm not listening … ', he repeated again and again while pushing on his stallion, perhaps believing, naively so, that he could outpace her as well as this conversation, but he should have known her better than that, she was relentless in her inquisitiveness and merciless in her sisterly care.

'If I may be so bold as to suggest a few things that I think would greatly improve your … ah, marital relations.', the shieldmaiden called out to him, her voice a little louder than possibly acceptable, but then again she had to fight against the wind coming their way and also reach her brother who, ever so vehemently shaking his head, seemed to try his darnedest to stay out of earshot of her, 'Why not gift her with a present or two? Or spend some quality time, do something she likes? Or, you know, talk to her … in complete sentences, for a change?'

Here, Éowyn paused for a moment, cautiously gauging his reaction and mood for that typical short temper of his, but the king only grunted dismissively as she caught up to him, 'Of course, maybe you are both more physical creatures, but fear not, I can give you some proper advice here too. How about holding hands then? I heard the Southern ladies all like their hands to be smooched. And kissing – Béma! Don't be too shy with the kissing! Not a wet, sloppy horse kiss, mind you, but not a nibble peck either. Take your time, let her get her bearing, let her feel it. And hands, Béma! – I could describe to you a whole world of what your hands could do. For example, when you caress her neck, make sure you – '

'And how exactly is it that you know these things?! Eh, Éowyn?!', whipping around all of the sudden, he stopped them both dead in their tracks, as the horses beneath them started to paw the ground nervously, agitated by the sudden shouting. Honestly, it was near impossible for her not to grin in that very moment; for him to be so predictable, that the simplest push of the right buttons could have him explode like the walls of the Hornburg, and her own black powder were words, just simple, teasing words, and yet it did the trick. Still she wouldn't be so foolish as to laugh at him in that moment; oh, no, she knew this was dangerous territory, and for all her gleeful satisfaction at his infuriation, she knew better than to mock him for it – in his wrath her dear brother's mind was razor sharp and his patience icy thin.

'T-there are a great deal of books on the subject – if you'd care to read them.'

Éowyn lied here really more than she deflected – and they both knew it – but she did not want to stir his wrath any further by admitting to some dangerous secrets no younger sister should share with her older brother. Éomer eyed her suspiciously and she knew by the look on his face that a long-time puzzle was slowly but surely piecing itself together, and thus it wasn't too far-fetched that she would seek to focus his attention elsewhere, away from her and back onto somebody else. After all, she knew for a fact that she wouldn't be too thrilled about becoming a widow before she'd even been a bride.

'Books?'

'Books, yes. Books cannot only improve the mind, but also the heart and the hand and the tongue.'

For a moment they faced each other and the two of them measured one another with a challenging look, neither of them willing to yield in this stalemate of looks and words and assessment. They both knew she was talking about more than just books here, but rather played at his wife through mentioning her passion for reading, and they both knew she didn't really get her knowledge merely from the yellowed pages of dusty books – but the moment they acknowledged either of these truths, dangerous paths to dangerous truths and dangerous feelings could be opened. So, instead, for both of them, feigning ignorance seemed the only viable and safe solution in that moment. Éomer was the first to turn his horse and continue his riding at a slow yet determined pace, and Éowyn followed suit but she wasn't ready to give up her quest just yet.

'You know, one book I read suggested something quite astounding.', the shieldmaiden started again, and she could see by the way his shoulders tensed again that he was near his breaking point and so she pushed on, hoping for some sunshine after the thunder and the lightening and the rain, 'Did you know that with your tongue – '

'ENOUGH!', he boomed then, shouting as he pulled his horse around to face her with the whole might of his rage: face flushed, eyes glaring, teeth bared, 'Will you shut up already?! I am not having this conversation with you.'

'Ah, and why is that?! Because I'm unmarried?! As I recall that didn't stop you from gossiping with your drinking buddies! And it most certainly didn't stop you or your éored fan club from painting Auld Town red!', Éowyn countered then, leading her mare next to him to (be) level with him, and the shieldmaiden was just as equally enraged as her king, but that was only to be expected, for in their fury brother and sister were equally matched, 'Or is it because I'm a woman?! Because if it is, brother, let me tell you – '

'Because you're my sister!', he bellowed then, interrupting her, and now there was no stopping him; with his eyes wide in anger, his face red with wrath, a dark vein pulsing thickly on his forehead, his temper was a fearsome thing to behold, 'These are not things any brother should discuss with his sister – at any time!', his booming voice became a roar, spooking the horses as he talked himself into a veritable rage, 'I mean – don't you get it? I don't want your help, I don't want your advice and I don't want you meddling in my affairs, Éowyn! It's none of your fucking business!'

'Oh, it is my fucking business!', Éowyn countered, her own fury rising to meet the challenge, 'I care about you and I care about your wife, and I care if this marriage succeeds. So, if you'd be so kind as to pull that horse's head out of your arse, and just listen to – '

'But you're not even part of this marriage! For Béma's sake! You're not even married, so what would you really know about it? You're just a tomboy in a woman's dress, jealous of all the things married people do, and angry with me because of that year-long betrothal – and now you're purposefully getting on my nerves just to spite me!', Éomer laughed cheerlessly, as though congratulating himself for seeing right through her, but soon enough that laughter turned into a wolfish grin, his eyes closing in on her assumed weakness and the perceived cues, 'But perhaps, I'm wrong about that, too? Eh? Perhaps I'm blessed to be in the presence of a true marriage expert? Books, huh? Or, perhaps, I should rather challenge your betrothed for a duel?! Or, perhaps, tonight, when I take my lady to bed, you're going to lend us a hand there, too?'

The slap that followed hit so hard you would have even heard it echo high up into the Misty Mountains.

For a moment all was quiet and both brother and sister were struck silent, frozen in shock, and their heavy, laborious breathing was the only sound that could be heard cutting through the eerie silence. Shaking, Éowyn pulled her hand back, balling it into a fist so tight her knuckles turned white, and perhaps she merely wanted to keep herself from striking her hard-headed ass of a brother once again, because, in a way, he was right. She was jealous, in a way; she was angry, and damn straight, she was spiteful – a year of betrothal, a year of waiting, a year of separation; it might as well have been a lifetime for two souls of such love and such devotion and such hunger. And for what? A brother who couldn't let go of his sister? A brother who couldn't bear to give his sister to another man? Or, perhaps, a man so unhappy in his life and marriage he begrudged others their happiness and joy of love? And yet, somehow, despite all her envy and her spite, she still genuinely cared for her brother and his wife and the happiness they perhaps, one day, could have.

Éomer blinked rapidly, shaking his head, trying to get his head out of that numb, shocked feeling, trying to silence the ringing in his ears or to ignore the stars dancing tauntingly before his eyes. Béma, save him! A moment ago he would have thought she had knocked the head from his shoulders clean off. Woman or not, his sister could punch the teeth straight out of a grown man's face, so he should probably count himself lucky her kneecaps were too busy holding her on top of that horse.

'D-did you just slap me?'

Éomer couldn't quite place the tone of his voice there, though, to be fair, he couldn't quite place the emotion behind it either: was he angry, stupefied or even amused? Perhaps, all of it together; and judging by the look of his sister's face, she was roughly in the exact same state of mind.

'Well, you needed to snap out of it!'

Ah, but there was the difference. Of course, she was stunned and more or less low-key amused, and most assuredly, she was angry with him, but there was something else as well: hurt. Yes, there was hurt; but not the hurt of a scorned lover, nor the hurt of a lost love, nor the hurt of a parting sibling either – it was the hurt of betrayal. For him to deny her the joys of love because he himself denied himself such; it was the small-mindedness of a bitterly stubborn man, blind to the truth, refusing to fight out of fear to lose – and for such a man to be faced with another one's light and love and happiness, well, let's just say, it was easier to openly scorn it than to admit to secretly yearn for it.

And so it was that the king found his fury tempered, and his eyes softened, and whatever blow she had dealt, had reached more than just his cheek. As he looked into her eyes, shiny with tears she was too proud to acknowledge, her lips trembling with anger as much as with hurt, and her cheeks flushed in a deep red, he knew he had fucked up. Sure, bickering had been a constant part of their relationship, nagging an essential part of their everyday communication – it was simply how they chose to show affection for one another. But this here had been more than cheeky comments and viciously good-natured teasing; he had crossed a line, and they both knew it.

So, how best to put that horseshoe back on that hoof? How best to apologise? How best to mend the bond that harsh words and quick temper had strained?

'Did you just attack your lord and king?'

'Lord and king?!', Éowyn snorted; her eyes widening for a moment in disbelief and shocked surprise, and if she laughed, it was still more out of mockery than out of true amusement, but it mattered not – his sister laughed, and she smiled, and all tears and hurt and hard truths paled in the sheer brightness of its happy light. Besides, it would keep her mind off more private affairs for a while.

'Attacking your king is a crime punishable by death.', the grim king added, but by now even he couldn't quite keep the grin off his face; still they continued their farce, determined to see it through to the end. After all, jokes and teasing always came easier to them than sensitive words and heartfelt pleas, and yet the apology and love was there – just somewhere between biting wit and mocking quips.

'Attack? Attack?! You call that an attack?!', the shieldmaiden scoffed with well-played indignation, 'And where does it say that, anyway? I don't recall any of that!', she continued, and now her indignation turned to conspirational cheekiness, and the grin that split her mouth from ear to ear, flashing sharp white teeth, made her look like the proverbial cat that ate the canary, 'What I do recall, however, is our ancient tradition that any member of the House of Eorl can challenge another member for the crown. So – if I were to beat you – '

'Beat me?'

' – I would become Éowyn Queen, Mistress of the Riddermark!'

It was then that he finally broke out in a roaring laughter, unable to contain himself any longer, spooking their horses once more, and though his sister grinned heartily, she at least managed to hold back her laughter long enough to chide him for his, 'Laugh all you like, brother. I've beaten you before – I could do it again.'

'Éowyn, we were kids.', he protested then in a semi-annoyed tone, once he recovered from his laughing attack and could breathe again, shaking his head at this resurgence of a debate they had been having for as long as he had been old enough to hold a sword and for her to be old enough to try and steal it from him, 'I've told you a thousand times: the sun was in my eyes – '

' – and the floor was muddy, and you tripped over a root … I know.' , the shieldmaiden finished with a wolf-like grin, as she gave her mare a nudge with the back of her heels to make the beast fall into a slow, lazy walking pace; and with a look thrown over her shoulder – so as to challenge her brother to follow her – she added, 'You keep telling yourself that, brother. You might even believe it one day.'

Shaking his head, Éomer smiled, and his annoyance was only outmatched by his amusement, and by the glad feeling that not only was his sister appeased but also were other, more private affairs left … well, relatively private. However, as he cued Firefoot to follow his sister – nay, not follow; overtake her (after all, a leader should always lead, should he not?), he learned once more that the shieldmaiden's determination was a fearsome thing to behold.

'Now, as I was saying, that thing you can do with your tongue … ', Éowyn started again, but the king only groaned and rolled his eyes – being wise enough to know when a battle was lost – before he pushed his heels into the flanks of his stallion and galloped off. Far away from any worries, or doubts, or decidedly unhelpful helping sisters.

FUN FACT #1: As you can see, the unparalleled communication skills, apparently, run in the Eorl family ... *facepalms in Rohirric*

FUN FACT #2: I have in fact an older brother and a twin sister. All three of us were named after Christian saints - so, if, in a few years, you'll be reading about a woman giving birth to a boy she named Jesus, well, what can I say, you'll know it's me ...

FUN FACT #3: I'm insanely curious about the upcoming Middle Earth show. How about you? Are you curious at all? (If you have intel - I'll take that too ...)