Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel Comics, Dragon Age, Stephen King's Doctor Sleep, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, or any of their related characters. Character Warjen Zevonishki or "Zevon" is an homage to my favorite musician, long deceased, no disrespect intended, I included him because King dedicated the novel Doctor Sleep to his memory. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other fans like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.
Rating: T
Spoilers: May contain spoilers for Doctor Sleep, Dragon Age Origins, Origins DLC, Awakening, and Dragon Age II, Dragon Age II DLC, Dragon Age Inquisition as well as the novels The Stolen Throne and The Calling. May also contain spoilers for Marvelmovies, series, and/or comics, Harry Potter books, and WB Games' Hogwarts Legacy. Song lyrics included herein were used without permission.
Chapter Twelve: A Dog of Ferelden
Teyrn Loghain hadn't taken the time to pack, nor had he given Elilia any such time. Moreover, he didn't give her any such thing as privacy. His men from Gwaren came prepared for him with a large tent all for his use, but there was no such amenity for Elilia. When she asked whether she was supposed to sleep in the kennels with the mabari he snorted and said she'd probably be more comfortable there. That was when she realized he intended that she share his tent. Of course, Kiveal would be there with them, and no better chaperone could be had, but it was rather unseemly all the same. Word got out around the camp about "the General" and "that tall bird" and Elilia found herself the subject of a lot of sordid rumors very quickly. Of course, when His Majesty arrived and Loki moved into the tent with his two canine chaperones, a lot of that settled down. Not all of it, though.
There were more Darkspawn sorties, but still, nothing major. Loki said that the Darkspawn were still sounding them out, testing their skills, their defenses. It was unnerving to think that there was intelligence behind these seemingly random attacks. They lost a few men, but not many. More egregious were the losses amongst the corps of Mabari. The hounds fought with tooth and claw, not with weapons, and ingested a great deal of tainted blood in each battle no matter how much care was taken. A good many fine hounds that otherwise would have survived the battle were taken Blightsick afterward. The army kennelmaster knew of a folk medicine, made from a common Fereldan flower, that was said to cure or at least ease the Blight in dogs, and scouts were sent to scour the wilds for it. They brought back armloads of it, and the medicine was prepared. Dogs were treated, and it seemed to work quite well, so that at least was good news.
"I wonder if the Grey Wardens know of this flower?" Cailan said. "Andraste's Grace. Such a common thing, yet so potent. What a pity it has no effect on people."
"Perhaps Our Lady Andraste prefers Mabari to people," Loghain said, "for which she could hardly be blamed."
Cailan laughed. "No rewards for guessing which you prefer," he said. "It's always surprised me that you have no hound of your own. You've always seemed drawn more to animals than beings."
Loghain grunted but said nothing.
It wasn't very long after that conversation that the kennelmaster himself came up to Loghain and saluted smartly. "General, Ser, I was hoping I might have a brief moment of your time," he said.
"At ease, soldier. What do you need?"
"I have a Blightsick hound, a very good one, but I can't treat her, Ser. Her master was killed in the last battle, and like most Mabari who've lost their imprinted masters, she's angry at the world right now. Won't let me near her."
"That's too bad, but what do you think I can do about it?" Loghain said.
"Well, General, Ser, Mabari are very smart, as you know, and chances are very good she'll recognize that you're her master's General. I'm hoping she'll stand down for you, Ser. If you can put a muzzle on her, then I'd be able to give her the medicine she needs to get well."
"And if she doesn't stand down, my plate armor stands a better chance against her jaws than your leathers," Loghain said. "Show me the way."
The kennelmaster led him to the compound where the sick dogs were corralled, awaiting treatment. The bereaved bitch was in the last kennel. He entered, and the dog got up, bristling and snarling.
"Stand down, soldier," he said, in a tone of command, and the dog flinched, whined, and sat down with its head hanging.
"I know," he said, in a much gentler voice. "You're sick, and worse still, you're hurting. Your whole world has turned upside-down, and you don't know who to blame. But you can't take it out on the kennelmaster. He's only trying to help you, you know. You've got to let him, for your own sake."
The dog whined and pawed at the earth. She was, or would be, quite a lovely specimen, with a smooth, silvery coat, but her dark eyes were clouded with Blight and fear. Loghain wondered what name she went by.
"I know, I know. Right now you're thinking that it wouldn't be so bad if you never got better. But believe me, there's no point in those thoughts. You're a warrior, and you have a duty. A duty to survive. And you will survive, no matter how much it hurts. You'll get better, and someday you'll even find yourself another master. You'll move on. Because life… goes on. And you'll go on with it. We both will."
The dog whined, and Loghain felt a bit like whining himself, but he knelt down and the dog allowed him to fit the muzzle over its snout. "There," he said. "Unpleasant, I know, but it's only for a short time. Taking medicine is often an unpleasant proposition, but better for us in the long run. I wish you well, soldier. Better fortunes for the future, eh? For both of us, hopefully."
He left the kennel, and the kennelmaster looked up at him respectfully. "Excellently done, General. Not that I doubted you for a moment. Now I can treat the poor girl properly. You have a real way with Mabari, which doesn't surprise me at all. May I just say, Ser, that with Mabari spread now to the four corners of the world, it seems to me a crying shame that a real Fereldan man like yourself doesn't have his own? I've never understood it."
"I don't want one," Loghain said, and felt like a tremendous hypocrite even as he said it. He turned on his heel and marched away.
He was a hypocrite, and he knew it. He told the dog to move on, but he was unwilling to do so himself. Unwilling even to move on from the loss of Adalla, his childhood Mabari, who'd been gone almost three thousand years now. Move on from Celia, his true life's companion? Hardly. But he must, and he must do so soon, lest Odin make good on his threat to take his head. Five years was no time at all, and the previous Blights all lasted centuries. He might be quite busy for the foreseeable future. Best to get it handled before things got too overwhelming.
Elilia was a biddable girl, and a ferocious warrior. He could see her becoming a true companion, somewhere down the road. Unfortunately, however, she clearly saw him as no more than a mentor, someone she could learn from. Her father had already implied he would not force her into a loveless marriage, and Loghain himself had no particular desire to do that to her either, so other arrangements must be made. There were few other choices for Fereldan noblewomen, and Odin would of course insist he marry a noblewoman. Delilah Howe would have been a decent choice; a quiet, self-effacing girl, by all accounts, but with her father dead and her family under suspicion of treason there stood a good chance she wouldn't be noble much longer. Better to steer clear of that mess. That left… Talos preserve him… Habren Bryland.
Had it really come to this? Would he be forced to marry a prissy little bratling? Of course, she would learn better ways under his roof, he would see to it. He was not a cruel man, by any measure, but he was far more stern than to what she apparently was accustomed. But could he tolerate her rich-bitch ways and disrespect in the meantime?
It was late evening, and he was quite tired, having fought hard and not slept at all in several days. He went to his tent, climbed in, and lay down. Loki was already there, flanked by Mabari, sound asleep. Elilia was there, too, with Kiveal on his back beside her, paws dangling limply in the air, his mouth gaping and his tongue lolling, snoring softly. There wasn't a great deal of room in the tent with them all there, though it was a large tent, meant to stand as a mobile command center. Cailan had another like it. With no other occupants in his, he was able to set it up quite nicely with a cot and a small rolltop desk and a chair.
Unusual as it was for him, Loghain was asleep in a matter of minutes. Elilia, however, was not asleep. Was, in fact, very far from it. She found it difficult in the extreme to sleep in Loghain's tent, with him no more than arm's reach away. But in spite of this, and in spite of the lurid rumors, she had no particular desire to find or to fashion her own tent. For one thing, it would be difficult in the extreme to find or to make a tent that would be big enough for her. This one was big enough not only to keep her dry in the drizzly early spring weather but also Loghain and the little boy and all the dogs as well. That was not to be sniffed at. But more… she liked being near him. It was… exciting.
She knew he was widowed, and under threat to marry again soon. She had hopes that perhaps that was what her supposed "apprenticeship" with him had actually been about. But clearly, he had zero interest in her as anything other than a protege. It hurt, deeply, to know that she was so unappealing that a man threatened with death would not even consider her as a marriage candidate, but that was where she was. Of course, she knew she had herself to blame. She'd built herself a reputation among the nobility as a rogue element, a wild card. "The Cousland Barbarian," they'd called her, and she'd actually been pleased at the moniker. But the Teyrn of Gwaren would never hitch his fortunes to a woman like that! If only she had known he would be so bloody… attractive! She wouldn't have worked so hard at making herself so bloody unattractive!
She spent a long time that night chastising herself before she finally slipped off to sleep. Sometime later, an intruder entered the tent, stepping cautiously. The intruder knew they were taking a terrible risk, entering the General's private space like this, especially this late at night, but it was a risk they were willing to take. They bellied in cautiously, taking care not to make a sound, for they knew the General was a great warrior and would likely sleep lightly. The greatest warriors were always on alert.
Fen'Harel, Loki's black Mabari with white-pointed ears and a white blaze on his muzzle, awoke with a start and raised his head. He looked at this intruder and cocked his head curiously, but did not sound an alarm. The intruder stretched forward and sniffed noses with him, and he chuffed softly and put his head back down, satisfied that all was well. Relieved, the intruder lay down next to the General and curled up against his back to sleep. He woke slightly at that, recognized that a dog was butting up against him, assumed it was Fen'Harel, Haakon, or even Kiveal, and immediately fell asleep again.
Elilia was the first to waken in the pale, dreary light of dawn. She blinked her Cousland blue eyes open and looked past Kiveal's still-snoring form toward Loghain's massive figure, and blinked hard twice more. A large silvery pile lay beside him. At first she thought it was his blanket. Despite the near-constant drizzle which was only to be expected in Ferelden this time of year, the weather had been remarkably warm for this far south and this early, and she noticed he tended not to use his top cover, at least in this weather. But no Fereldan army blanket was ever that flashy shade that reflected what little sunlight there was like a newly-minted coin. When a large Mabari head raised up and panted at her, she was only a little surprised.
"Hello," she said softly. "Does he know about you?"
The dog chuffed softly, smiling a doggy smile with its tongue lolling out.
"I hope he does, because I foresee loud noises occurring if he doesn't," she said. She looked about and realized that what little path she'd had out of the tent was filled by the new dog. "I don't suppose you'd care to let me out of here, would you? I kind of have to pay a visit to the camp latrines."
The dog grunted and hove to its feet, turned, and left the tent. Elilia carefully rose, stepped over Kiveal, and shuffle-stepped out, bent double. It was a relief just to stand up straight outside. She took a moment to look the new Mabari over in the clear light of dawn. It was a bitch, with a beautiful silver coat, quite large, and rippling with lean muscle. Kiveal would be delighted to meet her, no doubt. She wondered what its name was. It wore a collar but there was no tag. Such things weren't common in Ferelden anyway. No one wanted a stranger to know their Mabari's name, even though Mabari were not stupid dogs who fell for strangers knowing their names. She wondered why it had come to Loghain's tent. It was full-grown, it was unlikely in the extreme that it wasn't already imprinted. Had its master died in battle? Mabari bereft of their masters did sometimes move on, but it usually took a long time. Centuries, at least.
Of course, Loghain was no ordinary man. If anyone could make a Mabari overcome the loss of their imprinted master quickly, it was he. As she headed off toward the line of quicklimed trenches dug for the camp privies Elilia mused on the conundrum of Loki and his two Mabari. For a child that young to have even one Mabari was almost unheard of. Mabari, even Mabari pups, went for people of worth, and very small children had no particular worth to them, whatever it was that guided their choice of imprinting. For one person to imprint two Mabari at the same time was equally astonishing. Of course, she'd heard that her "sweet cousin" Habren had something to do with that.
She shook her head. Habren. Cousin Leonas was a good sort but he'd done wrong by his daughter, allowing his sister Werberga to spoil the girl beyond all reckoning. Habren was, in Elilia's opinion, the worst of a bad lot. Fereldan nobility had not a great cache of pleasant young women, but Habren was… unique, to say the least.
She thought about Loki himself. He was an odd child. So tiny… only to be expected, really, since he was extremely young. But he was smart. Frighteningly smart. Loghain said he was not a mage, or at least there was no proof of it as of yet, but many of the things he said and did seemed very… magey. Of course, Elilia was not completely of the opinion that the Chantry was right about mages, but she'd still been well-indoctrinated in their preaching her whole life long, so the boy made her a trifle… nervous. She wasn't entirely sure if the idea that he was an undiscovered mage made her more nervous than his cool, superior intellect or not.
He was friendly enough, at least, in a standoffish sort of way that suited her. She wasn't particularly comfortable around children, especially small children. Even Oren made her nervous, truth be told. Small children made her feel unnecessarily large and clumsy and occasionally rather stupid. Especially this one, who not only seemed to be better educated than her, despite never having attended school a day in his life, but who seemed to have absolute control over his little limbs despite the fact that, at his age, he should still just barely be able to roll over in his crib and be messing his nappies. She wondered how quickly he'd given over doing that. Pretty damned quick, if she had to guess. This was not a boy who made a mess of himself. Even the idea of him doing his business in an open trench in front of soldiers was hard to credit. The boy had an aura of dignity far greater than his years.
She finished up her own business, wished for a bath and a clean change of clothes, and headed back to the tent, wishing to see what would happen when Loghain discovered the dog. She didn't know why she believed he would be angry – anyone else chosen by a Mabari could reasonably be expected to be ecstatic – but she did. Because it was a disruption of the order of things, and he did not like anything that disrupted his ordered world.
She heard him cursing before ever she came in sight of the tent. She smiled just a little. It was as she predicted. She broke into a trot and found him towering over the big silver bitch, just outside the tent, swearing a blue streak in a very loud voice – but nowhere near shouting – Loki nearby watching with keen interest and quite a little evident enjoyment.
"When I told you to move on, I did not mean move on to me," Loghain said, glowering fiercely at the dog, who did not seem at all discomposed at his loud tirade. Indeed, she was panting and grinning happily at him in her Mabari way.
"I take it the two of you are previously acquainted?" Elilia said, trying not to laugh at him.
He looked up at her, scowling. "She was sick with the Blight, and her master died in battle. The kennelmaster asked me to put a muzzle on her because she wouldn't let anyone near. Said she'd 'recognize her General,' of all the ridiculous things."
"Seems like it worked," Elilia said. "Not only did she recognize you, but she decided that you're the best possible successor to her late master she could hope for."
"Damn it. I don't need this."
"You don't need an ever-faithful war hound? Really? That wouldn't be at all useful to you?"
"I don't even know her name."
"Ask the kennelmaster. If anyone knows, he does. And if he doesn't, give her a new one. She won't mind."
He fetched a tremendous sigh, as if he were terribly put upon by this task. "All right. Come on, you. Let's go find out what to call you."
Elilia watched them go, smiling and shaking her head. When she turned back, however, she saw Loki staring hard at her with his unsettling half-Al Bhed, half-Alamarri eyes.
"I can't read Papa's mind," he said.
"What?" she said.
"His mind. I can't read it. I think he has at least a little touch of the Shining, although he'd go to the gallows denying it if it came to that. But I still know what he's thinking about… current things. Not by reading his mind, but by reading his face. He doesn't have much of a Wicked Grace face, really."
"What are you talking about, child?" Elilia said, deeply uncomfortable for reasons she was not quite sure of.
"He thinks you don't care for him. And with the Darkspawn issue pressing down on him he isn't going to waste a lot of time trying to woo you. I don't think he ever was much on wooing ladies in the first place. That means he's going to marry someone else. Delilah Howe wouldn't be so bad, but after what her father did I doubt he'd even consider opening that can of worms. My fear is that he'd go for Habren Bryland, which would be bad for me, personally, but would be bad for him, too. She is… worse than he thinks she is. He thinks she is spoilt, and she is, but it's worse than that. She's sick."
"He would marry Habren before he would consider marrying me?" Elilia said, stunned.
Loki waved a hand in front of his face in frustration. "You're not getting it. He thinks you don't like him. He would be perfectly happy to marry you, if you would be happy with him. You are the best choice for him and he knows it. But your father told him he would not force you to marry and Papa isn't going to try it either. If you like him, tell him so. Because you're going to lose your chance very soon."
Elilia didn't know whether to be appalled, affronted, or ecstatic. Or all of the above. According to this strange and very forward child, she had a chance.
She knew it was her fate to marry someone. That was the fate of any young noblewoman. Her parents had been remarkably tolerant of her desire not to be tied to rat bastards like Tomas Howe and Vaughan Kendalls, and the world rejoiced that one of them at least was no longer a part of the greater equation of life. If she had to be tied down, why not be tied to someone she at least found reasonably attractive? A man she actually respected? Her parents would not allow her to remain unattached forever, no matter what they might want. The idea of who she might be left with when the day finally came for them to force her into marriage left her cringing. Or, she supposed, they could go the other way the nobility sometimes went when they had daughters who didn't want to marry as was proper, and force her to take orders in the Chantry. That might actually be worse than marrying some random noble prig.
She gathered her scattered thoughts and headed toward the kennels, not sure what she would say or do, but knowing she had to do something. When she reached him, Loghain knelt by the kennels, scratching the silver bitch's ears.
"He doesn't know her name," he said, seeing her approach in his peripheral vision, "and doesn't know of anyone who does. Guess that means I have to come up with one for her. I'm wretched at naming animals."
"We… have to talk," Elilia said. Loghain stood up and looked at her questioningly. "Loki said… you were thinking about marrying Habren Bryland. That would be a huge mistake. He thinks so, and so do I."
"I don't know exactly how much choice I have," he said. "I must marry someone, or I'm as good as dead. She wouldn't be my first choice, but choices are thin on the ground."
"Would you… consider… marrying me?" Elilia said. It was difficult even to get the words out.
"I would," he said, quite slowly, "if you wouldn't be opposed to the idea."
"I am not. Not at all."
"Well. Then… I guess that's settled."
"Yeah, I… guess it is."
"You realize it won't be a grand affair, I hope. We'll have to have that, somewhere down the line, to satisfy convention, but not until the Darkspawn are dealt with. For now, to keep my head safely on my shoulders where it belongs, it will have to be a much more makeshift matter, probably right here in camp."
"That doesn't bother me in the slightest," Elilia said. "I don't want a grand wedding. I hate fuss and feathers."
He smiled a bit. "On that, we're agreed. But even if your parents are willing to send you off in plain style, I doubt very much that the rest of Ferelden won't throw a fit about not having a great crashing wedding bash to attend. I'd say the helheim with all of them, but Odin is likely to take their side of things."
"Why is he so invested in your remarriage anyway?" Elilia said.
"It's… complicated."
"It doesn't make any sense."
"Odin has always felt obliged to interfere tremendously in my life. Let's leave it at that, for the nonce. Come, we have to find your father and tell him what's been decided."
She walked with him toward the encampment where her father's large tent was located. The silver Mabari walked close to his other side. "You know," Elilia said, watching the dog, "custom says that any marriage ceremony, no matter how plain, must have a Best Man and a Maid of Honor."
"Yes, I know."
"How about we have the dogs stand for us?"
He stopped and turned to look at her. "Say what now?"
She turned to him, her face earnest. "Think about it! How quintessentially Fereldan! Your new friend can be my Maid of Honor – we honestly don't know that she's ever been bred – and Kiveal can be your Best Man! It will be perfect! The men will love it!"
He couldn't help it. He broke out laughing. "Woman, do you really want to piss the Chantry off like that? Dogs at a wedding?"
"It's my wedding. I want it my way," she said, quite stubbornly, but she did feel a little finger of fear tickle its way up her spine. The Chantry probably wouldn't like it, at that. Party poopers.
"If that's what you want, then so let it be. Wouldn't be the first time I was burnt in effigy before the Grand Cathedral," he said, still laughing. "Guess this puts extra added pressure on me to come up with a proper name for this silver girl, eh?"
They continued on. Elilia's father and brother were both up, outside in front of her father's tent, drinking tea by their campfire, apparently enjoying the temporary surcease of the near-constant rain. "Elilia!" Bryce said, catching sight of her. "Loghain! What brings you by? Any news?"
"Good news, I hope, Bryce," Loghain said. "Your daughter has… agreed to marry me."
Bryce's jaw dropped, and Fergus spit out a mouthful of hot tea. "So soon? That's unexpected. But very welcome. Congratulations, both of you," Bryce said, composing himself.
"Maker's salty balls," Fergus said in a hoarse voice. "I never thought it would happen. Teyrn Loghain, I thought better of you. I never thought you were mad enough to marry Elilia."
"Shows what you know, Fergus," Elilia said, her nose held high. "He's under duress."
Bryce rose slowly to his feet. "I can hardly credit it," he said. "Finally, after all these years… at last you're someone else's problem, Pup."
"Father!"
"Your mother and I love you dearly, Pup, but you have been a handful and a half! Give me a hug!"
She embraced her father and kissed his cheek. Then Fergus stood up and she hugged him as well. Then Fergus stood back and caught sight of the dog at Loghain's heels. "Teyrn Loghain! You have a hound!" he said, surprised.
"I do not have a hound," Loghain said. "It would appear that the hound has me."
"At last!" Bryce laughed. "All this time, I thought you must be some sort of subversive cat person!"
"Nothing wrong with cats," Loghain said, with the quirk of an eyebrow. "Ferocious little fuckers, cats. I have great respect for them."
Bryce and Fergus laughed. Fergus scratched the hound's ears and asked, "What's his name?"
"Her name. No one knows. Her master died in one of the last battles, and no one seems to know what he called her by. Means I'll have to come up with something, and I'm shite at naming animals, as my horse can attest. Behooves me to give it a good shot, though, because Elilia wants her to stand as her Maid of Honor."
Bryce laughed, but he looked concerned. "Pup, seriously?"
"Yes. And Kiveal will be Best Man. Why not? It's a perfectly Fereldan arrangement, and we're only getting married here in camp, not a proper Chantry wedding."
"Here in camp…?"
"The Darkspawn, Bryce," Loghain said. "There've been four Blights prior to this one, and they all went on for at least a few centuries. I don't have time to wait it out, because I have no doubt that Odin will stick to his five year time limit. After matters are properly settled, of course, we'll have a proper Chantry ceremony with everyone in attendance."
"Eleanor won't be happy to miss her little girl's wedding," Bryce said. "But I do understand the constraints of time, with the war and all."
"A wedding with dogs standing up for the bride and groom!" Fergus crowed. "That old bat of a Revered Mother who came down from Denerim with the army will have a conniption fit! I can't wait to see it."
"You'll see it soon enough," Loghain said. "I fully intend to have this done tomorrow. The Darkspawn are holding back for now, but they keep coming at us harder and harder each time they make a sortie. Next time they attack it could be quite the battle. We may be in the shit for real and all, once that happens."
"Cailan says you have… 'intelligence'… about the horde," Bryce said. "Do you know when they're planning to make their big move?"
"No, I don't. And I do wish Cailan weren't such a bloody loudmouth. Something tells me, though, that they won't make any big moves before the Wardens return from Orzammar, at the earliest. I don't know why they'd want their supposed worst enemies out in front of them, but somehow, I think maybe they do. That's not any intel I actually posses, just a sort of… instinct."
"Well, we have good cause to trust your instincts with regards to warfare," Bryce said. "Even against such strange enemies as these."
"Too bad the idea of taking them on chargers turned out to be futile," Fergus said.
"Yes, the Wardens might have warned us that the bulk of Darkspawn were no taller than Dwarves. Or it least, so it seems thus far," Loghain said. "A few hume-sized ones and the occasional monstrosity more to my scale. That's all we've seen thus far. Everything else has been the short ones, what they say are called Genlocks. Haven't seen any of those ones they say shriek like the bloody damned, for which I suppose we should be grateful."
"No fear at least that our Mabari won't take them on," Elilia said.
"Never any fear of that," Bryce said. "The only difficulty with a Mabari is keeping them out of fights."
"I'm just glad there seems to be a viable cure for Blight sickness, at least with regards to Mabari," Loghain said. "They stand at the highest risk of it."
"Yes, I'd heard that the kennelmaster was having success treating sick hounds," Bryce said. "It's true, then?"
"It's true. This poor girl here was quite sick when I first met her," Loghain said. "You couldn't tell it now."
"What medicine cures Blight sickness?" Fergus said. "I had heard only the Grey Wardens themselves held the cure."
"For people, apparently they do," Loghain said. "For Mabari, however, there's Andraste's Grace."
"Andraste's Grace?" Fergus said. "The flower? That's common as Elfroot in Ferelden!"
Loghain shrugged. "It works. I'll not gainsay it's availability."
"That's what you should name her!" Elilia said, eyes widening.
"What?"
"She was saved by Andraste's Grace! Think of it! The perfect name for her! Grace!"
Loghain's eyebrows shot up. He turned to the dog and looked down at her. "That all right by you? Grace?" She barked. "Sounds like a yes. Grace it is, then."