The Grand Maester's office was usually very neat and organized. He had windows on both the east and west walls so that he would always have natural light streaming in. He always kept an abundance of candles in a small chest by his desk for his habit of working late. The shelves around the room housed more than a hundred books, ranging from history to medicine. It was Samwell's paradise. It was peaceful, quiet, set high above the gardens, away from the constant clack-ing and clang-ing of the training grounds.
However, Sam's office was now littered with books, papers, inkwells, and broken quills. He and Artos had been pouring over the books for weeks, carefully translating every rune and making sure that there was no mistake with the script. There were some books that weren't as bad as others, like the books about the lives of the five heroes and a few others, but then there are books like The Return that warned that the Long Night will return. Those books always left Sam shaking and worried.
The book that Sam was working on now was unlike anything he had ever read before. It started off talking about the Long Night coming, how it quickly overcame the North and the Others steadily made their way south, sweeping aside any resistance, but Sam had since reached a passage that mentioned something that the other books hadn't. It read:
The realms of men rallied to the Isle, under the leadership of the five war leaders: Bran of Clan Stark, Lann of Clan Casterly, Roland of Clan Greyson, Garth the Greenhand, and Durran of Clan Durrandon. Fear moved amongst the survivors like an old friend as death and ice bore down on them. Gone were the smiles and all thoughts of happiness. The downfall of Man seemed on the horizon. The sun had been destroyed and a cold wind tore through the south. All life seemed to wither and die.
The war leaders were all that history would remember, but there was a sixth man from their group that was just as important. While Stark and Durrandon rallied the reeling clans and gathered their warriors for battle, it was this hero who traveled into the deep forests and found the Children of the Forest, convincing them to help fight for the living. He helped former foes become friends much like the elders of the First Men who came before him, and the alliance forged at that moment marked an end to the great darkness that was threatening to consume the land of the living.
During the Battle for the Dawn, this hero fought through the ranks of the undead, clearing a path to the leader of the Others, fighting the demon in single combat. It was a great battle between life and death, and in that moment, life won. His victory came at a great cost. As he gave his life to defeat the Great Other, he allowed the others to send the remnants of the enemy fleeing back to their frozen, gods-forsaken wasteland. He had broken the source of the power, temporarily, leaving the rest unprotected by their black god.
Four of the war leaders returned to their homes and continued to build on their legendary legacies, it was Bran Stark that ensured that this hero's sacrifice would never be forgotten. When he rebuilt his stronghold in the center of the North, he named it 'Winterfell' to honor the man's greatest achievement and the site of mankind's greatest victory.
This hero's name was Brynden Highsmith, Finder of the Forgotten and Forger of Friendships. The Last Hero of Mankind.
"Artos?" Sam said curiously, looking over at the clansmen. "Do you know of someone named Highsmith?"
The clansman frowned and shook his head. "I have seen no such name in the books."
"No, in history," Sam said before elaborating. "He might also be known as the Last Hero."
"There were few stories about a man who was referred to as the Last Hero," Artos said slowly. "He is only known as the one who found the Children of the Forest during the Long Night. He is of minor importance."
"Not according to this," Sam said, raising the book. "This says that he fought and defeated the leader of the Others. He's the reason why Bran the Builder named his stronghold Winterfell."
Artos shrugged. "So?"
Sam's mind ran off before he could stop it. There was obviously something important about Brynden Highsmith. The mysterious author of the book had gone out of their way to praise the man, not only for his sacrifice but because he was the one who sought out the Children when mankind's need was darkest. Sam began to count on his fingers as he spoke.
"This passage mentioned the five heroes: Bran the Builder, Lann the Clever, Durran Godsgrief, the Grey King, and Garth Greenhand. Every one of them went on to be kings and as recognized as the heads of ancient and great houses. Why isn't there a House Highsmith?"
Artos shrugged again. "He had no children."
Sam wasn't convinced. "Maybe."
"He had children." an unknown voice said from the door.
Both Sam and Artos turned to see a tall, strange man standing in the doorway, garbed in a green cloak and commoners clothes. His cloak was pushed away from his shoulders, showing that he was unarmed. His hands were hidden behind his back, but Sam had the feeling that he wasn't holding a weapon. There was an aura around the man that Sam couldn't place, but it didn't seem like he was had shown up to cause problems.
"Forgive me, but who are you?" Sam asked, closing the book in front of him.
"I am the Green Man," he answered. "You are the Grand Maester?"
Sam's jaw nearly fell to the floor. "The Green Man?"
"Yes." the man said, closing the door behind him with a foot and revealing what was behind his back. It was a thick, leather-bound book that only had the image of a weirwood within a circle stamped on the cover. "Much like the Kingsguard document all who serve in their order, the Green Men have done the same."
The Green Man handed the book to Sam, who took it gingerly, still in shock that he was in the presence of a green man.
"Brynden Highsmith was a servant of the Old Gods," the Green Man continued, sitting down in a nearby chair. For the first time, Sam noticed that the man's hood had antlers on them. He remembered hearing rumors that Green Men had green skin and had antlers sprouting from their heads. It seems like they were not total lies.
"Like a priest?" Sam said, opening the book and glancing over the pages. It was simply lists of names, many of which had surnames that came from ancient houses.
"No," the Green Man responded. "His father was known as the 'Carver of Children'. A mighty warrior who was consumed by bloodlust during the war between the First Men and children. He committed terrible atrocities and as compensation, his son was given over to the gods."
"How did he earn the name 'Highsmith'?" Artos asked.
"He forged a sword from the heart of a fallen star." the Green Man said with a knowing smile. "I believe you know about it."
Sam returned the smile. "He forged Dawn."
"He was a talented smith." the Green Man said. "Forged many weapons that found themselves in the hands of men such as Bran the Builder, the Grey King, and others. Ice, the sword wielded by Lord Stark, is named after the sword forged by Brynden Highsmith. Of course, the original blade was given to Brandon of the Bloody Blade."
"Who?" Sam asked curiously. The name sounded familiar, but he had read so many names over the past few days that he was having trouble keeping up members of the court.
"Bran the Builder's father," the Green Man explained with a vague wave of his hand. "Brandon of the Bloody Blade was a rumored child of Garth Greenhand."
"So the Starks originally came from the Reach?" Sam said.
The Green Man shook his head. "They might have come from the loins of Garth Greenhand. So did House Lannister if you believe some of the stories."
Sam had a thousand questions. He loved history and knew many of the stories regarding the children of Garth Greenhand. After all, the founders of his own house, Harlon the Hunter and Herndon of the Horn, were sired by the man. He was about to ask another question when Artos interjected.
"You said the man had children."
"He did," the Green Man said, nodding to the northern clansman. "Two boys, one with strong ties to the Green Men and the other with strong ties to the Night's Watch."
"Why does history never mention him?" Sam asked.
"As you said, he, nor his kids, went on to be founders of a house." the Green Man said. "Stark, Casterly, Gardener, they all did. The Highsmith's stuck to their roots and have quietly been one of the longest-lasting families in Westeros."
"How do you know all this?" Artos asked.
"Because I'm a Highsmith," the Green Man said simply. "I am the last Highsmith. The line connected to the Night's Watch slowly died off around the time Aegon landed where we now sit. My father had only me before he died."
"I am sorry to hear that," Sam said.
The Green Man waved aside the apology. "Houses have gone extinct before. Mine is not the first and won't be the last."
"Nothing is permanent." Artos grunted.
"A wise lesson to learn." the Green Man nodded. "As I said, Highsmith was one of the heroes from the Age of Heroes, just not one anyone remembers."
"But he gave his life to save the world." Sam protested.
"And although that was an honorable sacrifice, it will be the others who are remembered longer because they founded houses and became legends." the Green Man said. "Trust me, Samwell Tarly, there is no need to make my ancestor a legend to stand beside the likes of Bran the Builder or Lann the Clever. All I wish to see is the enemy he fought against defeated once and for all."
"And they will." the king said, entering the room. "Sam, we're about to have a council meeting. Highsmith, I want you there as well."
The strange man nodded. "As you wish."
Robb Stark
"You all have questions, and I will do my best to answer them all in a single response," Robb said, standing behind his chair as he started the meeting.
The small council chambers had more people than usual. Along with Robb's councilors, there were also all seven Kingsguard, Ser Brynden, Ser Davos, Jaime, and Eyan Hawker standing in the back of the room. The other councilors sat in their usual seats. Everyone besides Margaery, Tyrion, the Green Man, and Sam looked confused with the sudden announcement of the meeting and why there were so many people present.
"There have been many things happening in the North, more so than just the raising of a wildling army," Robb continued. "My brother Jon and my father have been actively dealing with the situation and the rumors themselves."
"What rumors, your grace?" Lady Olenna asked, folding both hands over her cane.
"I will get to them in a moment, my lady," Robb said. "Before I sent Jon to the Wall to investigate the wildlings, he sent Samwell a collection of books hidden away by Maester Luwin, Winterfell's last maester. These books contained knowledge of the time during the Age of Heroes, a time in which even the Citadel doesn't know much about. Many of these books contained a message―a warning from the past."
Robb hesitated at this point, prompting Ser Brynden to push him on. "What was the warning, your grace?"
"That the Long Night will come again," Margaery answered from her place on Robb's right. "These books have made it very clear that the Others were not totally defeated during the Long Night. They simply retreated to a place where no living thing could reach them, regrouping for a time when they could return."
"I have made my brother and father aware of this and they have been looking into more reports from the wildlings," Robb said, gesturing to the Green Man in the back of the room.
"This is why I traveled to the Isle of Faces and met the Green Man. I am well aware of what people south of the Neck think of the Wall and what's beyond it, hence why I have kept this matter secret from all but a few."
"Your grace, do you have any proof of this?" Lord Royce asked. The rest of the room was completely silent, waiting to see what Robb would say. From the looks on their faces, they were taking his words seriously, although many still looked skeptical about the idea of the Long Night returning.
"Benjen Stark, First Ranger for the Night's Watch and the king's uncle, is currently riding south with proof," Margaery said, holding up a scroll sealed with black wax. "We received his message yesterday."
"What proof?" Lady Olenna asked skeptically.
"He did not say," Margaery answered, shaking her head. "Whatever it is, I can only assume that it's undeniable evidence of the Long Night and the existence of the Others."
The room was quiet for a short time. All of Robb's advisors were from the south and they had grown up, like most, believing that the Long Night was nothing but a ghost story. Hearing that it's not just a story, but a historical event that may be happening again left many of them struggling with what they believed in. None had any thought of calling the king or queen liars, but this matter warred with everything they knew to be logical.
Some, like Lord Royce, looked to be on the king's side. House Royce is an old house with strong ties to the First Men. If Robb said that the Long Night was returning, and his story was supported by the likes of his father, then that was more than enough for Bronze Yohn.
"What should we do?" Lady Anya asked finally.
"There is not much we can do," Robb said grimly, "but I am done waiting around."
"Robb…." Margaery began to say, but Robb kept speaking.
"In a few days, I'll sail for Eastwatch-by-the-Sea and get a measure of what exactly we're dealing with. It's too much to ask of my family to send reports from the other side of the continent." Robb said. "As always, the queen and Lord Tyrion will rule in my stead."
"Your Grace, I admire your dedication to such an issue, but the Faith Militant was just stamped out. Should you not wait to head north until we are sure that they are well and truly gone?" Lord Mallister asked.
Robb shook his head. "With the High Sparrow gone and his faithful either arrested or dead, I don't see a reason to delay," he answered. "There is nothing that Lord Tyrion and Lord Tarly can't accomplish together should the militant resurface."
"What if it's a folly?" Jaime asked, earning a few glares from others in the room.
"Then it is a folly I took seriously to ensure the safety of my kingdom," Robb replied firmly. "I will say it again. I know that the idea of the Long Nights brings out words like 'snarks' and 'grumpkins' from many of the southern lords, but I am of the North and there we take threats coming from the Wall seriously."
"My lords and lady, the queen and I spoke at length about this. It's a political nightmare and I admire their courage to even bring this topic before the council," Tyrion said, speaking up for the first time. "There is truly nothing that any of us sitting in this room can do at the moment. There are hundreds of nobles throughout the other seven kingdoms who would sooner elect a new king rather than order their men to march north to the Wall to defend it from myths. The fact that the king is willing to be active, to travel to the Wall and see what we truly fight, takes balls that even giants don't have."
"We are not questioning the king's courage, Lord Hand." Lady Anya said. "Only that…."
"Only what?" Lord Mallister asked, gazing at the lady of Ironoaks. Lord Mallister, like most Riverlords, was fiercely loyal to Robb, especially after all he did for the Riverlands during and after the war.
"My lord, my lady, please…." Lord Royce said, trying to prevent a fight from breaking out.
"We must prepare the men for war." Lord Tarly grumbled, drawing him into a discussion with Alec Reed and Tyrion about the importance of information and troop movement.
The room started to break out into tiny conversations. Ser Brynden turned to speak with Brienne. Jaime turned to Ser Davos and Eyan. Only the seven kingsguard and the grand maester were silent. Robb knew all too well that it was only a matter of time before the room broke out into chaos. He took a deep breath, preparing to regain control of the room, but someone beat him to it.
"The Wall was not meant to keep out wildlings!" Samwell said, raising his voice as he got to his feet. Instantly, the room became completely silent. "I have seen the Wall. I don't know what Bran the Builder was thinking, but I doubt that he built a wall of ice several hundred feet tall to keep out a few tribes. There is a darker, more terrible threat looming that has long since been lost to time. They're returning and we have to do all we can to prepare or else not only will we lose, but the world will lose."
No one said anything. If the room was quiet after Robb made his statement, it somehow became quieter after Samwell spoke. The silence, however, lasted for only a few moments before some shuffling the back of the room broke it. The Green Man carefully moved between the two white-armored warriors, coming to a stop next to Jaime and the Blackfish.
"Samwell Tarly has the right to it," he said, speaking slowly and clearly. "I am from the order of the Green Men, guardians of the Isle of Faces, a force that has stood since before the Long Night. Those in my order take an oath to never abandon the isle under any circumstances except one: the Long Night. Now my men roam Westeros, awakening the deep forests wherever they still remain. So much information has been lost, destroyed by wars and the ignorance of man, but there are still a few who remember oaths taken by others."
The man began to walk around the table, his steps barely making a sound. "I am not asking you to believe what I say. I am just a man in servitude to the gods. What I am asking is that you give King Robb and Queen Margaery a chance to be proven right. I have seen many kings come and go, but these two have brought untold stability to the land. They have good intentions, honorable intentions, and they wish to protect the kingdom they love." he finished, coming to a stop next to Robb.
"That was a very pretty speech, ser, but how do we know that you are who you say you are?" Lady Olenna challenged. "After all, anyone can wear a green cloak and some antlers.
The Green Man flipped back his hood, something he hadn't done the entire time he spent with Robb. He had long, braided brown hair running down the middle of his head. A jagged scar curved around the outside of his right eye, starting at the top of his cheek and ending centered with one of his deep, forest-green eyes. He was not ruggedly handsome like Robb. His features were harsh and made others naturally look away from him. It was the same effect the Hound had on others.
Robb thought his father had mastered the look of the firm resolution, yet the Green Man had him beat.
"I am Bryn Highsmith, the Green Man of the Green Men, Speaker of the Old Gods and Protector of the Isle of Faces." he declared, his voice booming through the room. "I am who I say I am, Olenna Redwyne." For just a moment, the Green Man's eyes flashed red, like blood, before returning to normal.
"And the Long Night is coming."
Jon Stark
It had been a long time since Jon had been around normal civilization, or as close as the men at Castle Black came to that. The trip from Hardhome to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea took a few days, and that's when things became more difficult than getting a full-grown giant aboard one of Cotter Pyke's ships.
The followers of Mother Mole settled along the coast between the Gift and the New Gift, building jetties and fishing villages, getting boats out on the water as soon as possible. It was too late to get any crops in the ground, so all they could rely on was what they brought with them from Hardhome and what they could pull from the sea.
There weren't many problems between the men of the Night's Watch and the wildlings, mostly due to Jon and Cotter's work. The two leaders worked tirelessly to resolve any issue before it became a problem, knowing full well that any small slight could turn into a bloodbath. Tormund was extremely helpful to Jon, using wildling 'negotiating' to bring his people back in line. As it turns out, Tormund's negotiating tactics usually involved lots of shoving, shouting, and threatening violence.
Smalljon and Alysane had been waiting for him at Eastwatch, but soon departed for their homes after Jon's return. They had heard rumors from Castle Black about what his Uncle Benjen had and wanted to see it for themselves in Winterfell. If they passed Lord Stark, who was on his way to Castle Black, they would tell him that Jon was well.
Jon had spent almost two weeks at Eastwatch and among the wildlings, ensuring that they had what they needed to survive and prepare for what was to come. They were a rough bunch to be around, foul-mouthed and brutally blunt, but they were also resilient, hard-working, honest, and courageous. Each member pulled their own weight, whatever that entailed. Men and women worked side by side without issue, hunting, building, and fishing. There was no room for differences based on sex, as Jon came to learn. Everyone needed to know how to fight and survive.
For how strange it was to live amongst those who Jon once thought his enemy, things took a turn when the Skagosi arrived. To be more specific, a Skagosi.
Flashback
"The wildings have settled down well on the shore," Jon said, pulling his cloak tighter around him. The snow fell more and more with each passing day, and the light shined for shorter periods of time. All the natural signs pointed to winter coming. He and Cotter Pyke were standing in the courtyard of Eastwatch as Jon reported what he had learned from the wildlings over the past few days. The two had only known each other for a few days, but already they had a better relationship than Jon had with Ser Alliser.
"With luck, they'll be well-stocked for winter with the fish they're catching."
"If we have any leftover supplies, I'll be sure to send it their way," Cotter promised. "But after we're well-stocked."
Shipments from the south continued and were still being dispersed among the three active castles; Castle Black, the Shadow Tower, and Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. Wagons filled with wood, stone, preserved food, metal to make weapons and armor. The Night's Watch was as well supplied as they had ever been and it barely put a dent in what the realms were harvesting.
"Whatever you can send will help," Jon said. "I will tell Mother…."
Jon's voice was lost as he looked past Cotter at the mountain of a man entering the castle. He stood well over two meters tall, with long, shaggy hair and a beard that even the Greatjon would be envious of. He wore mismatched animal hides and a great fur cloak. A half-moon axe was slung across his back.
"Who in the blazes is that?" Cotter Pyke grumbled.
"I'm not sure," Jon said. "I don't think he's a wildling."
The man spotted Ghost, who as always was by Jon's side, and seemed to recognize Jon as his master.
"Stark." the man boomed, his voice surprising more than a few others in the courtyard.
Jon's hand drifted for his sword. "I am Jon Stark," he answered, walking slowly towards the man. "Who are you?"
"I am Buryk Magnar, of Clan Magnar." the man said, thumping his fist against his chest. "I have come to talk to the Stark."
"I am a Stark," Jon said.
The man shook his head. "I need the Stark. I must uphold our oath to him."
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Cotter Pyke demanded, crossing his arms.
"The oath!" the man shouted. "Where is Stark?"
"Come, Lord Magnar," Jon said, motioning for the man to follow him. "You can talk to me about this oath."
The man grumbled and sent a glare at Cotter before following Jon up into the mess hall, his steps shaking the stairs as he went up. The two watchmen who stood close to the mess hall looked like boys compared to the gigantic figure. He was so intimidating that they even backed away as he passed them. Inside, Jon poured three tankards of ale, passing two to the man before taking one for himself and taking a seat at one of the tables. Lord Magnar grunted his thanks and sat across from Jon, instantly taking a deep draft.
"Tell me about this oath you swore to my father," Jon said.
Lord Magnar finished his ale before responding. "Skagosi are First Men. Northmen and Skagosi are not friends, but we have not forgotten our promise."
"Let me guess, it's about the Long Night." Jon sighed, taking a drink of his ale.
Lord Magnar nodded. "The leaders of the clans all swore an oath to the Starks that we would return when they returned. This oath is given again with each new leader from the Stanes, Magnars, and Crowls."
"What have the Skagosi done to prepare for the Long Night?" Jon asked.
Lord Magnar stabbed a knife into the wood table. It was an obsidian blade and the handle wrapped in leather. Jon grabbed hold of the weapon and pulled it free from the wood with a thunk
"We have weapons. Many weapons made to kill Others." Lord Magnar said grimly. "We know what frozen fire does. We know the stories."
"I've heard some as well." Jon nodded. "Back to the point, you're looking for my father to reaffirm this oath your ancestors made to the Starks of Winterfell."
"Yes." Lord Magnar said. "It must be given to the Stark of Winterfell and only to him. Then, and only then, will he have command over the warriors of Skagos."
Jon raised an eyebrow. He knew that the skagosi and northmen never did get along. Northerners saw skagosi in the same light as wildlings; as uncivilized, bloodthirsty savages. But if Jon's father could command a small force of warriors as large and as fearsome as Lord Magnar, then Jon had an immense amount of confidence wherever they fought.
"My father is heading north to speak with the King-Beyond-the-Wall, Mance Rayder," Jon said. "I mean to ride to Castle Black myself. You are free to join me."
"If Stark rides for Castle Black, then I will meet him there and he will hold the skagosi to our oath." Lord Magnar said firmly.
Flashback
Jon and Buryk rode side by side as they rode into Castle Black, followed by Tormund, Ygritte. The first person Jon spotted was Grenn, who smiled grimly and strode up to the small party. As soon as Jon dismounted, the two former brothers clasped arms.
"Glad to see you're not dead," Grenn said, looking over Jon's shoulder at the group of wildlings. "You were successful."
"Thousands of free folk have settled on the eastern shore," Jon said. "They'll make a decent living there. Better than north of the Wall on a poorly defended peninsula."
"Who's the giant?" Grenn asked, nodding towards Lord Magnar.
"A skagosi, Buryk Magnar, of House Magnar." Jon replied. "He needs to see my father."
"Lord Stark?" Grenn asked. "He should be here today. I know the Lord Commander has been grinding his teeth about it. Hardly anyone wants to go near the damn man."
"Jon Stark." an all too familiar voice sneered. "Why am I not surprised that you've made friends with the wildlings."
Jon heard some movement behind him, but he held up a hand, knowing that Tormund was reaching for his sword. He knew how to deal with Ser Alliser, and he didn't need the old raider making things harder on him. Besides, if Tormund was to draw his sword, then there would be a fight and Jon had no intention of his father walking into a bloodbath.
"Lord Commander," Jon said easily. "I heard that Mance and his people are just beyond the Wall. Why have they not been let through?"
"It's not my problem what side of the Wall they're on." Ser Alliser said, waving aside Jon's question. "Those savages behind you shouldn't be here either."
"They're my guests," Jon responded, an edge in his voice. "What do you mean they're not your problem? Have you not seen what's north of the Wall?"
"All I see north of the Wall is a bunch of uncivilized barbarians." Ser Alliser said.
"Lord Commander, the First Ranger brought a wight through not long ago. We all saw it." Grenn said, speaking up against his commander.
"He caught a wight?" Tormund grunted, stunned and confused.
"Aye, and it nearly made half the brothers faint at the sight of it," Grenn said grimly. "It's not natural."
Ser Alliser ground his teeth. "It is my job to defend the Wall, and for generations, the wildlings have been attacking it. I will not be the one to allow our enemies through our defense."
"Cotter Pyke let thousands of the free folk pass the Wall. They've settled and are thriving." Jon protested.
"Free folk." Ser Alliser scoffed. "Have you become a wildling lover, Lord Jon?"
"I admire them more than some of the Night's Watch, that's for damn sure." Jon snapped. "You'd let your fucking ego let hundreds of thousands die."
The lord of Long Lake stepped forward until he was chest to chest with the old knight. Ser Alliser was taller than Jon, but the young lord was an experienced leader and warrior. Ser Alliser no longer intimidated him.
"You'll be the reason we all die." Jon snarled.
"This is my castle." Ser Alliser growled back. "You'll show me respect."
"You've done nothing to earn it from me," Jon shouted. "You'll let tens of thousands die because you're too stupid to see what's happening. You'll be just as damned as the Night King! You're no man. You're a frozen cunt whose bitterness has led him to stupidity!"
Both men grabbed their swords and were close to drawing them, but their argument was cut off by the sound of hoofbeats coming through the gate. The banners snapping in the wind showed a grey direwolf running on a field of white. The soldiers bearing the banners wore quilted leather armor and steel helms. Steel shields bore the image of a snarling wolf.
At their head, dressed in thick furs and leather, with a massive greatsword slung across his back, was Jon's father, looking every inch the lord of Winterfell. Riding just behind him was Eddard Karstark, a man Jon remembered well from the War of the Five Kings.
Father barely registered Jon or any of his companions. His eyes were firmly trained on the Lord Commander, and they weren't happy.
"Ser Alliser," Father said, his voice thick with anger and disappointment. "We have much to discuss."