His words seemed to do the trick as her anger and humiliation lessened and her focus steadily increased. Slowing turning his lightsaber, Nox started to circle, to which Osha matched his every step. Her hands were as steady as rocks and her demeaner gave away nothing as the two circled one another. Abruptly stopping his movements, Nox launched a series of probing attacks at the wildling woman. Each of which she was able to fend off as she focused solely on him and not those around them.
Back and forth, the two traded blows with neither truly gaining the advantage over the other. Though, in truth, Nox was handicapping himself by not using the Force. If he had, the fight would've been over before it could even begin. And that would simply defeat the whole purpose he had in sparring with her in the first place. But even with Nox handicapping himself, he was still very impressed with the woman's prowess. She wasn't Oberyn's level of skill, but he had no doubt that she could easily reach the Prince of Dorne's level in no time at all.
The two continued to trade blows for nearly half an hour or more before Osha began to reach her limit. Her movements were starting to become sloppy and her breathing was ragged as she tried desperately to keep pace with him. Deciding to end things there, Nox slipped within her reach and wrenched her spear-sword out of her grasp before kicking her feet out from underneath. Her breath left her lungs in a rush as her back hit the ground and Nox had his lightsaber pointed at her throat, all within the blink of an eye.
"Well done, Osha," Nox congratulated the woman, deactivating his lightsaber and clipping it onto his belt. "Lord Stark has chosen his daughter's sworn sword well."
"Fuckin shit…" Osha groaned, rolling over onto her front and slowly pushing herself up to her feet. "Flattery words… Ya kicked my fuckin arse."
"As is often the case with those who try their luck against me," Nox replied, holding out his hand for her to take. "But you managed to last far longer than most have. Granted, I was holding back, but you still did well."
Nox could feel her glare as she tightly gripped his offered hand and pulled herself up. "Cocky shit, ain't ya, sorcerer?"
"No, just confident. There's a difference."
Letting go of his hand, Osha's frustration shifted into a slight amusement coated with a touch of what he recognized as arousal. "That pretty little lady of yours is a lucky woman to have stolen you, sorcerer, or else I would be makin my move to steal ya. But I ain't no poacher like that."
"Good," Nox smiled, feeling his spirits lift as they always did whenever he found a decent opponent to spar against. "What are the rest of you looking at? Back to work, or I'll start making examples of you all."
The men and women in the yard immediately got back to what they were doing. Nursing several sore spots across her body, Osha picked up her weapon and went to join with everyone else in their training regime. As the day moved on, Nox made sure to watch over his newest addition carefully.
Sansa was, well, she was not her brothers or sister, that was for sure. She had the Force potential to match her siblings, perhaps even drawing close to Arya's level now that she wasn't holding herself back for reasons that were frankly beyond Nox. But what she clearly lacked in was the physical aspect of training. She was struggling to even keep up with even the most basic of exercises and her work with a blade was beyond appalling. A fact that Arya seemed to revel in as she time and time again disarmed and smacked her sister. But despite lagging everyone in the yard, Sansa did not give up. She kept pushing herself back up no matter how many times she got knocked down. By the time Nox had finally called for an end to the day, Sansa was barely keeping herself upright and looked ready to collapse right there and then.
"Sansa," Nox said, walking up to the young girl who was currently peeling herself out of her leather padding with Osha's aid. "Let's talk."
Sansa looked up at him, her blue eyes wide and clearly exhausted, but she nodded and followed him towards the small garden area he and Nyra had planted near his tower after he'd waved Osha off from following them. Leading Sansa over towards a small stone table and seating area, Nox motioned for her to sit down while using the Force to pull over a large box that contained a full cyvasse set.
"Have you ever played cyvasse, Sansa?" he asked.
"Umm, no," Sansa replied, shaking her head.
"Then I'll teach you, here. You can take the white pieces and I'll take the black." He then went on to explain how each piece worked as the two set up their sides of the board. "Tell me, Sansa, why did you come here today?"
Sansa's hand stilled as she set down the last of her pieces on her side of the board. "I – I want to get strong. Like my brothers and – and Arya. If – If I'd been stronger – If I hadn't ignored this gift that's been given to me by the gods, then perhaps…perhaps my mother…and Rickon wouldn't – wouldn't…and Lady Nox – and your son –"
"Enough," Nox chided the young girl. "It does no good to dwell on what you believe could have happened. Instead, learn from what had happened, so that it will not happen again."
Sansa looked on the verge of tears, but she nodded and sniffed loudly as she tried to hold herself back. "I – Yes, Lord Nox."
Humming, Nox leaned back and motioned for Sansa to make her first move. "You still haven't answered my question, Sansa. Why are you here?"
Placing her fingers on a piece, Sansa moved it a few squares and leaned back. "I – I want to be strong."
"Strong?" Nox questioned, making a motion with his finger to move a piece on the board without even touching it. "And what do you think being 'strong' means? Do you think that one is strong simply because they can kill? Or are they strong because they know how to wield a blade or whatever weapon strikes their fancy? Because if so, you might as well stop trying now. Because you will never become a warrior like your sister or your brothers. You simply do not have the temperament nor the skill to do so. No, you do not want to be 'strong,' Sansa. You want power."
"But strength and power… Are they not the same?" Sansa asked, clearly curious as to where Nox was going with the conversation.
Shrugging, Nox made a move to counter Sansa's on the board. "In some context, they can be used interchangeably. But most of the time, the two have drastically different meanings. A strong individual could change the outcome of a battle. But one with power and the knowledge to use said power will be able to choose where and when each battle will take place. A clear example of the difference between these two can be shown in Lord Tywin Lannister and his bannerman Gregor Clegane. The latter is far stronger than Tywin could ever hope to become, yet it is because of Tywin's own power and the way that he wields it that he is able to control the man. That, Sansa Stark, is what I will be teaching you. Not to necessarily be a leader like Jon, or a general like Robb, or a warrior like your sister Arya. None of those will suit you. Instead, I will teach you how to become a true player of the great game."
Standing within the wooden covered bridge overlooking the yard below, Ned Stark watched as his children, all his children, trained under Lord Nox's watchful eye. While he was watching all his children, in truth he was mostly paying attention to his eldest daughter, Sansa. His little red wolf was trying so desperately to match her brothers and sister now, to the point where he could tell even from this distance that she was near the point of collapse from pure physical exhaustion. But despite her obvious lacking in skill and sheer exhaustion, his little red wolf refused to stop as she forced herself to keep pace with the others.
By the time Nox had called an end to the day and dismissed those he was training, his eldest daughter was barely able to move faster than a slight shuffling of her feet. Her newly named sworn-sword Osha helped her out of her training gear and made to help her towards the keep, but Nox waved the former wilding off and instead led Sansa over to a small sitting area in the garden beside the Sorcerer's Tower. Once they were in the garden, Sansa all but collapsed into the seat Nox had offered her before the sorcerer took one across from her and began setting up what he recognized as a cyvasse board.
A not-so-small part of him wanted to march over and hear what the two were speaking of, but he held himself back from doing so. He trusted Nox. While it was more difficult than he cared to admit watching his friend essentially break his children in the yard, he knew that Nox was doing so with a reason. He could only hope that Nox truly knew what he was doing when it came to Sansa, his precious daughter who was so different from her siblings. She would never be a warrior woman, that much was certain. But there was a strength in her. A strength that, honestly, he hadn't even known existed in her until this very morning when she arrived at his solar at the break of dawn to begin learning everything she could from him so that she could handle being the Stark-in-Winterfell while he, Robb, Jon, and Nox went south to deal with the errant maesters.
'The maesters.' Hearing the creaking of wood, Ned forced himself to rein in his temper as he let go of the railing, which had cracked like dry kindling in the palm of his hand. Ever since he'd learned the truth of the plot against he and Nox, just the mere thought of the grey-rats of the south was enough to drive Ned to a height of anger he had never experienced before. Even his hatred for the Mad King and Rhaegar paled in comparison to what he felt towards the maesters now. There were a few exceptions, Maester Luwin being the only one so far. But the aged maester of Winterfell was wise enough to keep his presence around Ned to a minimum these days. And he was trying, gods knew he was trying, to keep in mind what Maester Luwin had told them about the plot more than likely coming from a small group of maesters. But it was hard, so very hard.
He tried to tell himself, again and again, that the only reason he was going south to deal with the maesters was for justice. But that was a lie. Or, at the very least, only a small part of the truth. In truth, he was going south for one very simple reason. And it was the same reason he went south to depose the Mad King and his equally mad son four-and-ten years ago, and that was revenge. Plain and simple revenge. Plus, this time, there would be no Jon Arryn to rein in the wolfsblood. Quite the opposite in fact, as he would instead be with Nox, who would no doubt be encouraging Ned to follow his wolfsblood.
Feeling a presence approaching down the length of the bridge, Ned forced thoughts of vengeance to the back of his mind as Asha Greyjoy slowly made her way towards him.
"Lord Stark," she greeted him once she was within arm's length, her tone betraying her nerves as she no doubt was wondering why he'd asked to speak with her.
"Asha," Ned greeted her in return, trying to find where to begin. "Six years ago, you were taken from your home and brought here as my ward. And while your position, and that of your brother's, could well and truly be considered a hostage, I have truly come to find a new son and daughter in the both of you."
Asha was clearly uncomfortable with being reminded of just what her true nature here in Winterfell entailed. "Aye, I remember all too well that day… The day my father's idiocy finally caught up to him. And don't give me that look, Lord Stark. I've long ago realized that my father truly was an idiot with what he did. And it was his idiocy that cost my family and my people so much…"
Now Ned felt more than slightly awkward with where the conversation was heading. "That is not why I asked to speak with you today," he tried to gently correct her. While he honestly agreed with her on the subject of her father, he did not wish to speak ill of her family to her face. "You have been in Winterfell for six years now. My son and heir has reached the age of three-and-ten. By the King's decree, you are free to return to the Iron Isles."
Asha could do little more than stare at him as she came to terms with what he was saying. "Oh," she said, blinking and turning so that she was looking out over the courtyard with a look of longing. "I – I guess I'll be sending a raven to my father then. And returning to the Iron Isles as soon as he can send a ship to collect me."
"Not necessarily," Ned countered, drawing a sharp look from her as he handed over a decree that he had written that very morning with Sansa's watching over his shoulder.
Taking the piece of rolled paper, Asha quickly unfurled it and read its contents. Then she blinked, looked up at him and then read it over once more. "Lord Stark – ?"
"The galleon is yours, Asha," Ned said, answering her unasked question. "You've more than earned the right to claim it with your actions. A crew will be loaned for your use to return to the Iron Isles, and all I ask is your word of their safe return."
Excitement and joy started rolling off the young lady as she carefully rolled the decree back up and gently tucked it into her belt for safe keeping. "And…is that all you're asking? A ship and a crew until I can put together one of my own back on the Iron Isles? Surely, there is more to this than just a gesture of good will, Lord Stark."
'She caught on quick.' "Honestly, Asha, I truly wish that this was just a simple gesture of goodwill towards the young woman I've found another daughter in. But there is always a price. Though, this is a price that I pray you are willing to pay." Pausing, he turned and faced her full on to make sure he had her attention. "The price is this. Remember. Remember what you have seen during your time here in Winterfell and use what you have learned to lead your people towards a better future. Remember, as well, that should the Iron Isles try a repeat of the past…then the North will not be as merciful as we once were. And even if I find a daughter and son in you and Theon…I will do what is necessary to protect the North."
Asha's face went slightly pale as kept her eyes on his own. "I understand, Lord Stark. And trust me… After seeing what the two of you can and are willing to do, the last thing the Iron Isles can afford is to piss off the North and the Sorcerer once more."
"Good," Ned nodded. "There is one more thing, Asha. Should you choose to not simply be a Lady of House Greyjoy and instead succeed your father…then know that you will have the full backing of the North in your choice."
That seemed to bring Asha up short. "You'd support…? But what of Theon?"
Frowning, Ned stared down at the young Greyjoy lad down in the yard talking adamantly with Robb and Jon as the three practiced their archery. "Theon is a good lad, and while I feel he has the makings of a good future Lord, he will have known the North far better than he knows the Iron Isles by the time Robert allows him to return to his home. You, however? You know your people. You know how to earn their trust and respect. And I believe that it is through you that the people of the Iron Islands will find a way forward, away from the Old Way of paying the Iron Price."
"And what if I don't?" Asha asked in an almost challenging but still inquisitive tone. "What if I return home, make a crew, and return to the Old Ways of paying the Iron Price?"
Turning back to her, Ned allowed his anger at the thought of Asha raiding Northern soil to take hold, knowing that as he did his eyes changed to the wolf eyes. "Then you know very well where that path will lead."
Asha recognized the threat for what it was. "Aye, that I do," She nodded. "Well, I suppose that I'll be leaving with the morning light along with the rest of you? Only I'll be heading in the opposite direction."
"That is up to you," Ned replied. "Your time in Winterfell may have come to an end, but I will not force you to leave if you do not wish to do so yet."
Asha seemed to consider his offer for a short time before slowly shaking her head. "No. I've spent too long here in the North as it is, Lord Stark. No offense intended."
"There is no offense, Asha," Ned waved off her concern. "I understand the longing to return to one's home. I would ask that you spend one last night with us before you take your leave. My daughters, Arya especially, will not take your leaving well. They have grown quite attached to you, especially in light of recent events."
"And I them, Lord Stark," Asha smiled. "They're the sisters I've always wanted but never had. Just…one thing, Lord Stark. The grey-rats…? Make them pay for what they tried to do."
"I intend to, Asha," Ned promised the young woman, his fist tightening once more. "I intend to."
Moving quietly through the darkened roads wearing through the great keep of Winterfell, a lone bard moved swiftly from shadow to shadow as he made his way towards the Hunter's Gate and his long road back towards the north. While some might question his caution, even himself to an extent, he knew that he'd already overstayed his welcome here in Winterfell. Well, that might not be particularly true considering the Valyrian steel dagger roughly the length of his forearm that he now wore at his side. But he knew that long he stayed here in Winterfell the greater the chance of his façade failing. And if that happened, well, he didn't really want to think of the consequences. Especially now that he had a hope to look forward too.
Reaching the Hunter's Gate, the bard was more than slightly confused to find the gate unguarded. He had specifically decided on this time to leave because he knew that this was when the guards rotated. And Lord Stark was planning on leaving to head south at first light. But still, neither of those could explain why the gate that lead into the Wolfswood was unguarded. Especially with what had just transpired a few days ago. If anything, the guards should be doubled. Not missing. And even more curious was the fact that the gate was wide open.
Keeping a weather eye on his surroundings, the bard slowly approached the opened gate all the while preparing himself for the ambush that he was sure was about to come. "No need for such caution, bard. Had I wanted you dead, you would be dead."
The bard nearly froze at the voice. A voice he recognized, and one that he'd come to well and truly fear. Keeping a tight hold on his new dagger, the bard turned and found himself face to face with the Northern Sorcerer himself. "Lord Nox," the bard said, lowering his head but not going to a knee before the famed sorcerer, "I – I was just leaving, my Lord."
The sorcerer's head tilted to the side. The cloth covering his eyes making it impossible for the bard to even guess what the man was thinking. "Leaving? In the middle of the night during the timing of the guard's rotation? If I didn't know better, I would say that you didn't want anyone to make a fuss over your leaving, bard."
"That is exactly it, my Lord," the bard said, eyeing the gate and keeping a firm hold on his dagger, though he doubted it would do any good should the sorcerer press the matter. "I'm not used to such attention from Lords and Ladies but—"
"Not used to such attention. Yet, you are a bard, and a good one at that. Surely, Lords and Ladies from across the realm pay you good coin and fawn over your abilities. Yet, you say you are not used to their attention?" The sorcerer chuckled, taking a step forward, which prompted the bard to take his own step back to try and keep the distance between the two of them. "I do enjoy these games, bard. But recent events have soured my mood. So, let us drop this little charade, Mance Rayder, the King-Beyond-the-Wall."
Mance acted without thinking, drawing his dagger and letting it fly from his fingers in the same movement the moment he was named. But, true to his first thoughts, the dagger never reached its target. Instead, it just…stopped. Hanging in the air between the two of them. A fact that Mance realized he shared with the dagger as he found his body unable to move as some sort of invisible force seemed to press upon him from all sides. Not enough to hurt, but certainly enough to keep him from moving even a single muscle.
"Now that wasn't very nice," the sorcerer sighed, walking forward and plucking the dagger out of the air. "Is this what is considered a proper greeting north of the Wall? If so, then I can understand how your people have earned such a bad reputation."
Mance eyed the dagger warily or, more accurately, the one now wielding the dagger. "Is this where you kill me, sorcerer?"
If anything, the sorcerer looked offended by the question. "Why do people always assume that I'm going to kill them in situations like this?" The man sighed. "While I have no qualms on killing, or a lot of things to be honest, I am not a wasteful man, Mance. And you? You are far more valuable alive than you are dead. So, we can either have a quick chat and you can be on your way. Or you can try and fight me again, in which case I'll fold you in half, shove your head up your ass, and leave you to suffocate to death. Your choice."
Mance felt whatever holding him disappear as his earlier motion now caused him to take a now involuntary half step towards the sorcerer, who was holding his valyrian steel dagger hilt first towards him. "Not much of an option, sorcerer," Mance sighed, taking the offered dagger and sliding it back into its sheath.
"True, though you would be amazed at the number of idiots who don't see it that way. Now, come, let us walk and talk," the sorcerer said, nodding towards the Hunter's Gate and setting a slow pace towards Mance's freedom.
The unease Mance felt upon first being caught by the sorcerer did not lessen in the slightest, even as his way of escape drew closer and closer. "So, what is it that the famed Northern Sorcerer wishes to speak with me about?"
"The Others. The White Walkers and their army of the dead." The sorcerer said, not hesitating in the slightest. "That is why you are working so hard to gather the tribes of the Wildlings, or Free Folk, together is it not? Don't bother saying it's not. Osha has already confirmed that aspect of your motivation for us. And before you ask, no, she did not betray you. I'd be surprised honestly if she even recognized you. But I've known about your presence here since the moment you stepped foot into Winterfell."
Mance had nearly missed a step at the start of the sorcerer's speech. "You're not one to beat around the bush, are you, sorcerer?"
"Don't let this conversation fool you, Mance. I can talk in circles around anyone and probably convince half the population the sky is green instead of blue if I truly wanted to. But such conversations have their time and place, and this is neither. Now, what do you know of the White Walkers and their army? Any texts that Winterfell has on them can be considered mere conjecture at best."
Frowning, Mance slowed his pace as they reached the Hunter's Gate. "In truth, I know very little about the White Walkers, and even less of their motives. I only know the stories I've heard and the results of their presence after they've long left. They bring the cold. A biting cold that can make even the worst winter storm seem like a warm breeze in comparison. They kill everything yet leave no bodies behind. Instead, they turn those they kill and add them to their ranks of dead that march beside them."
"And have you seen them raising the dead before?" The sorcerer pressed.
"No, I have not. And nor have any others. The White Walkers are…efficient. They leave no witnesses behind to tell the tale of their presence. The only clue as to where they've been are the empty settlements with nothing missing besides the people who called it home. But I have seen them before. Near the lands of Always Winter. I saw their army of the dead, stretching out farther than the eye could see. As soon as a I saw them, I knew that I had to get my people south of the Wall. It is said that there is ancient magic within the Wall that can keep the dead from crossing into the south. I'm not gathering the Free Folk and looking to raid the south Sorcerer. I'm gathering my people and running with my tail tucked firmly between my legs to hide behind the Wall and weather the storm that is coming."
Mance wasn't entirely sure if the sorcerer believed him or not. But at the very least, he seemed to be considering his words. By his own admission to the Northern Lords, the sorcerer truly did believe in the White Walkers, though why and how Mance wasn't sure. But he supposed that didn't matter. All that mattered was that perhaps the most powerful being besides the King south of the Wall believed in the White Walkers. And, more importantly, he had the ear of the Warden of the North, the primary obstacle to the Free Folk crossing the Wall because, in all honestly, Mance knew full well that his former Black brothers would not be able to stop all of the Free Folk from crossing the Wall should they actually try.
"You know of Stark's plan to go North and treat with you," Nox said, breaking the silence between the two of them. "While he trusts my word about the White Walkers, without actually seeing them, he cannot just open the Wall for your people. In fact, even if you did provide proof, Stark cannot and will not allow the Free Folk south in mass unless the Others are right on your heels. There is simply too much bad history between your people and the North."
"Then what is the point of coming to the True North and treating with my people and myself if not to open the Wall?" Mance asked, wondering just where this conversation was going.
"First, to start trying to build some form of communication between our people. And second, Stark was adamant that he would not be allowing any Wildlings south of the Wall. However, he said nothing about those who are sworn to House Stark and the North."
The sorcerer's meaning was not lost to Mance. "The Free Folk do not kneel."
The sorcerer sighed and shook his head. "Such a narrow view of things. Tell me, Mance, the Free Folk have declared you their king after you earned the right to lead them, no? They follow you and take your orders, yet you also must appease them at times to keep their loyalty. And then there are the Thenns who, by what I've heard, have a system of nobility all their own that mirrors the noble Houses south of the Wall. Your people have their own laws that they follow and punishments in place for those who break them. So, tell me, Mance, outside of the fact that your people do not physically go to a knee to show respect and reverence for their leaders, what is the difference between those north of the Wall and those south of the Wall?"
Mance didn't want to admit it, but the man had a point. It was one that he had noticed himself some time ago. And, in truth, the Free Folk did not entirely hate the Northerners as much as the Northerners hated the Free Folk in any case. The Free Folk saved their hatred primarily for the Crows. But that didn't mean his people would willing sit down and feast with the Northerners with ease. "Regardless, my people will not bend the knee to Stark."
"Not all of them, no. But ask yourself this question, Mance, what is more important? Your people's pride or your lives?" Nox asked, making Mance more than slightly uncomfortable. "There is without a doubt many who would simply not be able to adjust to life south of the Wall. But there are over a hundred thousand of your people stretched across dozens, perhaps hundreds of clans. Can you truly say that there are not at least a few clans that would take the offer and swear allegiance to House Stark in return for safe passage south of the Wall and land of their own?"
It was a fair question. And as he thought about it, he was sure that he could perhaps one or two clan leaders who would swallow their pride and swear themselves to Stark if it meant being allowed to live safely south of the wall. The problem was the moment he advocated for such actions there were those who sought his position that would act. Harma Dogshead, the Lord of Bones, the Weeper, and Alfyn Crowkiller being chief amongst those who would be looking to usurp him of his position. The Thenns might be interested, but they had no want of anything south of the Wall and preferred their home in the Valley of the Thenn. But, perhaps, at the very least, an arrangement could be made between the largest group of Free Folk and the Northern Lords.
"I suppose that the reason you are letting me go is to use my position amongst the Free Folk to push a few of the more lenient clan leaders to take Stark's offer when he comes North to treat with us." Mance stated rather than asked.
"Yes," Nox nodded. "All it takes is one or two to take the offer and the others amongst your people will start to see the benefit and become more open to the idea of coming south and swearing their loyalty."
"Perhaps," Mance nodded, seeing the logic. "However, this will cause a break amongst the Free Folk. It's taken me near twenty years to get the tribes North of the Wall united. There are as many cultural differences and grievances north of the Wall as there are south. And several differing tongues. As it is, my position as King-Beyond-the-Wall is hanging on by a thread. If I advocate for the Free Folk to swear allegiance to the wolves, there are those who will see it as a betrayal and will not hesitate to break off and go back to the way things were as warring tribes."
The sorcerer didn't seem in the least bit perturbed with the idea. "You're at a crossroads, Mance. You can either try and save most of your people here and now, which will cause those who wouldn't be able to live south of the Wall to break away from you. Or you can stay as a whole, stay north of the Wall, and then pray to your gods that you can keep two steps ahead of the Others as they begin hunting your people down. The choice is yours and your peoples. Your 'freedom' or your lives."
"Fuck," Mance sighed, shaking his head and taking a few steps away from the sorcerer. "You're not making this easy, sorcerer."
"Times like these are never easy, Mance," the sorcerer replied with a shrug.
"Aye, that is for sure," Mance nodded as the sorcerer's words went through his mind. 'Save as many as I can, or force my people to take their chances against the Others.' "Alright, sorcerer…You and Stark ain't leaving me much choice. I'll ready my people for talks with the wolves. And I get a chief or two ready to accept Starks offer. I just hope you realize this will more than likely lead to war amongst my people."
"Hold up your end of this ploy, Mance, and I will use my power to aid you and yours if and when the time comes," the sorcerer stated with a note of finality.
"I'll hold ya to that, sorcerer," Mance nodded, knowing that there was no backing out now as he held out his hand. "May your gods be with ya, sorcerer."
The sorcerer nodded and took hold of Mance's arm. "And may the Force be with you, King-Beyond-the-Wall."
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