Fic: "Defiled," (2/3) The Hobbit, Bilbo/Thorin, R
Argh! I've been trying to post this via Dreamwidth for, like, ever! One million tries! I'm just gonna post on LJ, and hopefully, Dreamwidth, later.
Part le deux. And I'm actually planning a longer fic based on this little three-part doozy. It'll take place in Erebor . . . totally AU, of course.
Defiled (2/3)
Author: _beetle_
Fandom: The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey AU
Pairing: Bilbo/Thorin UST, allusions to Azog/Bilbo
Rating: R, Mentions of NON-CON
Word Count: Approx. 2100
Disclaimer: JRR is probably spinning in his grave at what I'm doing to his beloved Hobbit.
Notes/Warnings: Mentions of NON-CON. Spoiler-ish, but only if you squint. AU, because I took major liberties with the fight scene at the end of the movie and the end of the book, basically wondering what would happen if the Eagles hadn't shown up so quickly, what would have happened if the other dwarves hadn't gotten to Bilbo and Thorin in time, and what would have happened had Erebor been retaken. Previous parts are here.
Summary: Written for the hobbit_kink prompt: Azog the Defiler finally catches up with the group. He decides to torture Thorin a little but more by, well, defiling his precious halfling and making him watch. Whether Thorin rescues Bilbo or fails is entirely up to author.
Thorin and Gandalf carry the slumbering hobbit down from the high place where the Eagles left them, in a hastily constructed travois of tree branches scavenged from below, and several cloaks.
Thorin is only barely willing to let Gandalf help him carry the halfling, but for the fact that he cannot safely do so alone. So he sets his jaw and nods when Gandalf places his staff in the travois with Bilbo, and lifts the other end.
Thankfully, the way down isn't as treacherous as Thorin had feared when first looking down, and the company-silent, relieved to be alive, but equally demoralized-has no trouble scrambling down to the loamy, rich earth and emerald-green grass waiting below.
It is an idyllic spot, lovely and peaceful . . . but Thorin and the others take no joy of it.
They quickly, still silently, make their way toward a patchy bit of forest a few miles away, and the narrow ribbon of river that runs through it. When they're safely within the trees, and at the bank of that river, they halt.
Thorin and Gandalf put down the travois gently, under the shade of an elm, and Thorin is immediately crouching by Bilbo's side, one hesitant hand hovering over Bilbo's cheek. Finally, he contents himself with brushing Bilbo's hair back from his pale, slack face.
Gandalf's heavy hand descends upon his shoulder for the second time that morning.
“After we've got a fire going and caught our lunch, I'll awaken him,” the wizard says quietly. Thorin sighs.
“Do you deem it wise to do so, Gandalf. Perhaps . . . he might benefit from more rest than a few hours of disturbed slumber.” He means to look up at Gandalf, but can't take his eyes off of Bilbo. Never has the hobbit looked more fragile, more defenseless and vulnerable.
And yet, this same fragile, defenseless, oh, so vulnerable hobbit had saved Thorin's life . . . at such a high cost to his own.
“I must awaken him at sometime, Thorin, and I believe that time should be sooner rather than later.” Gandalf sighs, too, going to one knee to regard Bilbo more closely. “It will not be easy for him, no matter when he is awakened.”
“I wish only to spare him further . . . distress.”
“And yet you cannot, unless you are prepared to see him slumber thus forever.”
Thorin blinks, the backs of his eyes stinging. This time, when he reaches out to Bilbo, the backs of his fingers ghost gently across the smooth, dusty cheek. And for a moment he smiles, rather fondly remembering how fastidious the hobbit tended to be when awake. But the smile fades almost as soon as it spreads across his face.
“He will at least want to bathe, while we're near a river,” Thorin says, clearing his throat and standing up. He turns to face what he expects to be a scattered, bunch of dwarves, all seeking to do whatever they usually do when creating a campsite. Instead he finds them milling around behind him and Gandalf in a tight crowd. They are silent and grave to a dwarf-even Bofur looks somber, and has removed his ever-present hat.
And he, in fact, is the one to step forward and speak.
“Is there anything we can do for him, Thorin? Anything at all?” he asks quietly. And Thorin almost snaps at him-the time to do something had been before Azog had violated the hobbit, not now, in the grim aftermath of that violation.
But Thorin recognizes such lashing out for what it truly is: guilt. It is not Bofur's fault that the hobbit suffered at Azog's hands.
“You can go about setting up a campsite as usual, so that when he wakens, it will be to some form of comfort,” Thorin finally says, swallowing around the sudden lump in his throat. “And you are not to speak of what happened amongst yourselves, or to him. We will allow him his privacy and help him retain his dignity.”
Now, Bofur frowns. But he nods, along with everyone else. A series of ayes moves through the crowd of dwarves. Then they're all off in different directions, going about the simple, but time-consuming business of setting up camp with no gear.
*
The first thing Bilbo does, when roused from his mostly unnatural slumber is take a slightly deeper breath and smile, turning a crinkled face away from the morning sun.
Then his eyes flutter open, immediately falling on Gandalf, who smiles down at him. “Welcome back, Bilbo Baggins.”
“Gandalf,” Bilbo says hoarsely, still smiling. “I had the worst nightmare . . . can't remember what-all it was about, but I think-” his smile momentarily becomes a frown, before turning once more into that hopeful, hapless smile.
And with that he attempts to sit up then flops back down. Gandalf puts a gently restraining hand on Bilbo's shoulder and he flinches away, the smile fading once more. “Don't . . . please don't,” he whispers almost inaudibly, shuddering and tugging his hands out from under all the cloaks and coats. He uses them to brace himself, then trying, once more, to sit up. In the process of doing so, his eyes fall on Thorin and he gasps, taking in the dwarf-king's battered visage.
“What's happened to you?” he asks, reaching out as if to touch Thorin's face, only stopping himself at the last moment, his own face turning quite red. “A-are you alright?”
Thorin nods once. “But it is I who should be asking you that question, Bilbo Baggins: Are you alright?”
Bilbo's frown deepens and his brow furrows. “Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?” And so saying, he looks around, squinting at their surroundings, and at the sight of the company huddled over the fire, roasting the wild coneys they'd caught. A familiar sight, no doubt, but in unfamiliar environs. “Where are we?” He shakes his head, frowning down at the cloaks covering his legs. “The last I knew, we were. . . .”
He looks up suddenly, panicked, eyes darting all around. “Wargs! The wargs were coming and-and-“
“Hush, it's alright, we're safe, now,” Gandalf says, again reaching out to Bilbo, but aborting the gesture when Bilbo once more flinches away. His wary gaze seeks out Thorin for confirmation. Thorin nods again.
“Aye, we're safe. We were rescued by Eagles.”
Bilbo's eyebrows shoot up and that smile almost makes a comeback, small and incredulous. “Eagles?”
Gandalf's own smile is wry, barely there. “Big ones.”
“Bloody big, I'd imagine.” Bilbo snorts and looks around once again. “Well, this is a cause for celebration, is it not? Yet another daring escape by the skin of our teeth! Why is everyone so . . . quiet and sober?” He nods pointedly at the dwarves 'round the fire. “Is something else the matter?”
Thorin glances at Gandalf, who once more looks every year of his true age, as he takes a deep breath. “Do you not remember what happened after the wargs attacked, Bilbo?”
Bilbo's brow furrows again. “Well, of course I remember! They attacked, and by luck or miracle I killed one, and then . . . I think . . . I climbed a tree. . . .” he shakes his head as if to knock stuck memories loose. “Then I was . . . here. Oh, me. I don't remember what happened after that, do I?”
Laughing a little, embarrassed, Bilbo runs a shaking hand through his hair, then feeling about his scalp. “Well, that's odd-did I hit my head? Yes, I must have. Gaffer Gamgee used to tell a tale about a hobbit who got knocked about the head really hard, once, and completely forgot who he was!” Bilbo laughs again, bright and carefree, and it causes the others to look over from the fire and lunch. “Well, obviously I wasn't hit that hard, thank goodness!”
“Yes . . . thank goodness,” Gandalf says, glancing at Thorin, who only has eyes for Bilbo. The hobbit is smiling his usual self-effacing smile, and his eyes are bright and shining, if quizzical. He looks as he always has, in essence, and something about that tugs at heartstrings Thorin had long thought rotted away. “And you're . . . certain that you don't remember anything beyond slaying the warg and climbing that tree?”
Bilbo shakes his head again. “Not a thing.” He seems blithely unconcerned with this fact. “Is that lunch I smell?” He suddenly throws back the cloaks-then yelps when he sees his half-naked state, pulling them back over himself. “Er . . . where are my trousers?”
Gandalf sighs heavily. “Bilbo . . . I have something to tell you, about what happened after the wargs attacked-“
“Perhaps that's a tale for another time,” Thorin interrupts to say, taking Gandalf's arm and standing up. Gandalf stands with him, following along when Thorin tugs him a short distance away.
“Are you mad?!” Thorin demands in a hissed whisper, whirling on the wizard. “By some blessing, he's forgotten about what happened to him, and you're going to remind him?”
Gandalf puts a hand on Thorin's shoulder. “Thorin . . . he has not forgotten. It's there, in his mind, buried so deep he doesn't see it, but a time may come when see it he must. And anyway, if these memories are left to fester, in the dark, I cannot guarantee his mind will ever begin to truly heal and be whole.”
Thorin hangs his head, his hand falling away from Gandalf's arm. “He is happy, wizard. He doesn't remember screaming and crying out for aide, and having no aide come. He doesn't remember Azog's knife at his throat. He doesn't remember-“ that I was helpless to save him. That I failed him when he needed me most. “He is better off, this way, can you not see?”
“And did you not hear a word I have said, Thorin Oakenshield?” Gandalf demands in a quietly hissed whisper of his own. “These memories will claw their way to the surface. Some day. Better they do so when he is surrounded by friends and comrades. Better it happen in the safety of this dell, than in the caves of Erebor!” Leaning on his staff, Gandalf puts a hand on Thorin's shoulder again. “He must be brave enough to face up to what happened, Thorin, and we must be brave enough to help him.”
Crossing his arms, Thorin tilts his chin up. “You consider that help?” He snorts, shrugging away Gandalf's hand once more. “Save us all from the help of wizards and elves!”
Gandalf's gaze turns hard, and Thorin realizes he's perhaps gone too far. But he refuses to take back what he said, claiming only: “This is neither the time nor the place for some idealized notion of what may help him heal. This is the real world, Gandalf, and there will be real consequences for forcing him to remember.”
“Just as there will be real consequences for letting him go on forgetting.” Gandalf turns back toward Bilbo, who's watching them curiously, but without any real concern. He gives them a tiny wave when they look over at him, and more of that sunny smile. Gandalf takes a very deep, steadying breath. “I'm going to tell him, whether you like it, or not.”
“Now?”
Gandalf pauses. Sighs, and wipes a hand across his forehead. “Do you know of a better time?”
“Well. . . .” after Erebor is retaken, perhaps? When I have the time and wherewithal to take care of him properly . . . to see that he has the best healers of the mind and body? Thorin sighs again. “At least let him eat, first. Let him have a few moments of normalcy before destroying his peace of mind.”
Gandalf glances back at Thorin, frowning in thought. “You really care for him,” he says. It's not a question. Thorin looks away.
“He saved my life. At great personal cost to his own.” Thorin laughs ruefully, his mouth pursing. “I said that he would be a burden, that he would not survive in the wild. That he would have no place amongst us . . . I've never been so wrong in all my life.”
“Perhaps you should tell Bilbo that,” Gandalf says gently, and Thorin's rueful laugh sounds again, quite without his permission.
“How can I, after all that's happened? Such cold consolation would do him no good.”
“You underestimate the power of a kind word, son of Thrain.”
“Not when all I have done since our first meeting is belittle and wrong him.” And fail him. Thorin looks away from Bilbo's sweet smile. It's not something he deserves. Not after . . . everything. “I owe him a great debt. And my allegiance.”
“And yet, that's not all, is it? Debt and allegiance are cold things, Thorin. And what you feel for our burglar is many things, but it is not cold,” Gandalf says, still in that gentle voice, and Thorin is quick to glare at him, his face heating up. For a moment, anyway, he had completely forgotten himself, and said more than was wise.
“Whether it is, or not, is none of your affair,” he says shortly, crossing his arms again. “He is a member of my company, and he has sacrificed himself for me. I owe him a professional and personal debt greater than I can ever repay . . . but that does not mean I won't try.”
And with that, he stalks over to the fire and the rest of the fellowship to procure lunch for the hobbit. He can feel Gandalf's and Bilbo's eyes on him the entire way-both gazes thoughtful, but for entirely different reasons.
Part III
Part le deux. And I'm actually planning a longer fic based on this little three-part doozy. It'll take place in Erebor . . . totally AU, of course.
Defiled (2/3)
Author: _beetle_
Fandom: The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey AU
Pairing: Bilbo/Thorin UST, allusions to Azog/Bilbo
Rating: R, Mentions of NON-CON
Word Count: Approx. 2100
Disclaimer: JRR is probably spinning in his grave at what I'm doing to his beloved Hobbit.
Notes/Warnings: Mentions of NON-CON. Spoiler-ish, but only if you squint. AU, because I took major liberties with the fight scene at the end of the movie and the end of the book, basically wondering what would happen if the Eagles hadn't shown up so quickly, what would have happened if the other dwarves hadn't gotten to Bilbo and Thorin in time, and what would have happened had Erebor been retaken. Previous parts are here.
Summary: Written for the hobbit_kink prompt: Azog the Defiler finally catches up with the group. He decides to torture Thorin a little but more by, well, defiling his precious halfling and making him watch. Whether Thorin rescues Bilbo or fails is entirely up to author.
Thorin and Gandalf carry the slumbering hobbit down from the high place where the Eagles left them, in a hastily constructed travois of tree branches scavenged from below, and several cloaks.
Thorin is only barely willing to let Gandalf help him carry the halfling, but for the fact that he cannot safely do so alone. So he sets his jaw and nods when Gandalf places his staff in the travois with Bilbo, and lifts the other end.
Thankfully, the way down isn't as treacherous as Thorin had feared when first looking down, and the company-silent, relieved to be alive, but equally demoralized-has no trouble scrambling down to the loamy, rich earth and emerald-green grass waiting below.
It is an idyllic spot, lovely and peaceful . . . but Thorin and the others take no joy of it.
They quickly, still silently, make their way toward a patchy bit of forest a few miles away, and the narrow ribbon of river that runs through it. When they're safely within the trees, and at the bank of that river, they halt.
Thorin and Gandalf put down the travois gently, under the shade of an elm, and Thorin is immediately crouching by Bilbo's side, one hesitant hand hovering over Bilbo's cheek. Finally, he contents himself with brushing Bilbo's hair back from his pale, slack face.
Gandalf's heavy hand descends upon his shoulder for the second time that morning.
“After we've got a fire going and caught our lunch, I'll awaken him,” the wizard says quietly. Thorin sighs.
“Do you deem it wise to do so, Gandalf. Perhaps . . . he might benefit from more rest than a few hours of disturbed slumber.” He means to look up at Gandalf, but can't take his eyes off of Bilbo. Never has the hobbit looked more fragile, more defenseless and vulnerable.
And yet, this same fragile, defenseless, oh, so vulnerable hobbit had saved Thorin's life . . . at such a high cost to his own.
“I must awaken him at sometime, Thorin, and I believe that time should be sooner rather than later.” Gandalf sighs, too, going to one knee to regard Bilbo more closely. “It will not be easy for him, no matter when he is awakened.”
“I wish only to spare him further . . . distress.”
“And yet you cannot, unless you are prepared to see him slumber thus forever.”
Thorin blinks, the backs of his eyes stinging. This time, when he reaches out to Bilbo, the backs of his fingers ghost gently across the smooth, dusty cheek. And for a moment he smiles, rather fondly remembering how fastidious the hobbit tended to be when awake. But the smile fades almost as soon as it spreads across his face.
“He will at least want to bathe, while we're near a river,” Thorin says, clearing his throat and standing up. He turns to face what he expects to be a scattered, bunch of dwarves, all seeking to do whatever they usually do when creating a campsite. Instead he finds them milling around behind him and Gandalf in a tight crowd. They are silent and grave to a dwarf-even Bofur looks somber, and has removed his ever-present hat.
And he, in fact, is the one to step forward and speak.
“Is there anything we can do for him, Thorin? Anything at all?” he asks quietly. And Thorin almost snaps at him-the time to do something had been before Azog had violated the hobbit, not now, in the grim aftermath of that violation.
But Thorin recognizes such lashing out for what it truly is: guilt. It is not Bofur's fault that the hobbit suffered at Azog's hands.
“You can go about setting up a campsite as usual, so that when he wakens, it will be to some form of comfort,” Thorin finally says, swallowing around the sudden lump in his throat. “And you are not to speak of what happened amongst yourselves, or to him. We will allow him his privacy and help him retain his dignity.”
Now, Bofur frowns. But he nods, along with everyone else. A series of ayes moves through the crowd of dwarves. Then they're all off in different directions, going about the simple, but time-consuming business of setting up camp with no gear.
*
The first thing Bilbo does, when roused from his mostly unnatural slumber is take a slightly deeper breath and smile, turning a crinkled face away from the morning sun.
Then his eyes flutter open, immediately falling on Gandalf, who smiles down at him. “Welcome back, Bilbo Baggins.”
“Gandalf,” Bilbo says hoarsely, still smiling. “I had the worst nightmare . . . can't remember what-all it was about, but I think-” his smile momentarily becomes a frown, before turning once more into that hopeful, hapless smile.
And with that he attempts to sit up then flops back down. Gandalf puts a gently restraining hand on Bilbo's shoulder and he flinches away, the smile fading once more. “Don't . . . please don't,” he whispers almost inaudibly, shuddering and tugging his hands out from under all the cloaks and coats. He uses them to brace himself, then trying, once more, to sit up. In the process of doing so, his eyes fall on Thorin and he gasps, taking in the dwarf-king's battered visage.
“What's happened to you?” he asks, reaching out as if to touch Thorin's face, only stopping himself at the last moment, his own face turning quite red. “A-are you alright?”
Thorin nods once. “But it is I who should be asking you that question, Bilbo Baggins: Are you alright?”
Bilbo's frown deepens and his brow furrows. “Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?” And so saying, he looks around, squinting at their surroundings, and at the sight of the company huddled over the fire, roasting the wild coneys they'd caught. A familiar sight, no doubt, but in unfamiliar environs. “Where are we?” He shakes his head, frowning down at the cloaks covering his legs. “The last I knew, we were. . . .”
He looks up suddenly, panicked, eyes darting all around. “Wargs! The wargs were coming and-and-“
“Hush, it's alright, we're safe, now,” Gandalf says, again reaching out to Bilbo, but aborting the gesture when Bilbo once more flinches away. His wary gaze seeks out Thorin for confirmation. Thorin nods again.
“Aye, we're safe. We were rescued by Eagles.”
Bilbo's eyebrows shoot up and that smile almost makes a comeback, small and incredulous. “Eagles?”
Gandalf's own smile is wry, barely there. “Big ones.”
“Bloody big, I'd imagine.” Bilbo snorts and looks around once again. “Well, this is a cause for celebration, is it not? Yet another daring escape by the skin of our teeth! Why is everyone so . . . quiet and sober?” He nods pointedly at the dwarves 'round the fire. “Is something else the matter?”
Thorin glances at Gandalf, who once more looks every year of his true age, as he takes a deep breath. “Do you not remember what happened after the wargs attacked, Bilbo?”
Bilbo's brow furrows again. “Well, of course I remember! They attacked, and by luck or miracle I killed one, and then . . . I think . . . I climbed a tree. . . .” he shakes his head as if to knock stuck memories loose. “Then I was . . . here. Oh, me. I don't remember what happened after that, do I?”
Laughing a little, embarrassed, Bilbo runs a shaking hand through his hair, then feeling about his scalp. “Well, that's odd-did I hit my head? Yes, I must have. Gaffer Gamgee used to tell a tale about a hobbit who got knocked about the head really hard, once, and completely forgot who he was!” Bilbo laughs again, bright and carefree, and it causes the others to look over from the fire and lunch. “Well, obviously I wasn't hit that hard, thank goodness!”
“Yes . . . thank goodness,” Gandalf says, glancing at Thorin, who only has eyes for Bilbo. The hobbit is smiling his usual self-effacing smile, and his eyes are bright and shining, if quizzical. He looks as he always has, in essence, and something about that tugs at heartstrings Thorin had long thought rotted away. “And you're . . . certain that you don't remember anything beyond slaying the warg and climbing that tree?”
Bilbo shakes his head again. “Not a thing.” He seems blithely unconcerned with this fact. “Is that lunch I smell?” He suddenly throws back the cloaks-then yelps when he sees his half-naked state, pulling them back over himself. “Er . . . where are my trousers?”
Gandalf sighs heavily. “Bilbo . . . I have something to tell you, about what happened after the wargs attacked-“
“Perhaps that's a tale for another time,” Thorin interrupts to say, taking Gandalf's arm and standing up. Gandalf stands with him, following along when Thorin tugs him a short distance away.
“Are you mad?!” Thorin demands in a hissed whisper, whirling on the wizard. “By some blessing, he's forgotten about what happened to him, and you're going to remind him?”
Gandalf puts a hand on Thorin's shoulder. “Thorin . . . he has not forgotten. It's there, in his mind, buried so deep he doesn't see it, but a time may come when see it he must. And anyway, if these memories are left to fester, in the dark, I cannot guarantee his mind will ever begin to truly heal and be whole.”
Thorin hangs his head, his hand falling away from Gandalf's arm. “He is happy, wizard. He doesn't remember screaming and crying out for aide, and having no aide come. He doesn't remember Azog's knife at his throat. He doesn't remember-“ that I was helpless to save him. That I failed him when he needed me most. “He is better off, this way, can you not see?”
“And did you not hear a word I have said, Thorin Oakenshield?” Gandalf demands in a quietly hissed whisper of his own. “These memories will claw their way to the surface. Some day. Better they do so when he is surrounded by friends and comrades. Better it happen in the safety of this dell, than in the caves of Erebor!” Leaning on his staff, Gandalf puts a hand on Thorin's shoulder again. “He must be brave enough to face up to what happened, Thorin, and we must be brave enough to help him.”
Crossing his arms, Thorin tilts his chin up. “You consider that help?” He snorts, shrugging away Gandalf's hand once more. “Save us all from the help of wizards and elves!”
Gandalf's gaze turns hard, and Thorin realizes he's perhaps gone too far. But he refuses to take back what he said, claiming only: “This is neither the time nor the place for some idealized notion of what may help him heal. This is the real world, Gandalf, and there will be real consequences for forcing him to remember.”
“Just as there will be real consequences for letting him go on forgetting.” Gandalf turns back toward Bilbo, who's watching them curiously, but without any real concern. He gives them a tiny wave when they look over at him, and more of that sunny smile. Gandalf takes a very deep, steadying breath. “I'm going to tell him, whether you like it, or not.”
“Now?”
Gandalf pauses. Sighs, and wipes a hand across his forehead. “Do you know of a better time?”
“Well. . . .” after Erebor is retaken, perhaps? When I have the time and wherewithal to take care of him properly . . . to see that he has the best healers of the mind and body? Thorin sighs again. “At least let him eat, first. Let him have a few moments of normalcy before destroying his peace of mind.”
Gandalf glances back at Thorin, frowning in thought. “You really care for him,” he says. It's not a question. Thorin looks away.
“He saved my life. At great personal cost to his own.” Thorin laughs ruefully, his mouth pursing. “I said that he would be a burden, that he would not survive in the wild. That he would have no place amongst us . . . I've never been so wrong in all my life.”
“Perhaps you should tell Bilbo that,” Gandalf says gently, and Thorin's rueful laugh sounds again, quite without his permission.
“How can I, after all that's happened? Such cold consolation would do him no good.”
“You underestimate the power of a kind word, son of Thrain.”
“Not when all I have done since our first meeting is belittle and wrong him.” And fail him. Thorin looks away from Bilbo's sweet smile. It's not something he deserves. Not after . . . everything. “I owe him a great debt. And my allegiance.”
“And yet, that's not all, is it? Debt and allegiance are cold things, Thorin. And what you feel for our burglar is many things, but it is not cold,” Gandalf says, still in that gentle voice, and Thorin is quick to glare at him, his face heating up. For a moment, anyway, he had completely forgotten himself, and said more than was wise.
“Whether it is, or not, is none of your affair,” he says shortly, crossing his arms again. “He is a member of my company, and he has sacrificed himself for me. I owe him a professional and personal debt greater than I can ever repay . . . but that does not mean I won't try.”
And with that, he stalks over to the fire and the rest of the fellowship to procure lunch for the hobbit. He can feel Gandalf's and Bilbo's eyes on him the entire way-both gazes thoughtful, but for entirely different reasons.
Part III