Rise And Fall Of House Rustwater

[OiHarkin]

Men do not sing songs of this part of the realm, Maester Bede mused as he looked out over the waves crashing against the rocky coast of the North.

Hailshore was a good castle and strong, but cold and grey as the seas it looked over. Even at the height of summer, the sea was little better than chilly and green, and up here in the rookery in one of the castle's few towers Bede still felt the need to bundle up. And this was far from the height of summer. The Starks were always right eventually. Winter is coming. Bede sighed as he moved back out of the wind and checked on his caged birds. The rookeries always kept more cages than they had birds to fill them, to store ones coming in. Hailshore kept four ravens, two black and two white, but had eight cages of black wrought iron, lined with strawdust. He spent an hour or two up here with them each day, waiting for ravens to come in from other maesters, but mostly to hear the waves and read his books. It had been a long time since he'd had children in the castle that needed his tutelage, but maesters were never idle. There was always something that needed his attention.

The book today was a modern copy Daeron I's Conquest of Dorne, in which the Young Conqueror detailed his account of his victory over the southern kingdom. This particular text had been made only a few years ago, copied out by one of the maesters in Oldtown by hand. Though it was not illuminated, it was still a fine enough example of work. He had read an older version of the same text during his training in the Citadel and he observed that there was hardly any difference between the two. There was a modern preface accomodating the idea that Dareon had exagerated the number of enemies his army faced so as to make his victory seem all the greater, though the conqueror's words were unaltered. But then, as now, the sandy land of heat and vipers was so far away and so different from everything that Bede had known as to practically be the same as the land of grumkins and goblins beyond the Wall. Of course, Dareon's conquest lasted only a little while and the uprising that followed ended the conqueror's life - but something made Bede look up from his book.

Coming from the south, there he saw a black speck mid-air. Over the course of a few seconds it grew larger and clearer, till he could make out the flapping wings individually. A raven coming down, black as a sworn brother. Dark wings, dark words.

When the raven came in, Bede set it up with some grain as he unfurled the message that had been tied to its leg. He would not send it away, not yet. If the Lord had a reply to make, he would need to use that raven to send it. And then he read the message. Seven save us. He called for Callwenn, his pimpled serving boy, to run down to gather the sons and prepare them. This would mean war.

[Hadrada]

Richard was alone, in his chambers, when Callwenn came for him. Richard had only recently arrived in Hailshore, having returned from one of his near semi-permanent tours around the family’s dominion. Even now he was engrossed in the business of the province, hunched over any number of papers and financial documents that he had gathered from his recent circuit, collating them into a coherent set of accounts and financial projections. Every now and again he could be found muttering various equations to himself over and over again to keep them fresh in his memory as he scrabbled around for a clean sheet of paper to write them down on. Pinned up on a wall was a crude map of the region, scribbled by Richard’s own hand. It was geographically inaccurate but it was close enough to allow a man to identify key roads, locations and give rough guides as to distance. Richard would never use this for actual navigation but he did occasionally use it for planning purposes. Currently various little tabs of paper had been loosely stuck to this map, showing the key figures for each settlement and with pinned on arrows showing the major trade through fares, with small pictures of the key goods moved long those routes. All of this was in aid of his economic planning, a few wax tablets lay on a nearby stool, with hastily scrawled plans and initiatives. The vast majority of these were unfeasible and hair brained ideas but that was how Richard often worked, creating any number of ideas from the tragically flawed to the inspired and then running the numbers through these ideas to weed out the week before he would ever present them to the wider world.

Callwenn’s appearance was both unexpected and unwelcome, it was not that Richard disliked the man but rather the fact that Richard never liked to be disturbed when deep in economic planning. Still a knock at the heavy oaken door demanded his attention and so, with a world weary sigh the man stood up to open the door and receive his visitor. The less than impressive serving boy was greeted with a raised eyebrow and a few moments of irritated silence before Richard remembered himself and said.

“What is it you require my boy?”

“Sir... your presence is urgently required in the hall. I…. I am to gather the rest of the family there…. I don’t know what it’s about sir.” The serving boy spoke in slightly broken tones, partly due to his age but partly due to his nervousness and inexperience, a factor that was compounded by the fact that several of the people he was about to talk to were known for cleaving skulls.

“Very well, off with you then. I’ll head to the hall at once.” Richard was still slightly irritated about the whole affair, ever grumpy when interrupted mid flow but whatever it was that was going on it seemed genuinely important. Waving Callwenn on Richard paused only to pick up his sword before stalking down the cold stone halls to the hold’s great hall. Even in these halls he liked to remain armed, if not armoured. For now he was wearing his more normal clothes, they consisted of plain and simple fabrics with a heafty scattering of furs and pelts, though since we was indoors he was not wearing the outermost layers. Still though, he looked like what he was, a man who spent far too long out in the cold.

Once he had eventually arrived in the great hall Richard cast his eye about him, those bright blue orbs drifting across the room with the same slow, fluid movement of an owl gently turning it’s head. But this calm only lasted a few brief moments. After a while nervous energy began to take control of him and Richard found himself pacing up and down the hall, turning sharply on his heel every so often with a well-practiced twist. He did not know what was going on but he knew it was both important and unexpected and this made him somewhat uncomfortable, even more so since it seemed to demand the presence of the entire family. Hopefully someone would arrive soon to explain the situation, until then though he would have to content himself with pacing, eyebrows locked in a frown of concentration and thought as he allowed himself to silently enter into wild conjecture and speculation.

[Dredigan]

Rickard Rustwater stood in the training yard. His black fur cloak fluttered loosely behind him as he maneuvered around his opponent, a young squire in service of one of his father's household knights. A wooden shield covered his chest and the lower part of his face and left forearm, a tourney sword was gripped tightly in his right hand. His practiced stance truly made a mockery of the young squire's unimpressive, amateur fighting style and, as always, the observers clapped when Rickard dropped the squire in a quick movement with which he swung his sword directly into the side of the boy's knee. When the boy fell to his knees Rickard shoved the tip of his sword into the ground to keep the hilt standing up in the air while he lent his hand to his fallen foe to help him up to his feet.

"You need to move a bit more or your enemies will do as I just did and get right behind you." Rickard said to the boy in an attempt to help him.

"As you say my lord. Shall we spar once more?" The boy asked but just as Rickard was about to accept the challenge Callwenn, the Maester's serving boy came running into the yard.

"M'lord, the Maester Bede asks for your presence m'lord. In the Hall." The boy said in a hurried tone.

"Very well." Rickard said, patting the squire on the shoulder. He walked off, leaving his tourney sword stuck in the ground. Once he was out of the sparring ring he walked across the cobblestone courtyard, set his shield on one of the racks containing the sparring gear and turned his attention to the main hall at the end of the long narrow courtyard. On his way over to the door he looked up at the rookery tower. How unfair that such an old man should have to climb to such a height every day, he thought. He did feel bad for the Maester but his cockiness was overbearing and he could only help to think that it was the maester's duty and that he'd be climbing the steps until his legs gave out and someone had to carry him. When he pushed open the great oaken doors to the main hall he found his cousin Richard alone, save for the several servants that were always bustling about.

"Cousin." Rickard said in his usual condescending tone. He cared for his cousin and for the rest of his family but, being the heir to the house, he always felt as though he was inherently better than all of them, even his father seemed like an old, tired man that was long passed his time though he wasn't even an elder yet. When he noticed his pacing cousin was armed he raised an eyebrow. "Have you any notion why the Maester called?"

[Imperial]

Another jolt made caused Borund to grimace and mutter a curse under his breath. His horse was tired and was not as sure on it's footing because of it. Rain had muddied the road and each tiny slip caused another ache in Borund's frame. Four days in the saddle had taken it's toll on the Lord Rustwater, the curse of holding such a large territory. His small entourage had traveled from Volbur, the small Hamlet half way from Hailshore to Sea Dragon Point, performing the justice of the north as was required. The journey was long, arduous and dull. The grimness of the north was heavy in the air throughout the journey, Borund suspected a change in seasons, his bones felt it. True or not his task had been equally grim.

Volbur was a small community, sworn to Borund directly that had been nominally under thumb of the same mayor for thirty years. Recently the old man had been exposed as cheating his liege on tax money, giving less than the worth of his administrative region. Northern justice would not tolerate insubordination and northern justice always had it's way. The old man was crippled and the journey to Hailshore would have killed him, a dishonorable way to die when it was his Lord's duty to end him personally. The odd circumstances forced Borund to travel and the conditions and mood only served to fuel his anger. When the old man's head was cleaved from his body, Borund felt more satisfaction then was right. He was to remain impartial for such things. His anger had turned on himself and the Lord had brooded all the way back to Hailshore.

The stronghold of Hailshore was not the most impressive of structures, it seemed as grim as it's surroundings. A low stone wall surrounded the port town which always bustled with activity, the wall became a breaker as it extended into the water to provide one arm of a bay for the ships. The town sat in a crescent shape around the bay, the richer areas being backed up against stoney cliff face that housed the keep. The cliff was thirty feet high and extended like a natural wall to form the other arm of the bay. Atop it and built into it, was Hailshore Keep. High walls, almost indistinguishable from the dark grey rock they sat upon, ran along the cliff like a knife. The Stronghold was thin and long like a knife, fifty meters being the width between each cliff face, nearly quadruple that in length. The Keep sat on the farthest point of that knife, a single square block of stone with a single high tower rising from the northeast corner. The rookery stood at it's top, but also a guard post, watchful eyes able to see far across the sparse landscape of Stoney Shore.

Borund and his men entered the town without fanfare, though many people shouted and greeted their Lord, bowing as he passed by. Borund waved off those looking for favours, the merchants would hound him later, he did not doubt it, for now he just wished to go home. He avoided riding along the docks, too many people and too many smells, the longer road winded through some alleys but was much less eventful. Town guards eventually formed a escort behind him as Borund begin the short zig-zag ascent to the gatehouse. He found his arrival expected as many were gathered in the long courtyard. Ahead the area was thick with stone buildings, servants quarters, the barracks, pens and stables. The marshaling yard, as this first space was known was the most open space within the walls and was kept free of obstacles at all times. A horn sounded as he passed under the gatehouse and through the open portcullis. Once in, he dismounted and was instantly bombarded by queries and messages from his court, though small they made a lot of noise and Borund was forced to silence them with a growl.
A particularly meek looking boy tried to gain his attention as Borund outpaced him with a long stride in the direction of the Keep proper. Air was escaping his mouth but words were not forthcoming, this annoyed the Lord and he stopped abruptly and turned to face the boy. The move caught his courtly entourage to almost trip over themselves.
"Speak, boy, before you strangle on your own tongue!" Borund boomed, his voice carrying across the yard. The shout caused the boy to jump and he closed up. Borund softened and trying not let his annoyance seep through, searched his memory for the boy's name. Callum or Calmer... Callwenn! The Maester's lackey.
"Callwenn, lad, what does the Maester say?"
"M-Maester Bede has received a raven, he requires your presence M'lord." The boy said, visibly relieved he had delivered his message without error.
"Tell the Maester he may attend me in the great hall, after I change into something that doesn't stink of horses." Borund turned away, his mind now troubled by the raven. Dark wings, dark words.

He remained troubled as he entered the great hall, no courtiers for now. Only those deemed important enough to receive the the Maesters words and a couple of servants, now busy filling Borund's tankard with ale. He was nearly the last to arrive but knew not a word would be spoken until he was ready to hear it. He paid no heed to those gathered and waited for message that was important enough to delay his trip to the small godswood inside the keep.

[Brandon]

Lucan woke up late that morning. Naked, he walked to another end of his little house to collect clothes and wore his usual outfit. He picked his dirty robe and worn shoes, without forgetting his staff and went out. Air was chilly, Lucan felt it immediately when wind reminded him of the North. He remembered his days in Pentos and how the air was humid and warm. He missed those days but he knew he had better chances to live and success in Hailshore. He walked in the muddy street and walked to the harbour. He could smell the sea and it gave him strenght. Sea was part of him since his childhood. While walking to the harbour, Lucan found it strange when people ran in to the walls and gate. From the hasty crowd he heard words "Lord Rustwater", "death" and "war". Lucan couldn't make any conclussions based on these rumours so he followed the crowd. Though he had many friends in the city from who he could receive the news anyway, he wanted to experience this by himself. He rushed through the mass of people.

It took some time to get to the gate. Words of Lord Rustwater were slipped from every mouth. As he could see the gate, he notified increased amount of guards. Lord Rustwater is truly coming. Chains chreeched and the gate opened slowly. Four riders on their horses came in, two next to each others followed by another pair. Then the lord of Rustwater himself rode in followed by some guards of his own. The gate was shut and part of the city guard escorted them to the castle. Citizens bowed and cheered, Lord Borund Rustwater had a good reputation among them. Lucan was near in the front of the crowd so he had good vision. As lord glanced at the crowd, seemed like their eyes would have met each others... for a short time. Acknowledge my presence.

Lord and his guards went on without stopping and soon the crowd was separated. Lucan made his way to the harbour. In the harbour, merchants marketed their products shouting and gaining attention. Lucan had no business in there. Actually, two of merchants worked for him but Lucan trusted them since they were paid in time. Both of the merchants' products were popular but also expensive. Thanks to his relations in Pentos, Lucan had managed to get one ship to transport few different merchandise to Hailshore every week. One of Lucan's merchant's, known as Selmon, sold spices. He was the one with who Lucan moved to Hailshore and offered a job. Lucan saw this small and fat man in his little temporary tent three customers looking what they would pick. I gave him better life and he is in debt to me. He won't fail me. Selmon didn't saw him but Lucan didn't want him to see him so he kept on walking checking his another merchant.

Lucan arrived to a clothing shop. Because it wasn't raining, some clothes and materials were set outside of a little tent. Some of clothes weren't common Westerosi clothes but brought from Pentos like spices. A woman held the store. She was young and pretty, Lucan had to admit. She was one of his first acquaintances in Hailshore after his arrival. Lucan learned name Janna and asked her to keep his shop. Janna and Selmon were each others opposites: Janna was young, beautiful and slim when Selmon was fat, middle-aged and rough looking. But Janna was fashionable so the buyers would more likely buy from her. Fat Selmon looked like well-eaten and so some may think that he is expertised on food. Lucan looked at Janna from a distance but despite it, she noticed him and waved. Lucan answered to her greet with a shy raise of hand and then left. I have trust on both of them. But will it be enough? While walking away to a tavern, Lucan touched the coin purse inside his robes and felt more confident.

[OiHarkin]

When Bede finally managed to hobble his way down from the tower and into the great hall, it was fairly clear why he was known as venerable. The man's best days were long behind him. He had been white of hair when he taught Rickard, the eldest, letters and sums, and from there his skin had grown thinner, his bones weaker, eyes dimmer. But the chain was still a chain and he still served, as he had done during the Rebellions, as he had during the reign of the Mad King... To wear the chain was to serve the Kingdoms, no matter who ruled them. Such thoughts might have helped him keep focused but they didn't help him down the steps of the tower any faster.

By the time the maester and his twisted oak cane had tak-tak-tak'd their way down to the main hall, it seemed that enough time had been spent that everyone who needed to be there was there. Lord Borund Rustwater and his brother Marden, Borund's son Rickard and Marden's son Richard; Pellaquo the cousin with more than a little Targaryen in his look, silvery hair and purple eyed but duskier in his complexion. Then there was long-haired Hallen Snow, bastard-born son of one of the Hornwoods who had been sent to foster here and now captained the castle guard. All gathered together at the word of the dark raven that he had come down to dispense. But before that, he felt tired from his trek down the tower, moving with Callwen's assistance over towards one of the chairs near Borund's seat.

After easing himself slowly into the chair, he reached into his sleeve and tugged out the paper he'd unwound from the black-winged raven. "A bird came, milord, from Flint's Finger." The castle to the south sat on Cape Kraken and overlooked the Ironman Bay - and the Iron Islands. "Ironborn raiders have been reaving and raiding the coastline. The Drowner and the Widow's Bane sunk Neal Glover's Stalwart when he sailed out to oppose them. No-one knows if Glover is dead or a hostage." Bede let his voice rest for a moment, to allow the others to understand the implications. "It appears the Greyjoys are in rebellion once more."

[Dredigan]

As the Maester entered the room Rickard broke off from his cousin, despite the thought that he may be ready to say something in reply to his greeting. Rickard turned to his left and walked up around the table of the lord and sat down in his usual spot at the left of the high seat. He took to his habit of lightly tapping his index finger on the table as he listened to Bede's words. When he came to the last, "The Greyjoys are in rebellion once more.", Rickard felt a bit taken back. It had only been a few years since the last time they had taken up arms against the seven kingdoms and House Rustwater had been a prominent force in the fight against them. Rickard had actually taken his first command during that war and he had been somewhat cocky about it ever since as though the rest of the people in his house were new to the idea of close combat. Despite that, it had been a minor naval engagement that he'd partaken in, he barely had to use his sword during the whole thing. After brief consideration of the words, and without letting the lord get the first word in, Rickard spoke up.

"Now would be a good time to retaliate, father. The whole family is gathered, Richard's being here makes me believe the realm is in decent enough order and I find myself doubting that they will be expecting us to move in force so early. Maester Bede, has a raven been sent to Kings Landing?" Rickard was attempting to offer the truest advice he could however when he said "us" he really just meant that his father should give him command of a contingent of knights to do with as he saw fit. Quelling a rebellion at twenty five would be a great way to start off his career and a good way to gain morale even before coming into his lordship. After he had posed his question he leaned back and rested his head on his hand, awaiting the seething look he would likely receive from his father in the next few moments.

[Hadrada]

When his cousin entered the room Richard gave only a small nod of the head in recognition. The two men had known one another for far to long for Richard to adopt any kind of formality or show excessive deference, aside from official occasions. He was similarly quiet when asked a direct question. Instead Richard just shook his head and kept on pacing. The young man however, was more animated when his Lord entered. This event rested his attention and caused Richard to stop his concerned striding and instead turn to greet his Uncle with a simple.
“My Lord Uncle.” Richard would then fall into an attentive silence, waiting for Borund to in some way act or for events to move on at their own pace. As it happened, events occurred before his uncle could get too involved in things.

He took a few moments to process the news, once the aged old maester had finally gotten around to sharing it with all those present. The news was, as Richard though it might be, bad. Richard never had relished in the prospect of war, oh he knew it would come one day, from somewhere, and so he had readied himself as best as he was able. But still, he had no desire to rush headlong into the affair.

He remained silent whilst his cousin jumped at the opportunity to speak. If things were as they seemed prompt action was indeed called for but Rickard’s suggestion was embryonic, it needed development.

“Another rebellion from the Greyjoys?” Exclaimed Richard, as seemingly confused as he was surprised. He waited for a moment as if silently double checking his own thoughts before he continued.

“I must confess it seems rash of them, do they not learn from past mistakes? Is there something I am missing?” Had Richard been better at sensing potential trickery, or simply been paranoid by nature, he would have smelt more of a rat about all of this. However, he was a simple man in this regard and acted on the facts as presented to him.

“Swift action is necessary, we cannot allow for our trade routes to be raided for long. Any long term piracy will not only damage our economy in the short run but traders will find new routes which by pass our ports and insurers will charge high premiums for ships moving through our waters. If the piracy doesn’t kill us today the insurance will tomorrow.” Moving over to the gently smouldering fire place Richard prodded away at the edges with a poker until he eventually managed to draw out some decent pieces of near crumbling burnt wood. Walking back over to the table he used this to draw a smutty outline of the coast, the Iron Islands and other points of interest on the wooden surface. Latter it could all just be swept away.

“Funding long term anti piracy efforts at sea is expensive an inefficient. If we can take Pyke we can cut the head off their naval efforts and possibly the beast as a whole, though there is always the possibility that they may take any further resistance to the fields. I can send riders to our villages and towns, raise a levy to be hastily trained by our own men at arms. Some of them already have some experience with me. In the mean time I and my horsemen as well as a few engineers could be loaded onto ships and sailed around the western side of the Iron Islands, approaching the island on which Pyke sits from the south west. If we were to make landfall there the high ground would obscure us from the main settlement and our landing would likely be unopposed. In the time it would take the Greyjoys to swing land forces around to face me my men and I could hastily construct a crude rock and wood quay, against which heavier ships could harbour. The bulk of our land forces could then be put ashore along with the levy men. It would also act as our primary supply point. From there I march on Pyke. I may well face the enemy in open battle but I believe I can force the enemy back into Pyke. From there I would lay siege by land, erecting siege weapons near the harbour itself to menace shipping going in and out. Our Navy can tack off a safe distance and blockade the port. If the enemy were to sally forth from the walls they would find me in a prepared position if they don’t they starve. I have no intention of throwing men at walls however, that is a way to waste lives.” As Richard relayed this plan he would use the burnt wood to draw arrows, circles and other things as appropriate. After he had finished outlining his own skeleton plan he looked about to invite comment.

A second thought then struck him, he seemed both surprised and a little ashamed he had not put forward this point first. “Neal Glover, do we have a way of discovering his status? Do we have agents who could answer this question? We should recover him if we can.”

[KrazyWolf]

Marden's blood ran cold at the Maester's words. When he had called on him in the cabin of his flagship he had not expected the matter to be so serious, despite the serving boy's breathless tones when conveying Bede's summons. Marden tightened his grip on the arms of his chair and looked to the window for clarity. Seagulls circled on a clear azure backdrop, oblivious to the encroaching darkness from the sea. Marden knew though. He knew the horror of war; killing strangers who could have been friends, watching brethren you had drank and japed with die, the screams of the fallen and hopeless. As his son talked he only half listened, his eyes fixed on the birds outside and the memories that plagued his mind. Marden understood the Ironborn more than most Westerosi and had a solid idea of how they would act. They have no taste for diplomacy, no weakness for words. "Some battles are won with swords and spears, others with quills and ravens" they say, but the former only applies with Ironborn. All they care for is rape and pillage thanks to that blasted Drowned God of theirs.
In the quiet following Richard's proposal, Marden turned back away from the window and reverie to the council around him. He relinquished his grip on the chair arms and lent forward, indicating his turn to speak. Silence had consumed the chamber as each person mulled over Richard's words. Marden hoped his experience and military success would give him sufficient leverage in this discussion. He could only pray Borund would heed his guidance both now and in the coming hours as he had at the outset of the last Greyjoy rebellion.
"Brothers," he began, appealing to the notion of camaraderie, "My son's counsel is meticulous and assured yet lacks the experience and safeguards to deliver. It will take weeks to gather the resources required and weeks more to sail round to Pyke. The Maester's reports state the Ironborn are already reaving up the southern coastline. What's to say they don't arrive here next week, tomorrow, today? We lack the time to mobilise Richard's scheme at present. We need immediate action. Our first priority is keeping the raiders at bay; not through words, but through swords. We must show the Ironborn that we are not a force to be taken lightly. We must pinpoint their harriers' exact locations and rain down on their parties unawares. This should give us a brief period of respite as they revise their attack for us to send word to and procure aid from King's Landing to barrage the Iron Islands like last time." He swept his gaze around the floor to let the words sink in for a second and assure each individual that they were valuable addressees. "The Ironborn pale in force to the might of the mainland. Their attrition of the coasts is little more than child's play to the destruction we will hammer down upon them. Do I have your support brothers?"

[Dredigan]

Without hesitation Rickard stood from his chair at the table. His father seemed quiet so he took another turn at speaking. After sitting and mulling on his cousins plan and taking the best of that along with the best of his uncles plan he was almost sure he had come up with a decent plan of action.

"Dear uncle, let's be honest. It's widely known that Robert doesn't like to attend his councils so he likely won't hear of this for a few weeks and the queen won't send her own men to die. Her response will be that if Lord Rustwater cannot protect his land then he does not deserve it. "Not to mention we will look very comely in the eyes of Lord Stark if we quell a rebellion on our own. However I see the merit in the rest of your plan and I've come up with an idea that just might work." Rickard began his explanation, then moved away from the table to ponder by a window that overlooked the sea. "Now what if we send a raiding party to Old Wyk and the rest of the smaller isles since those are likely the ones they bring the raiders from. They will not have the power to stand up to us there. We all know that the Ironborn will defend their own lands before taking ours, so while they send their ships back to quell Richards raiders we can take that time to muster the men we need to launch an assault on Pyke." Rickard moved back to the table and sat down, all proud of himself. "We can stop the raiding on the Stone Shore and take down the Greyjoy's in one swift movement. Of course you, uncle, would likely need to lead the assault on Pyke seeing as you know more of it than anyone else in this room by my accounts.

Rickard wanted to please his uncle with that last bit and his father with the rest of it. He knew as well as any noble that the best way to get ahead was to kill the next person in the line of succession but there was nobody separating Rickard and the Lord, so the second best way was to kiss up to them like they were the gods. He didn't know if it would work on his father but he was quite sure his uncle would find the plan of sound mind, despite the obvious flaws which were the reason they held war councils. When he was done speaking he scanned the faces of the men in the room and waited for the comments.