Chapter 84

Ser Roger rode out in his full plate of Arsenal Steel. It was Valyrian Style, of the kind in fashion in Lys, Tyrosh, Myr, and Volantis. That was to say that it resembled Milanese Plate Armor as opposed to the more Maximilian-style plate favored by places such as Norvos or Qohor, or the Composite Scale and Chain favored in areas like Braavos, Lys, or Lorath. It was also a far cry from the Lorica-style armors of Slaver's Bay or the Lamellar favored in places like Qarth, Asabhad, and what few warriors that Lhaazar produced to watch over their flock. Yi-Ti and Leng favored a mix of Lamellar and Mountain Scale Armor, while other cultures such as the Ibbenese and Mossovites favored even more exotic armor than that.

Ironically, Ser Roger's armor wasn't as exotic a sight as it might seem here in Westeros, where every Knight's Armor tended to be an outgrowth of their personal tastes, combat style, and financial abilities. Most tended to stick with a Churburg-style Harness, which was the default Westerosi style of plate armor if such a thing could be said to exist at all. It wasn't uncommon to see Knights in Valyrian Style Plate or Qohorik Style Plate though, nor was it too uncommon to see Braavosi-style scale and chain on Knights who favored mobility in battle over defense.

Ser Roger's armor was, however, well crafted of Forest Green enameled Arsenal Steel and bore the red chevron of his Coat of Arms done across the front in garnets and rubies. It was a testament to the wealth that my vassals had obtained under my rule that he could afford such a harness. Most of the Knights in the Lists weren't half so richly decorated with enamel and gemstones.

As he wheeled his blood-red, roan, Destrier onto the lists, he saluted his opponent with his lance. Lord Balman Byrch, by contrast, was in a rather more plain suit of the default Westerosi Churburg-style plate armor, plainly adorned with terne and pewter, and bearing a green, wool, surcoat with his arms picked out on the front. Lord Byrch plainly refused to salute Ser Roger back, simply shutting his Hounskull Bascinet visor before charging onto the lists.

"This is all Sallhador's fault." I grumbled as I watched the two clash, breaking the first lance against each other, though Ser Roger's hit was more on-target than Lord Byrch's.

"Of course it is. The Man had the temerity to flirt with his sister, in public no less, and she didn't outright shut him down. Lord Byrch likely seeks to avenge his sister's honor on Ser Roger, since Salhador wisely decided to stay out of the Joust." Scoffed Ser Loras Lothston from nearby.

As the pair took up lances and charged again, I couldn't help but agree with my vassal, though I had to point out that if not for Sallhador's incapability of keeping his Sea Serpent underwater, so to speak, that Ser Loras Tyrell's trick with his in-heat mount never would have been discovered.

"It comes in handy from time to time, but the Maesters are fond of saying that even a stopped clockwork is correct twice a day." Shrugged Ser Loras Lothston.

As it happened, the second pass found Lord Byrch being unhorsed by a side swipe of Ser Roger's Lance while Lord Byrch's own lance was sent skipping off Ser Roger's Shield without breaking, handily winning Ser Roger the bout. As the pair were led off the field, and Lord Byrch retrieved a bag of Dragons for his Ransom from his squire, I nodded, looking forward to seeing the next few bouts play out.

Black Walder Frey unhorsed Ser Edmure Tully after a similar two passes, both men equipped in Churburg-style Plate, though Black Walder's was made of blackened steel with the only color being the blue enameled towers of House Frey on the breastplate. Meanwhile, Ser Edmure's own armor was chased in Silver and richly enameled in red and blue. The Fop's ransom was much higher than Black Walder's would have been.

After that, the Hound rode against Ser Bryce Caron. The Hound's Churburg-style armor was plain and unadorned with the singular exception of his helmet, which was worked in the shape of a snarling hound and chased in bronze. Meanwhile, Ser Bryce had a suit of Valyrian-style, Arsenal Steel, plate armor that was chased in gold, and had a Nightengale worked into the breastplate in Jet Inlay. They broke four lances before Ser Bryce Caron was unhorsed, the stronger Arsenal Steel of his armor likely allowing him to hang in there longer than he otherwise would have been able to. In the end, however, the Hound's victory was never in doubt.

Next, Lord Randyll Tarly rode against Lord Anders Yronwood. Lord Tarly's armor was in the Qohorik style, the fluted plates of the Maximilian-esque Armor enameled in green and red, the colors of House Tarly. Meanwhile, Lord Yronwood wore a lighter Braavosi-style Harness of Scale over Chain, worked in Arsenal Steel, and chased in Brass. A single, jet, portcullis was worked into the right pauldron. They broke five lances against each other before Lord Yronwood retired from the field after suffering a dislocated shoulder from a particularly jarring lance hit.

Next, Lord Lydden rode against Ser Lyn Corbray, the Badger Lord's green and brown enameled Churburg-style Armor was enhanced by the helm worked into the shape of a snarling badger, chased in silver and accented with black opals. Ser Lyn Corbray, meanwhile bore a plainer suit of Arsenal Steel, Valyrian-style Plate, whose sole concession to the pageantry of such a prestigious tourney was the single red enameled, heart on his breastplate.

For all that Ser Lyn Corbray wasn't playing into the pageantry, all expected him to best Lord Lydden. All would be surprised, as Lord Lydden managed yet another Upset, triumphing over a jouster who was considered more skilled than he was for the second time I had been present for. This time, he unhorsed Ser Lyn Corbray after just three lances broken.

Next, Ser Wendell Manderly faced off against Ser Hellman Tallhart, the two Northern Combatants were a rarity among their people, being anointed knights, and the contest between them was fierce. In the end, however, it was Ser Wendell's rounded, silver-accented, Churburg-style armor that wound up hitting the dirt, not Ser Hellman's Brown and Green-enameled armor, though it took seven lances to do.

Finally, Lord Monford Velaryon rode out against Lord Guncer Sunglass to end this section of the tourney brackets. Lord Monford was resplendent in silver-chased, Arsenal Steel, Braavosi-style scale over chain, with a teal surcoat of Sea Silk and cloth of silver showing off his wealth. Even out of favor and only passively hooked into my Trade Network, House Velaryon was still far wealthier than most.

By contrast, Lord Guncer Sunglass was more austere, even though his wealth had vastly increased thanks to his more active participation in my Trade Network. His Arsenal Steel, Valyrian-style plate armor was plainly adorned with a single moonstone on the forget and seven starburst-cut, topazes in a circle on the breastplate.

They clashed four times before Lord Sunglass was declared the victory, as Lord Velaryon was pushed out of his saddle on the fifth pass. It was a victory that Lord Sunglass credited to the Seven's Grace, rather loudly. The Man's piety was well-known, though he could stand to be a bit less openly vocal about it, in my opinion.

With Lord Renfred Rykker receiving a bye for the first round, that finished out the second section of the Tourney Bracket. The Third, of which I was a participant. I was up first against Ser Robar Royce, who, in imitation of his father, wore bronze-plated, Churburg-style armor with First Men Runes worked into it. With my knowledge of the Runes and Runic Magic, I knew that the runes worked into the armor were for durability, hardness, flexibility, comfort, and ease of use. They were all inert, however, as if House Royce remembered the shape of the Runes, but not how to charge them.

My own armor had similar runes worked into the engraving in the Arsenal Steel, though mine were charged. It would be unlikely in the extreme for anything to puncture one of my Armor's plates, even if made and enchanted by Other craftsmanship. Mind you, that didn't mean that things couldn't slip through the gaps, nor did it mean I couldn't be hurt by residual impacts. King Robert's legendary warhammer might not stave in my ribcage, but that didn't mean it wouldn't bruise.

Effectively, however, this would allow me to maybe, just maybe, beat the odds and make it into the semi-finals, even with the bracket stacked against me. As I took up my lance and spurred Armino forward into the first test of that, I silently prayed that it would prove true.

Ser Robar, meanwhile, rode at me in a far more self-assured manner. The man was a good four years my senior, with all the training and experience that implied, even if my build was that of a man a year or so older than I was, which narrowed the gap of sheer physicality just a bit. Even my old life's HEMA training hadn't been from horseback, so he had an experience advantage there too.

As we closed the distance, I couched my lance at the last second, slipping it past his shield and into his pauldron at the same time that he smashed his own lance into mine. Both lances shattered, and I turned with the blow slightly to rob it of power, a movement which Robar Mirrored. It appeared we would be in for a second clash.

The second clash proved similar to the first, both of us smashing lances into the other, both turning enough with the blow to avoid the hit becoming too much. A third pass saw both lances break again, though this time, my own lance hit him in a side-swipe as I slashed with it. Ser Robar couldn't turn with that blow, and as his own lance struck me in the breastplate, both of us struggled to stay ahorse. I managed it, bending backward, but staying in my saddle. Ser Robar didn't, hitting the dirt and giving me the victory.

As I brought my horse back around, I saluted Ser Robar with my broken lance haft. He got to his feet and nodded, opening his Hounskull Bascinet Visor and grinning back at me.

"Damn, thought I had you there." He chuckled.

"Apparently not. Apologies, Ser Robar. It appears that I'll be the one advancing this day." I responded.

"No worries, that was well struck, Lord Seawynd." Demurred Robar, before a smaller boy who bore the black wagon wheel on green field of House Waynewood arrived with a pouch of Dragons as well as to take Ser Robar's Horse in hand.

"My Squire, Wallace Waynewood. Wallace, Lord Seawynd." Introduced Ser Robar.

"My L-Lord." Nodded Wallace, stuttering a bit.

"Wallace here has been my squire for about a year and eight months now. Give him another year and I'll make a knight of him. Don't let the stutter fool you, he's a dab hand with a blade, though he needs a bit more muscle before I'd consider knighting him." Grinned Ser Robar.

"Y-Your Ransom, My L-Lord." Offered Wallace, preferring the pouch of Dragons. I took it with a nod of thanks, only for King Robert to shout out from the Royal Box.

"Clear the Bloody Lists and let's get on with it!" Boomed the King.

"I suppose that's our cue. Farewell for the moment, Ser Robar, Wallace." I nodded, before spurring Armino back toward the holding area.

The next few bouts went exactly as I suspected they would. Ser Meryn Trant unhorsed Lord Beric Dondarrion after breaking four lances, Ser Mandon Moore unhorsed Ser Jon Fossoway after breaking three lances, Ser Narbert Grandison Unhorsed the Qohorik Sellsword from the Melee, Ser Barriston the Bold Unhorsed Ser Lymond Vikary, Ser Raymun Darry unhorsed Ser Oswell Cressey, and the Mountain unhorsed Ser Hugh of the Vale in a particularly brutal fashion that saw Ser Hugh break his neck in the fall from his horse.

With the last combatant of my section of the bracket, Lord Jason Mallister, being given a bye, we moved on to the next section of the first-round bracket for the Joust of the Hand's Tourney. Beginning with Ser Jaremy Harte and Ser Jory Cassel. The pair broke three lances but Ser Jaremy unhorsed Jory on the third go. Osney Kettleblack unhorsed the Ghiscari Sellsword from the Melee in his Lorica Segmentum and Manica, and Ser Walton Frey was unhorsed by Ser Jaime Lannister in his golden armor with his lion-headed helm. Then, Ser Loras Lothston was up facing Bronze Yohn Royce.

Like Ser Robar, Bronze Yohn's Churburg-style Plate Armor was plated in bronze and had First Men Runes worked into it, all with meaning, yet none charged with the magic to make them work. Meanwhile, Ser Loras Lothston had on blackened, Valyrian-style, Arsenal Steel, Plate with little bats engraved in gold chasing on it. The two could not have been armored more differently.

Likewise, their mounts were different as well. Ser Loras Lothston's substitute Courser was a dun-colored mare. Meanwhile, Bronze Yohn's Male Destrier was a hardier, piebald, mountain breed. As they saluted each other with their lances, the tension was palpable. Then they both charged and slammed their lances into each other, breaking them on each others' shields.

Ultimately, it took five lances for Ser Loras Lothston to put away Bronze Yohn Royce, and Bronze Yohn wasn't unhorsed. Instead, he withdrew, owing to tweaking his lance shoulder on the last pass, allowing Ser Loras Lothston to advance.

Beyond that, Ser Addam Marbrand unhorsed the Strongboar in another upset that no one saw coming. Ser Addam's burnished copper, bronze, and gold-chased Qohorik-style armor reflected the light of the sun back into the Strongboar's eyes, allowing him to cinch the victory. With Ser Loras Tyrell and his emerald studded, gilded, armor and cloak made of woven flowers having claimed a bye, that was the end of the First Round of the Joust.

We broke for a quick break at our pavilions before returning to the lists for the second round. I wolfed down some garlicky sausage and cheese, washing it down with some watered ale, hoping to get in a quick bit of rest before the next round. Armino was being seen to as well, getting a good brushing down and being fed apple slices. We'd both need to be refreshed to run the gauntlet of the Kingsguard.

When we returned, the King had a flagon of Arbor Gold in one hand as he demanded the second round begin in his booming voice. Ser Lothor Brune managed to unhorse Lord Renly after breaking three laces to start the second round in yet another upset, though given that Lord Renly was an indifferent jouster and Ser Lothor was a Professional Freerider, that shouldn't have been as much of a surprise as it was for many. Lord Renly certainly seemed to laugh the loss off.

Ser Harras Harlaw managed to unhorse Ser Stevron Frey in one last upset in this section of Brackets, though the old heir to the Twins was getting on in years while Ser Harras was still a man in his prime of vigor. The fact that Ser Harras had spent the intervening decade between Balon's Rebellion and the Tourney at Lannisport a few years back being a hostage in the Reach and thus learning the knightly arts from the lords of the Kingdom most known for Chivalry probably helped there as well.

Ser Aron Santagar proceeded to get a second-round bye, likely as a bit of Royal Favor, which left Lord Stannis to unhorse Ser Marwyn Belmore to close out the first section of brackets for the second round of the Hand's Tourney. Now it was Ser Roger's turn to face off against Black Walder Frey.

Black Walder loomed large over Ser Roger as the two saluted each other with their lances. However, Ser Roger may be smaller and older, but he had a lifetime of experience as a sellsword to pick up any number of tricks. He played that to the fullest against Black Walder, clashing three times, couching his lance at the last second, rolling with blows, reflecting sunlight off his polished shield at Black Walder. The tricks kept coming, and eventually, on the fourth pass, Black Walder succumbed, being struck off his horse after Ser Roger's lance slipped past his shield to hit him flush in the center of his blackened steel breastplate.

Black Walder barked out a bitter laugh, reached into his breastplate, pulled out a pouch of dragons, and tossed them at Ser Roger, who caught them, tucked them into his own breastplate, and turned his horse around to leave the lists for the holding area. Black Walder, meanwhile, didn't disguise that he was heading right for the tavern that had been erected near the lists to drink his loss away.

The next bout was hotly anticipated. The Hound versus Lord Randyll Tarly. The pair were both pre-eminent in warfare, though Lord Randyll was more of a strategist than he was a personal combatant, he was still no slouch. The Hound, meanwhile, was all personal combat capability and very little strategy. That was helped along by the Clegane blood in his veins allowing him to be a truly massive man, though still smaller and slighter of build than his elder brother, the aptly named Mountain That Rides.

They clashed three times, breaking a lance each time, with Lord Tarly putting up a stiff fight and employing different tactics, from couching his lance at the last second to slashing with his lance in an attempt to sideswipe the Hound off his mount. Ultimately, however, Lord Tarly realized that he wasn't going to be able to get the best of the Hound. Instead of continuing to try, Lord Tarly withdrew, allowing the Hound to advance.

Lord Lydden unhorsed Ser Hellman Tallhart next, continuing his streak of victories at the expense of the Northern Knight. It likely didn't help that Torrhen's Square, the main holding of House Tallhart, was surrounded by forests on two sides and a large lake on a third. It wasn't ideal country for cavalry in the slightest.

To close out this section of the Tourney brackets for the second round, Lord Renfred Rykker went up against Lord Guncer Sunglass. Lord Renfred wore Braavosi style scale over chain armor, enameled in blue and chased in silver, with a cotton surcoat that was dyed ultramarine and had cloth of silver embellishments. The black, crossed, warhammers of his House were embroidered on his surcoat.

Compared to Lord Guncer Sunglass, Lord Rykker's Tourney ensemble was much more costly, displaying the vast wealth of Duskendale. You would never know it from looking at Lord Sunglass, but Sweetport Sound was almost as wealthy, a fact that seemed to irk Lord Rykker and add a bit of heat to their bout.

They broke four lances, but in the end, Lord Rykker's opulence was overcome by Lord Sunglass' austerity. The Lord of Duskendale was sent tumbling to the dirt on the fifth pass, allowing Lord Sunglass the victory, along with another moment to praise the Seven for granting him his victory. With that, it was once again time for me to take the field. I spurred Armino Forward, taking up my tourney lance and saluting Ser Meryn Trant.

"You may have beaten me in the Melee, but this is the lists! Your fancy Braavosi tricks will not avail you here!" Spat Ser Meryn, refusing to salute back.

He slammed his visor down, and the bout was on. I couched my lance at the last second, but Ser Meryn was wise to that trick, he rolled with the blow and both our lances shattered on each other's pauldrons. I rolled with the blow as much as I could, but really my armor and its runic magic bled much of the power from Ser Meryn's blow already. It still sent me twisting in the saddle slightly and I felt a bit of a bruise forming.

We charged again, and once more, both lances shattered, this time mine hit his pauldron, and his hit my shield. The third lance shattered the same way, though both of us had our pauldrons hit. It was the fourth pass where I unhorsed Ser Meryn. See, I had been targeting the same pauldron over and over again, the one that covered Ser Meryn's previously dislocated shoulder. The blows added up, and it caused Ser Meyrn to become sloppy. His fourth and final lance skipped off my shield without breaking, whereas mine smashed into his breastplate and shoved him out of the saddle.

Once again, I had managed a victory over a member of the Kingsguard. Though from the grumbling as Ser Barristan practically demanded that Ser Meryn hand me his ransom, I could tell that the next Kingsguard I would fight would be a harder battle. Ser Mandon Moore seemed to glare daggers at me as he rode out to unhorse Ser Narbert Grandison after breaking four lances. Meanwhile, Ser Barriston the Bold rode through Ser Raymun Darry in two passes and the Mountain unhorsed Lord Jason Mallister in one with contemptuous ease

Ser Loras Lothston rode out against Ser Addam Marbrand to finish out his second round next. The pair broke seven lances, but Ser Loras Ultimately claimed the victory by the skin of his teeth. meanwhile, Ser Jaremy Harte defeated Ser Osney Kettleblack after breaking three lances. Ser Jaime Lannister also received a second-round bye thanks to Royal Favor, making the Mountain in his mismatched, giant-sized, plate armor versus Ser Loras Tyrell in his cloak of woven flowers and emerald-studded, gilded, plate the last bout for the Second Round.

As they charged each other, however, Ser Loras Tyrell's mount began to shift from side to side, and the Mountain's Destrier immediately began to buck and try and throw its rider. Caught in the pheromone trap that Sallhador had warned us that Ser Loras Tyrell was playing at. Indeed, the Mountain, for all his size and strength, failed to stay on his horse and wound up hitting the dirt without a single lance being broken.

With a roar, the Mountain rose to his feet and drew his blade, the greatsword would normally require two hands to wield. With the Mountain being the size he was, however, that wasn't the case. The Mountain that Rides drew his blade in a single, massive, hand and slashed out in a draw cut that decapitated his own horse, splattering blood and viscera over the front of his breastplate.

"Damn Pretty Boy with your Cheating Tricks! You won't be so pretty when I carve your skull open!" Roared the Mountain in Fury as he charged Ser Loras. Ser Loras was still mounted on his Mare and was completely gobsmacked at the sudden charge. Fortunately, the Hound intervened.

"No! Not fucking here!" Snarled the Hound as he parried the Mountain's blade before it could do the same to Ser Loras' mount as it had to his own.

"Out of my way, Runt!" Demanded the Mountain, cutting out at the Hound. Another parry saw the Mountain's blade diverted and the Hound kicked out at the Mountain's Knee, unbalancing his elder brother. The Hound shoved out and the Mountain toppled. The Mountain kicked out as he fell to the dirt, and the Hound was tripped up by it. Both men went sprawling in the dirt, blades forgotten as they began grappling.

Ser Loras took the opportunity to ride off back out of the lists toward the Pavilion as the festive air turned to one of horror as both Clegane Brothers each tried to jockey for position, raining blows on each other that dented the steel of their armors with gauntleted fists the size of mace heads. Someone, possibly Lord Stark started shouting orders to intervene, but it wasn't happening. Nobody wanted to get in the middle of that fight.

The Mountain managed to leverage his superior size and strength to get into a mount position and begin raining blows down on the Hound, attempting to use his gauntleted fists to bash the Hound's brains in like they were rocks.

"Didn't you learn your lesson the last time? I should've burned more than just your face to make you remember!" Sneered the Mountain, completely lost in a rage.

"Ser Gregor! That's enough! Stop this bloody scrabbling! You'll kill him!" Commanded the King.

The Mountain didn't seem to hear him yet no one seemed willing to try to intervene. With no other options, I moved off to the saddle bags I'd brought to the lists from my pavilion in case of emergencies. They mostly contained medical supplies, a pint of grog, and a pouch of dragons for ransom in the event of my loss. They also contained a single, snaplock pistol and enough powder and shot for three shots.

"He's going to kill him!" Shouted someone from the stands, it sounded like a teenage girl's voice as I grabbed the pistol, powder, and shot from the saddlebags.

I loaded the pistol as I watched the Mountain finally smash his way through the Hound's raised arms and tear the Hound's helmet off his head. As the Mountain raised one, gauntleted fist to bash the Hound's face in, I cocked the snaplock, took aim, and fired.

The crack of the pistol rang out, belching fire, smoke, and lead. My shot struck the Mountain in the shoulder, punching through the unproofed steel plate and tearing a bloody wound open in the very shoulder of the arm he was preparing to smash his brother's brains in with. The Mountain roared in pain and turned toward me even as his arm hung limp at his side. I immediately began to reload but knew I wouldn't be fast enough to avoid the Mountain charging me. Even with one arm, I'd be toast. The Mountain That Rides only needed the one arm to split me in half, after all.

Still, I kept loading, even as the Mountain got up off the Hound and made to charge me. Fortunately, the Hound wasn't about to take his near-death experience lying down. He bum-rushed the Mountain, practically tackling his elder brother to the ground as I finished loading. The Hound ripped the Mountain's helmet off and got in one solid punch before I did that smashed his brother's nose flat, split his lip, and splintered multiple teeth. That only seemed to make the Mountain more angry.

He smashed the Hound flat to the dirt with strength born from anger and was about to stomp on the Hound's head with his steel sabaton when I finished loading. I cocked my pistol and fired my second shot. This one punched through the Mountain's breastplate, smashing through ribs and puncturing a lung. The Mountain toppled to the dirt, wheezing from bloody lips, but still trying to get to his feet in his berserker mindset.

"That's bloody enough!" Boomed King Robert.

I turned to see that the lists were now filling with Gold Cloaks and Red Keep Guards with a mix of crossbows, handgonnes, and spears. I looked over at the Royal Box and nodded at King Robert, tossing my pistol to the dirt. One of the Stark Guards picked it up.

"Of course, Your Grace. If I might speak to my defense? I was attempting to stop Ser Gregor from killing his brother. After all, I'm given to understand that a Kinslayer is something particularly abhorred by the Seven." I offered.

"Damn it, Lad! You should've let Lord Stark and his men handle it! He's the bloody hand of the King for a Reason! Now we've got to postpone the next round until I figure out how to sort all this nonsense out!" Growled King Robert.

"In the meantime, Lord Seawynd, if you'll come with me to the Hand's Tower we might be able to sort this out." Sighed Lord Stark, approaching.

"As you will, my Lord Hand." I acknowledged.

This was definitely not how I had pictured this going today. However, if the Mountain doesn't survive, I can at least take solace in the fact that Tywin Lannister won't be able to use him to raze half the Riverlands at the start of the Civil War. That was a thought that warmed my heart as Lord Stark led me away.

Now I just had to survive the fallout. . .

XXXX

AN: So yeah, bet you guys thought the Joust was gonna go normally without anything going wrong, huh? Unfortunately, the Mountain is addicted to rageohol and had other plans. He wasn't going to take Ser Loras' trick with the Mare in heat well at all. Given how in the Books it's hinted at that the same condition that gives him his great strength and size also makes him go mad with rage when affronted, this was bound to happen.

Fortunately, with Gunpowder Weaponry, the Mountain isn't nearly as impregnable as he once was. It still took two shots to put him down, though, and he isn't technically dead yet. There's a chance he might be able to be saved if the Maesters get lucky.

Unfortunately, this means our fairly straightforward Tournament Arc gets interrupted partway through by Politics and Legal Proceedings. Ricasso is gonna have to ride out the fallout of his decision to intervene.

That will be coming up next chapter.

Stay tuned. . .