First
> Previous
> Next
“You won’t get out of this that easy,” Doriflen’s
voice was
sharp. “Wake him up again!” But before his guards had
a chance to obey, they heard the outer door open and shut hurriedly,
and the sound of running feet as someone entered the room.
“My lord, my lord!” the messenger was out of breath
and the tone of his
voice held more than a little fear.
“What? What is it?” Doriflen snapped, not
liking to be
interrupted.
“M-my lord,” the unfortunate elf stammered,
obviously fearing the
other’s anger. “The human... he’s not in the pit. And we
cannot be sure, but the prince seems to have escaped the funnel vents
as well-”
A harsh sound indicated that Doriflen had struck the
messenger to the
ground. Being the bearer of ill tidings was dangerous around
Doriflen, all of his followers knew that.
Doriflen swore angrily. “You think?! Is everyone here an
idiot?! Come, I will see for myself and if someone has bungled my
plans then they will pay most dearly!” The elves left the room
swiftly and when the door finally clicked shut behind them, both
Aragorn and Legolas breathed a quiet sigh of relief.
The door had barely finished closing before Legolas
was already making
his way back into the room where his father was. Aragorn followed
as quickly as he could. His leg was stiffening up significantly
in protest for everything he was doing to it.
“You know, I feel sorry for his followers. He treats
them almost as bad
as he treats us... I don’t know why they stay with him.” The ranger
winced as he leaned against the wall for a moment, watching Legolas
smooth the hair back from Thranduil’s clammy forehead. The king
had been turned around to face the wall and ugly welts had been added
to his previous injuries.
“Because they know nothing else,” Legolas said sadly
as he tried the
keys in his father’s manacles, one at a time. “I see very few of
the older generation that left with him among them now. What he
has done to them I know not and I shudder to think, but all that follow
him now are near my age or younger. Some would barely have been
into their maturity when they left everything and threw their lot in
with him, lured by fair words and promises... and many must have left
with their families or fathers when they were mere children, or been
born in exile... and now somehow their elders are gone and Doriflen is
all they have to hold to. And knowing him, the worst part, I
believe, is that that is probably all deliberate.” Legolas’ voice was
grieved and angry.
Aragorn shook his head, unable to imagine such a
twisted mind that
would dispose of the elder generation so that the youth had no one else
to follow.
Legolas fumbled with the keys slightly, frustrated
by his lack of
success and the clumsiness of his injured hands. He dropped the
key ring by accident and swore softly as he stooped to retrieve
it. They had to get out of here quickly. As soon as Doriflen had
confirmed that he and Aragorn weren’t dead, this would be the first
place he would look for them.
Aragorn picked the keys up first. “Here, let
me.”
Legolas shook his head. “It’s no good, I’ve
tried them all, none
of them work!”
Aragorn quickly pulled the long tine he had used to
pick the locks on
Legolas’ manacles earlier from one of his pants pockets. Legolas’
eyes narrowed when he saw it, but he understood what Aragorn meant to
do and nodded. “Hurry, I fear we don’t have long before they come
back.”
“Thanks... nothing like a little pressure to make
things easier...”
Aragorn said with a wry smile as he tackled the locks.
Legolas grinned and rolled his eyes, but was too
worried to joke
back.
The manacles were high off the ground and at a
difficult angle to
reach. Aragorn winced as he stretched up on his toes to reach
them, sucking his lower lip in concentration and trying to keep from
trembling under the strain, since that only made his job harder.
Finally, after what seemed a small eternity, the
locks holding the
King’s wrists released with a satisfying click and Legolas caught his
father as he fell, gently easing the elder elf down and letting him
rest propped against the wall for a moment while the prince quickly
examined his father’s injuries.
On the whole, Thranduil actually seemed to be in
mildly better shape
than either Legolas or Aragorn, but Legolas could see by the marks on
his body that Doriflen had treated him most cruelly. The young
elf gently touched his father’s back. Underneath the most recent welts,
he could see that it was marred as his own was from the insidious use
of Doriflen’s favorite little torture devices. From the way it
looked, Doriflen had been using them and other such things on his
brother for days, maybe even weeks. It made the prince’s blood
boil and a sick feeling turn in his stomach.
For a moment Legolas had to close his eyes and
swallow hard to dismiss
the raw lump in his throat as he imagined his father chained up down
here for days and days, enduring Doriflen’s torture and insane
whims. Legolas clutched the elder elf to him tightly, guilt
ripping his heart out. He should have been here... he should have
stopped this!!
“I’m so sorry, Father,” Legolas whispered, his voice
somewhat husky as
Aragorn helped him gather the king up in his arms and rise to his
feet. “I’m so sorry.”
Aragorn touched his friend’s arm gently. The
pain in the younger
elf’s eyes made his heart ache, and he wanted to tell Legolas that none
of this was his fault, but now was not the time nor the place.
They were in grave danger of discovery here and had to get out as soon
as possible.
Legolas, still weakened from his own injuries,
staggered under
his father’s weight and had to lean against the wall before
continuing. Quietly, Aragorn helped take as much of the load as
he could and together they moved out. With Aragorn limping and
Legolas struggling for breath around his bruised and perhaps broken
ribs, they made a pretty sorry sight.
When they finally found another nice, forgotten room
in a musty, hardly
used side-passage and locked themselves in, Aragorn actually had to
laugh as he helped ease the unconscious king to the floor.
Legolas looked at the human and blinked, as if
trying to figure out
what about any of this could be at all humorous.
“I’m sorry,” Aragorn apologized, sinking down to the
floor wearily and
stretching his throbbing leg out in front of him. Even sitting
hurt, but at least it was a different kind of hurt than standing.
The ranger winced and sucked his breath in as the welts on his legs
touched the ground. But he chuckled again when he opened his eyes
and saw Legolas’ bruised face staring quizzically at him.
“I was just thinking,” Aragorn ran his hand through
his hair.
“That it’s a good thing my father can’t see us now. Or my
brothers for that matter. They’d have my hide for getting this
beat up...” He shook his head with a smile.
Legolas just stared at the human as if Aragorn were
crazy, which was a
possibility he seriously considered sometimes... but he smiled as well,
for a few moments at least. “Well if you don’t tell them I
won’t.”
“Agreed,” Aragorn nodded, sliding over to sit nearer
to Legolas and
Thranduil. His eyes turned serious again. “How is he?”
Legolas sighed, gently rolling his father onto his
stomach so he could
tend his injuries. “Not good.”
Aragorn helped Legolas and together they cleaned and
dressed the king’s
wounds, something both of them had had a lot of practice at
recently.
When they were done, Legolas took Thranduil’s head
and shoulders in his
lap. He could not lean against the wall because his own back was
hurting him far too much now, so he let himself slump forward slightly,
cradling the unconscious older elf close and rocking back and forth, as
much to deal with his own pain as to comfort his father.
“This is all wrong. It should never have been
allowed to
happen. I should have been here,” Legolas whispered quietly, to
no one in particular.
“And done what, Legolas? Get taken just like
your father
did? It wouldn’t have changed things.” Aragorn shook his head,
not wanting Legolas taking blame that wasn’t his. “This isn’t
your fault.”
“Don’t you understand? Doriflen wouldn’t even
have been able to
show his face here if father hadn’t overturned that law – for me!
Besides, I could have done something... if father had had someone to
stand by him this wouldn’t have happened!” Legolas was angry, but only
with himself.
“He’s the King and you don’t think he had people to
stand by him?
From the state of the dungeons I’d say a lot of people tried, like
Raniean did. You saw where it got them. What makes you
think you would have been any different?”
Legolas looked away. “Because I’m his
son. It would have
been different.”
Aragorn sighed. How could he argue with guilt
that didn’t want to
listen to reason? “Legolas, listen to me, this is not your
fault. Remember what you told me? When my father was injured and
I was sure I was to blame?” the ranger tried to reason with his
friend.
Legolas did not lift his eyes from where they rested
on his father’s
still form. “That was different. Elrond chose to push you
out from under that falling arch, there was nothing you could have done
to stop him. But my father summoned me... even commanded me to
return. He wanted me
here... and I didn’t come. I wasn’t
here when he needed me, and I was upset with him for calling me home
like a child...” The elf’s voice cracked and he stopped, unable to go
on. Letting his head drop down over his father’s, he battled the
tears that wanted to fall as his golden hair brushed the pale, bruised
face of his father and his king.
Aragorn shook his head, regarding his friend with
compassion as he
realized that there was probably nothing he could say to make the elf
think any different. “Oh, Legolas...”
Thranduil stirred in Legolas’ arms and the prince
quickly straightened
up, nearly holding his breath. Slowly, the elder elf’s eyes
opened, bleary and unfocused. When he saw the fuzzy outline of
the face above him he blinked several times, trying to make sense of
the image and his current position.
“L-Legolas?” He reached up to touch his son’s face
lightly, to assure
himself it was real and he was not dreaming.
“Yes, Father, it’s me,” Legolas said softly, trying
to keep from choking
as he trapped his father’s hand gently against his cheek with trembling
fingers. “I’m here, I’m here now, it’s all right. Doriflen
lied. He lied...”
“Oh, Legolas, I thought I lost you...” Thranduil
exhaled as if he had
been holding his breath since he had heard of his son’s supposed
death. “I thought he took you away from me and I wasn’t there to
stop it.”
“Nay, nay, it was not so...” Legolas shook his head,
tears sparkling in
his clear blue eyes. “I-I’m sorry, Father... I should have been
here. I did not mean to delay, I promise it was not by choice or
wanton disobedience...”
“Shh...” Thranduil touched his son’s lips
softly. “Let us not
speak of it now. My brother’s actions are not your fault... If
anyone is to blame it is me for allowing this to happen. I knew
in my heart when he came here that he was up to no good... but I had
hoped... had wanted to believe that he could have changed.” The
king sighed. “But we have not time for blame laying I think.” The
elder elf tried to sit up. “Doriflen must be stopped before he
does more harm-” The words ended in a sharp hiss of pain as his body
protested the motion.
Legolas quickly tightened his arms, gently pulling
his father back down
and pressing one hand against the other elf’s chest in a gesture for
him to remain still. “We will, but you must gather a little more
of your strength first, Father. You are not well.”
“No, I suppose not,” the king blinked several
times.
“Here, I’m sure he could use some.” Aragorn handed
Legolas the water
skin they had raided from a storeroom earlier.
Thranduil gave the human a small, wry smile.
“An internal dispute
in Mirkwood concerns you little, Ranger, so why did I know you were
going to be here as well?”
“Because Legolas and I always end up wherever
trouble is?” Aragorn
shrugged with a half-grin, repeating what his brothers kept telling
him. “But I would hardly say this wasn’t my concern.
Anything that affects Legolas, affects me,” he finished on a more
sincere note.
Legolas laughed softly at the first part and
Thranduil smiled
again. “My son’s trust of you seems to have been
well-founded. You have proved a loyal friend I think. You
must forgive me if I seemed to have thought otherwise in the
past.”
Legolas watched them both closely. That was a
huge admission for
his father to make, for the king did not easily admit to being wrong
about anything.
Aragorn just shook his head to show there was no
need, not sure what to
say.
Legolas noted that his friend was at an
uncomfortable loss for words,
so he intervened. “Are you going to drink, or talk?” he asked his
father with gentle amusement, indicating the water skin that he was
still holding for the elder elf.
“Drink,” Thranduil returned his look, putting his
hand over his son’s
and tipping the skin. He pushed it away slightly when he was
done, but did not release Legolas’ hand. Gently, but firmly he
pulled his son’s fingers away from the flask, revealing the nasty,
broken blisters spreading up and outward across his palms. The
king frowned when Legolas winced slightly and pulled away.
“Doriflen tried
to trap me in one of the magma-vents,” Legolas
answered the questioning look in his father’s concerned eyes.
“But I’m all right.”
“I doubt that,” Thranduil murmured, remembering
Doriflen’s words to him
earlier. He sat up, slowly this time, his eyes traveling
piercingly between the friends. Aragorn was still shirtless and
now that the King’s vision was clearing and his mind with it, he could
see that the ranger had been severely beaten. Bloodstained strips
of cloth wrapped around his wrists and left thigh. He could see
the pain in the ranger’s eyes, even though Aragorn was dealing with it
well.
Pain was also evident in Legolas’ eyes, although he
was trying harder
to hide it than Aragorn was. The long sleeved under-tunic Legolas
wore hid most of his injuries, but Thranduil could see the bruised face
and split lip, and the uncharacteristic stoop of usually proud
shoulders.
“I don’t think either of you are anywhere near all
right.
Legolas, take off your shirt. Let me see.” It was not a
request.
“Father-” Legolas tried to put him off.
“I said off. Now.” Thranduil’s voice was stern
with
concern. He knew his son well, and Legolas was famous for making
light of his injuries. Once, as a young elf, Legolas had broken
three of his fingers and told no one, insisting he was fine. It
was Trelan who had finally gone to Legolas’ mother with the concern
that the injury was slowing the prince up in his bow-work and wasn’t
healing as it should have if it had only been a minor sprain.
That had been many hundreds of years ago, but Thranduil was not going
to let Legolas pull anything like that ever again.
“Yes, sir,” Legolas sighed slightly as he obeyed,
wincing as he pulled
the shirt off over his head.
Thranduil’s face hardened when he saw the badly
bruised and torn flesh
across his son’s back, recognizing the small burn marks for what they
were. “You call this all right, Legolas?” he asked softly, gently
touching one of the ugly blue-black bruises wrapping around the younger
elf’s ribs.
Legolas inhaled sharply and pulled away, sliding his
tunic back on as
soon as his father allowed him to do so. “Aragorn’s hurts are
worse. And you, Father, have you fared any better?”
“I suppose not,” Thranduil shook his head, closing
his eyes and taking
several deep breaths.
Aragorn remained quietly aside, not wishing to
intrude and letting
Legolas and Thranduil speak without interruption. He was good at
blending into the background and wanted the father and son to have the
time they needed after what had happened. But when
Thranduil and Legolas turned their eyes on him at nearly the same
moment, he shifted forward again, indicating he was ready for whatever
needed doing.
“We must act, and swiftly,” Thranduil pulled himself
to his feet,
rising slowly. “We haven’t much time. Doriflen wants the
people to believe in him, but he can’t fool them forever, and when he
can’t fool them anymore, he will simply crush them. He must be
stopped!”
Legolas also rose and helped Aragorn up.
“There are storerooms, not far from here. We passed
them on the way
down,” Aragorn said as he gained his feet. “We should be able to find
supplies and fresh clothing there.”
Thranduil nodded. “It is well thought.” He glanced
around them as they
ventured cautiously out into the hall. “It’s been a long time
since I wandered any of these halls, but if I am not mistaken this way
shall also lead us to a back door to the armory. It would be
folly to resist Doriflen unarmed. Legolas,” Thranduil turned to
his son. “What is the state of the kingdom? What of our
warriors?” He looked apprehensive of the answer.
“The situation is less than optimal, but it could be
worse,” Legolas
filled his father in quickly as they slid silently down the passage, on
the alert for any sign of trouble. Aragorn brought up the rear
more slowly, walking behind the two elves, ever watchful.
“Unfortunately it could also be better.
Raniean is imprisoned in
the dungeons near the cellars, along with many of his men and almost
all of the court who opposed Doriflen. The rest are too
frightened to resist when they know not what exactly is true and what
is not. I fear that Doriflen counts many of our warriors among
his ranks now, although I do not believe that they trust him, and would
choose you if the two stood side by side. The people know naught
of what is going on. Doriflen has them entirely deceived and too afraid
to question, but unrest is growing strong and the secret will not long
keep now that we are freed.”
Thranduil nodded as they entered the
storerooms. “Then now is
when we must act.”
After the store rooms, their next stop was the
armory. They had
only just chosen the weapons they desired when footsteps on the stairs
sent them hurrying back into the passage from which they had
come. The passage door was disguised to look like a weapons rack
and Legolas and Aragorn quickly pulled it shut after them, not a moment
too soon.
Several guards entered the armory and looked quickly
about.
“There’s no one here,” one elf called back up to their captain at the
top of the stairs. Aragorn and Legolas recognized the voice as
belonging to one of Doriflen’s men.
“Well post a guard and the rest of you follow
me! They’re here
somewhere,” the other responded.
The three in the passageway exchanged looks and slid
quietly away.
“They know we’ve escaped,” Aragorn whispered, once
they were out of
earshot.
“We’ve got to get to the dungeons and free Raniean
and his men.”
Legolas hoped that Doriflen had not already done away with the
warriors.
“All the main passages will be watched, but we may
be able to get
through these back tunnels faster than they can search them, if my
memory does not fail us,” Thranduil led them back into the secret
passages, walking swiftly.
“Father?” Legolas queried in a whisper as they
hurried along.
“You knew these tunnels were here?” He did not understand why he
had never been told, why no one seemed to know.
Thranduil sighed slightly in the murky gloom.
“Yes, Legolas, I
did. They were an ancient defense system, conceived in theory to
correct the shortcomings of the great underground realms such as
Menegroth and Nargothrond, so that if invaders should ever take the
palace, the inhabitants would not only not be trapped, but resistance
could be mounted from the inside. Of course they were kept secret
or they would have been useless. Only my father, my brother and I
knew of them...” they turned a corner and branched into a side passage,
their footfalls making hardly any sound. A torch in the darkness
ahead caused them freeze and duck into another turn off, flattening
themselves against the wall as a silent, swift-moving patrol swept
by.
Aragorn held his breath, but he still could not hear
the passing of the
elven warriors. They were too light and quiet. It was
unnerving.
When the coast was clear they slipped out again and
continued on their
way in silence for several moments.
“Did you not think I could be trusted to keep such a
secret?” Legolas
asked quietly, trying not to sound hurt. The fear of uncertain
trust between father and son was old and rooted in previous history
with Doriflen’s lies. Legolas had thought it all long healed, but
now he wondered.
“Nay! It was not that, Legolas, you must not
think so.” Thranduil
shook his head quickly, knowing what his son was thinking. “My
father and I did not know it, but Doriflen had long made these secret
ways his own privet haunt, for we alone knew of them and Oropher and I
had very little call to venture into them at all. Unbeknownst to
us Doriflen brought unfortunate animals and eventually people into
those hidden tunnels, where he had set up hideous torments for them,
contrived by his twisted mind. When the war came between us after
our father’s death, my brother tried to use the tunnels against
me. He was driven out, but it was then I discovered what he had
been doing down here. I caused the passages to be sealed off and
those who knew were sworn to secrecy. Such evil had been
committed here; I could not stand that they should be open to the
palace any longer. Besides, with Doriflen turned against me, they
were no longer a secret defense. You were a child then, Legolas.
There was much I did not tell you, not for lack of trust, but because
of your tender years. These passages have been sealed and
forgotten for many ages... but my brother has obviously reopened
them.” Thranduil was evidently very troubled by the
memories.
Legolas touched his father’s arm softly, realizing
that there was
undoubtedly more to everything that had happened way back then than his
childish memories could comprehend. “Well now let’s see if we
can’t turn them against him instead.”
Another hidden door let out into a small room not
far from the
cellars. Quickly turning up the passage, they hurried towards the
dungeons. Now was the most perilous time for them. Even
armed, the threesome was in critically poor shape; battle was not a
very positive option at this point, so they had to put their hope in
stealth.
Raniean’s deep, solitary cell was first.
Aragorn remained in the
mouth of the passage to stand guard while Legolas and his father made
their way quickly back towards the large wooden door at the end of the
hall.
“Raniean?” Legolas called softly as Thranduil tried
several different
keys in the lock. “Ran?” Apprehension gripped his heart
when he heard no answer.
The door swept open inwards and Legolas stepped in
quickly, almost
stumbling because of the sharp incline and his own unsteadiness.
Thranduil caught his son’s arm, gently helping him regain his
balance.
To Legolas’ great relief, Raniean was still there,
and no worse off
than he had been before. The warrior jumped to his feet, chains
rattling and clanking, when he saw who the two people were that
entered.
“Legolas! Your Majesty!”
Legolas took the keys from his father, who remained
to guard the
doorway while the prince descended and quickly began unlocking
Raniean’s fetters, hating to see his friend chained up like an animal
for even one more moment than was necessary.
Raniean’s worried gaze swept his friend’s bruised
face. “You
didn’t come back... I was worried for you, Legolas.”
“I’m sorry,” Legolas freed the elf’s ankles and
moved up to his
wrists. “I wanted to return sooner, but I was... detained.”
Raniean had only to take one look at his friend,
even cleaned up and
dressed in fresh clothing as he was, to know exactly what kind of
detention that had been. “Then I failed you again, haven’t I?” he
said quietly.
Legolas stopped, holding Raniean’s freed wrist in
his hands.
“Ran, this wasn’t your fault any more than it was when we were young,”
he whispered back. “Now come, my friend, we have a job to
do! I need your help.”
Raniean nodded quickly as the last manacle fell away
and the two elves
swiftly made their way up into the passage by the King.
“Your Majesty, I cannot tell you how good it is to
see you once more,”
Raniean said with genuine relief and a somewhat stiff bow when they
reached the spot where Thranduil stood waiting for them. Like
Legolas, he too had secretly feared that Doriflen had done away with
the King.
“Well met, Raniean, we will have great need of you
and your men up the
hall. It is time we take back what is ours.” Thranduil
touched the young warrior’s arm gently. His eyes darkened when he
saw what his brother had caused to be done to the loyal, younger elf,
but he said naught of it. He hated to imagine what else he would
find had happened these past days. Doriflen had much to answer
for.
“Most gladly, Your Highness!” Raniean nodded with
grim enthusiasm as
they gained the mouth of the passage where Aragorn waited for
them.
Just as they entered the main holding area, disaster
struck.
Seemingly out of nowhere, Amon, Nynd and eight or
nine more of
Doriflen’s elves appeared in the passage ahead of them. It was hard to
tell just how many blocked their escape in the cramped tunnel.
The guards were caught by surprise, but took the situation in quickly
and drew their weapons with elven swiftness.
Legolas, Aragorn and Thranduil drew their own
weapons just as
fast. Raniean was not armed, but he glared defiantly at the other
elves, ready for whatever happened. For a few moments the two
opposing sides remained thus; eyeing one another.
“Get out of our way,” Thranduil commanded them, his
eyes
flashing. “Stand aside and you have my pardon. Hinder me
and be considered traitors one and all and suffer the
consequences.”
Amon laughed at the bold words in the face of their
superior numbers
and strength. “Do you have any idea what Doriflen would do to us
if you escaped again? I think those are mighty strong words for
someone in your position. I have a better idea. Surrender
your weapons and maybe we won’t kill you.” It would please
Doriflen to retake the prisoners alive, but if he had to, Amon was
ready to kill them all. He would not face his liege’s wrath.
Aragorn glanced at Legolas. None of them were
in peak form and
they were clearly outnumbered. Yet surrender was not an option;
it would mean death just as surely as fighting would and a horrible one
at that. This silent knowledge passed between the two friends as
they tensed for action. It was doubtful that all of them would
make it out of this alive. But some of them had to or Doriflen
would win and all would be lost.
“He would treat you worse than us, am I not
correct? Why would
you willingly serve a lord like that? You deserve better than
he,” Thranduil stalled slightly, also aware of their desperate
situation. “Not even the basest criminal is treated with as much
disdain and injustice in our realm as I have seen him regularly employ
with his most trusted followers.”
“So you say,” one of the young elves behind Amon and
Nynd shook his
head, and no one missed the slightly hopeless tone of his voice.
“But all leaders promise much but deliver only lies.”
“Shut up!” Nynd snapped at his underling. “You
four stand down
now or forfeit your lives.”
“Do you really believe that?” Thranduil shook his
head, ignoring Nynd
and addressing the other elf’s statement. “You have been much
mistreated I think. I would that you would give me a chance to
prove that I am different from my brother.”
“That’s it, you had your chance,” Amon glared at the
Elvenking, not
liking the effect this brief conversation was having on his
troops. It was no secret that many of their own had been
questioning Doriflen’s leadership of late, now that they had
returned. Alone in their own camps, cut off from all others of
their kind, they had known nothing but their insane leader and his
ways, but here in Mirkwood, back among other elves who had other ways
of doing things and lives that most of the exiles could only begin to
dream of... loyalties were beginning to sit uneasily.
Greed, cruelty, power and fear were the qualities
that Doriflen had
counted on to control his people, and at the same time marked as
dangers as well. Yet light, warmth, kindness and a sense of home
after thousands of years of lonely wandering were the enemies he had
not taken into account.
Amon, Nynd and the handful of others who Doriflen
had corrupted to
nearly his own level of depravity, had found themselves working
double-time to keep their forces united and they were not about to let
anyone start thinking too much.
“Take them! If they resist, kill them!” Amon
ordered and his men
surged ahead obediently.
Legolas moved forward to meet their rush, placing
himself between them
and his father. As if working in one mind, Aragorn moved to cover
the prince’s back. Thranduil raised his sword and Raniean tensed
for action. All of them knew this would not go well.
First
> Previous
> Next
top