The Test of Power

They had spent hours sitting around Genna's bed where her corpse lay, eyes fixed lifelessly to the ceiling. Lyarra had eventually become restless and decided that there was too much for her to do, and that uselessly sitting by her dead mentor's corpse was wasting time.

If she didn't think about it, she wouldn't upset herself. Lyarra chose instead to have Maester Creylen write letters to Genna's husband and children. Since they were Freys, she vehemently refused to do so herself, but they were her family and thus, had a right to know of her passing.

Lyarra sat in the solar that was once Tywin Lannister's – that was now meant to be Jaime's. She searched through the drawers, looking for anything to distract herself from what had just happened. She found working with numbers always managed to draw her out of her head for a little while.

She must have spent hours drawing out accounts. They were well-made and accurate, but useless. Each account was just a variation of the last. If the last account predicted a low amount of income from tax, the next one would predict a large amount of income. She even made out an account for if a famine swiped through the westerlands, leaving them without food – and she calculated the cost of importing from the Free Cities if Highgarden was to be hit by famine as well. In the wee hours of the morning, her head was working on overdrive and she found herself clinging onto any source of distraction.

With numbers whirling around in her head, Lyarra felt her forehead hit the desk as she fell into a deep slumber.

"Lyarra?" she heard a distant voice say. Her body was being shaken. "Lyarra?" the voice said again, and this time she recognised to be Jaime's. She woke up with a start and jumped away from him. He chuckled at her. "What have you been doing?" he asked, looking at the accounts. "Are we expecting a famine?" His eyes scanned the page further as Lyarra rubbed her eyes groggily. He raised an eyebrow in amusement. "And Highgarden too? Are these accounts or premonitions?"

She snatched the page from him and placed it back on the table, giving him a dirty look. "Obviously both," she deadpanned. "What time is it?"

"Almost sunrise," he replied. "You should get some sleep."

"I just got some," she responded with a sarcastic smirk. She stretched her back, resulting in it cracking noisily and disgustingly.

"In an actual bed. Come on."

Rolling her eyes, Lyarra stood up and did as she was told. Jaime led her to her bedroom – which was solely hers since Tyg's birth. Still clad in her dress and even her corset, Lyarra got into bed and tugged at the strings of her corset.

"She was very fond of you, you know," Jaime told her, sitting at the edge of the bed. "After my father died and Tyrion's... escape, she said you were the Lannister's only hope. I suppose that says a lot about me."

"When my father died, Genna comforted me for hours. She could be so cutting and cruel, and yet so kind and caring when she needed to be. I hate that Jon and Tygett will never get to know her," she lamented, choking on suppressed sobs.

"I do too," Jaime admitted. "But we'll tell them. Just as we'll tell them about your father and brothers and everyone else that we've lost. All the good ones, anyway."

A ghost of a smile appeared on Lyarra's face. "I think we should hold off telling them about the Rains of Castamere for a few more years."

"I think it would make a brilliant bedtime story, actually," Jaime told her, grinning. "And perhaps I ought to warn them about the ghost of Tywin Lannister that lurks along the halls – "

"Stop it, Jaime," she chided him, laughing as she whacked his shoulder. He laughed with her. Even though they'd both lost someone they cared about, Jaime and Lyarra were somehow the most content with each other than they were in a long time.

"You should get some sleep," he told her finally, and patted her blanket-clothed leg as he stood up. "Goodnight, Lyarra."

"Goodnight, Jaime," she replied, a smile on her lips as she watched him leave the room.

Genna Lannister – for she was never truly a Frey – was buried in the crypts beside her father and brothers. Her wormy husband Emmon Frey had argued that she belonged in the Twins, where he would one day be buried, but Jaime and Kevan swiftly silenced him and reminded him of his place. Lyarra was delighted with that. The arrival of a flock of Freys made her anxious and enraged, and she enjoyed seeing a Frey get put in his place – by her husband, no less.

As they walked up the stairs towards the Great Hall, Lyarra overheard Emmon Frey speaking to Jaime yet again.

"The Blackfish still hasn't surrendered. The keep is impenetrable, my lord. Without more reinforcements..."

"We've given you enough reinforcements," Jaime snapped back at him.

Lyarra looked up in surprise at that. As far as she was aware, Jaime didn't take part in any of his duties, including warfare. Lyarra realised that he had purposely been keeping that from her. Her fists clenched by her sides, and her suspicions were proven true when Jaime glanced back at her worriedly, a frown on his face.

"Your lord father swore to us that in return for..." Frey glanced back at her, just as Jaime had, and lowered his voice, "the Red Wedding, he would ensure that House Frey would become the lords of Riverrun. As his son, you have inherited that pledge, on your honour." Emmon Frey must have become worried by Jaime's reaction, as he started to stutter. "I m-mean no offense, Lord Jaime, but I m-must insist – "

"You just buried your wife, Lord Emmon. My beloved aunt," Jaime reminded him. "We will speak no further of this today."

The Frey's mouth became pinched with dissatisfaction. "As you wish, my lord," he replied and left in a huff.

Once the wormy lord was gone, Jaime turned around to her, a regretful look on his face. Lyarra knew him well enough to know that he wasn't ashamed at all of what he'd done, only regretful that she had found out. "Lyarra – " he started, but Lyarra had no desire to hear his stupid explanation.

"Don't," she interrupted him, and rushed passed him to the Great Hall.

Despite being seated beside him, Lyarra managed to avoid her husband for most of the night. She knew he was loyal to his family, to Cersei, even above his loyalty to her, but she never expected that he would support the family that murdered hers in such a dishonourable way. Even though he was the Kingslayer, Lyarra thought he had some semblance of honour left in him, enough to not support the murderous, dishonourable leeches that were House Frey.

And so, Lyarra spent the night moving from table to table, starting conversations with noblemen and women that she recognised. She noticed that Jaime was doing the same, which surprised her. Usually he bailed out of these things as soon as he could.

Perhaps he had taken an interest in his kingdom once again, and he was trying to faze her out. Lyarra had learned enough from her mother to know that a woman's duty was not to rule, but to raise her children, and Casterly Rock was Jaime's birthright, not hers. It felt like a slap in the face, though, to have been overburdened – while with child – with the duties her husband shirked, only to be pushed aside when he took a fancy to leadership.

She was putting herself in a bad mood, she realised, just as she saw Lady Crakehall at another table. She bid goodbye to the lord she had been speaking to and went over to the woman's table. "Lady Crakehall," she greeted. "Thank you for coming."

"Lady Genna and I were close as children," she relayed. Lyarra noticed the woman's frosty complexion. "I could not miss her burial."

Lyarra nodded in understanding. "May I sit?" she asked, and the lady nodded in confusion. "I see your husband has not come."

"My lord husband is still... dismayed with your decision to make Lord Damon the Lord of Crakehall over our Tybolt, and then with your lord husband's insistence that the decree was not be challenged," Lady Crakehall replied carefully.

When Genna told her that naming Damon the heir would be a massive mistake, she had thought the consequences would last a few years at most, not this long. Lyarra gave the lady a polite smile as she thought over her words, desiring to rectify the situation and placate at least one powerful westerlands house.

Then, a brilliant idea popped into her head, and a grin spread across her lips.

"Lady Crakehall, tell me, do you have any daughters?"

Lady Crakehall blinked in surprise at the sudden question. "I do, my lady. Two. Iselda and Celia."

"And what ages are your daughters?"

"Iselda is twenty-one and Celia is seventeen."

"Are they married or promised to anyone?"

"Well, Iselda is married, but Celia is not married nor promised to anyone. I fear trying, to be honest. She's quite the wilful creature," Lady Crakehall clarified, a wistful smile on her face as she told Lyarra about her daughters.

"Do you think your husband would be placated if I promised an advantageous match for your Celia? I know it will not entirely make up for what's been done, but it might mend some old wounds," she explained.

"You wish to marry Celia to Damon Serrett," Lady Crakehall surmised.

"Yes," she answered. "It would end the warring between your families and it would be an advantageous match, since Lord Serrett is one of the richest men in the westerlands. I know you would prefer your son to be Lord of Silverhill, but what's done is done and I cannot change that now. But allow me to do right by your house."

Lady Crakehall frowned, her brows furrowed in thought as she mulled over Lyarra's offer. Finally, the lady nodded. "I make no promises, but I shall ask my husband."

Lyarra smiled at her and placed her hand on top of Lady Crakehall's, giving it a slight squeeze. "I cannot ask for more." She stood to leave, but Lady Crakehall grabbed her wrist to keep her in place.

"But I must ask you one last question, my lady," the woman said. "Will this Damon Serrett definitely agree to the match? If I mention this to my husband and Damon Serrett is not in agreement, I fear this proposal might fuel the feud, rather than quell it."

"He will agree," Lyarra promised her. "You have my word that he will."

Not looking very convinced, Lady Crakehall released Lyarra's wrist and looked away from her. Lyarra took that as her cue to leave and walked away from the woman. Across the hall, she saw Lord Lefford speaking with Jaime. Lyarra narrowed her eyes at them. She had told Jaime everything, and yet here he was – chatting amicably with the man who would have left their son to die rather than have his maester treat him.

But then, Jaime did something that both surprised and delighted Lyarra. He whacked the repugnant lord across the face with his golden hand, so hard that Lefford fell onto the ground. And there he lay for quite some time before anyone bothered to help him up.

Lyarra felt a grin spread itself across her face. She straightened her expression before anyone could see it, and revelled in how Lord Lefford roared and kicked as Lannister guards dragged him from the Great Hall.

Her desire to avoid Jaime far-outweighed her desire to find out what happened. In truth, Lyarra could guess what happened – Lefford made unreasonable demands and Jaime was unable to handle them with a witty response, and so he spoke the only he knew how to, by violence.

She went to her chambers and sat at her vanity to take out all her hairpins and her earrings. She looked at her reflection in the mirror. For the first time since Tygett was born, there was fire in her eyes – a fire she hadn't realised was gone until now.

Once she had taken off all her jewellery and hairpins, Lyarra went to see her son in the adjoining nursery. He was in the arms of a maid, and Lyarra gently took her son from the maid and rocked him, cooing softly at her child.

She heard the door open and close, but did not look up until she heard Jaime's voice. "You avoided me all night," Jaime accused her, his tone even.

"So I did," Lyarra admitted, placing Tygett in his crib and pulling his blanket over him. "And you seemed to have forgot to mention that there Lannister soldiers aiding the Freys in taking my family's keep!"

Tygett squirmed in his sleep because of Lyarra's raised voice, and so she decided to take this argument into her room.

"My father made a promise," Jaime reminded her. "Dishonourable or not, I have to keep that promise as his heir. I sent the reinforcements that he asked for, and I will likely send more."

"And when was this done?" Lyarra asked. "When did you give the order?"

Jaime frowned at her. "A fortnight after I got back."

"Oh, so you were well able to send reinforcements to attack my mother's home and all too happy to leave everything else to me," Lyarra snapped at him, her face becoming tight with anger.

"Is that what this is about? You can't pretend you don't enjoy running things. I've seen you. You revel in it – "

"It's everything, Jaime," she all but growled. "It's how you feel as though you have the right to pick and choose what responsibilities you have, and leave me to pick up the pieces. It's how you went behind my back and sent an army to siege Riverrun. You weren't even man enough to tell me!"

"I didn't tell you because I knew that you'd react like this. You have never been able to comprehend that we are House Lannister, and in this war, we fight for House Lannister. House Lannister made a promise to House Frey, and whatever your personal feelings are on the matter, they are irrelevant."

"They killed my family," Lyarra reminded him, as though he could forget. She was horrified that he would suggest such a thing – that she should just forget how House Frey slaughtered her family while they were under the protection of guest right. She would never forget, and she would never forgive.

Jaime sighed. "Yes, they did, and it was wrong and dishonourable, but Walder Frey did it under my father's orders. And now it is my responsibility to see to it that my father's promise is kept, whether you like it or not."

Lyarra wasn't someone who could be easily shocked into silence. She usually had some sort of comment on the tip of her tongue. But Jaime had shocked, with his words and how callously he said them, like her loss – her need for revenge and her hatred of the Freys – wasn't important or justified. Like he didn't care.

She stood there, her mouth slightly agape, before she pressed her lips together and turned away from him. She heard her walking away, and then she heard the door opening and closing behind him. Lyarra sat down on the edge of the bed, and for the first time since she left King's Landing, she felt completely and utterly alone.

Over the last few days, she had refused to cry. She was strong. She had lost enough people to be hardened, as much so as any man. But it all hit her now. She had no one, no one but her children. She was Cersei. Lyarra almost laughed, because for once, she actually understood Cersei – and she understood how this kind of loneliness could turn to madness and cruelty.

But wallowing in loneliness was not Lyarra Stark. When she became sad, she found something to keep her busy – a distraction. She needed a distraction. Lyarra stood up and threw her cloak over her shoulders, marching to the stables with a determined look on her face.

"You two," she said as she passed two guards standing outside the barracks. "You are going to accompany."

"My lady, its passed sundown – "

"I know what time it is," she snapped back, opening the side-door to the stables. "Grab a horse each. We're going to Silverhill."

She saddled a horse and climbed on top of it, becoming irritated by the guards' slowness. "Well, hurry on, men. What are you waiting for?"

"My lady, does Lord Lannister know about this?" the other one asked, looking up at her dumbly.

Lyarra rolled her eyes. "I am going to tell you that he does, and if he asks you, you'll tell him that I lied to you and I will not speak against that. Do we have an understanding?" The guards looked at each other in worry. As though on cue, Fang walked out of the shadows, growling at the guards who dared question her mistress. Lyarra chuckled. "Fang despises disloyalty. So, what will it be?"

Terrified of her direwolf, the guards nodded in agreement. "Yes, my lady," one of them said.

"Good. Come on then."

It took them all night to ride to Silverhill, and unlike her guards, Lyarra wasn't tired in the slightest. Spite kept her awake. She heard the saying that there was nothing worse than a woman scorned, and perhaps this was what the saying meant. Lyarra wanted to show Jaime that he couldn't faze her out. Maybe she was being childish – and spiteful, but she was sure of that by now – but it felt good to exercise some power again.

Lord Damon Serrett was in his nightgown when he greeted her. Lyarra waited for him as he got dressed before they commenced negotiations – negotiations which Damon Serrett didn't realise they were going to have.

When he greeted her again, it was with an arrogant smirk and a mischievous spark in his eyes. "The lovely Lady Lannister!" he greeted boisterously. "How I missed you're company. You've noticed that I put an end to that nasty business with Crakehall."

"You mean that you used House Lannister's army to win your war," Lyarra corrected firmly. Damon's face fell. "And I'm here to ensure that no further disputes take place."

"Ah, I see," Damon replied, the grin firmly planted on his face once again. "And does your lord husband know you're here my lady?"

Lyarra stiffened. "Why is everyone so concerned with Lord Lannister? As much as this may surprise you, he does not control my every move."

"You are every husbands' nightmare," Damon off-handedly commented. "No offense, of course."

She blinked at that, surprised at his bluntness. Lyarra supposed she was. Wives were meant to be obedient and wait for instruction by their husbands, even northern ones. But Lyarra had been given many freedoms in the last few years, so much so that she forgot what role she was meant to play as a lord's wife, and she didn't care much for remembering.

"How could that possibly offend me?" Lyarra sarcastically asked, giving the man a saccharine smile as she moved towards the bookshelves. She traced her finger along the bindings as she read their titles. "Your library is far greater than the one we had at Winterfell."

"And Casterly Rock?"

She flashed him a grin. "Nothing is better than Casterly Rock. Not even King's Landing."

He watched her with interest. "I've never seen it."

"And you shouldn't. The sight of it ruins the imagination. You expect some might, beautiful structure and what you get is foul-smelling, inferior keep. Of course, I do think seeing Casterly Rock first ruined it for me. Nothing can beat a massive keep built out of a cliff," she explained. As much as she loved Winterfell, it paled in comparison to Casterly Rock. Nowhere was lovelier nor as grand. But it wasn't home. Lyarra had began to think it never would be.

"You came here to tell me how we're going to prevent another war," Damon reminded her, seeing that her mind had drifted off to somewhere else.

Lyarra blinked in surprise and forced herself to think of the more important matter at hand. "Oh, yes. Of course." She straightened herself and cleared her throat. "I spoke with Lady Crakehall about a marriage proposal. Between you... and one of her daughters." His face quickly grew taught with shock and anger. Lyarra quickly continued speaking, attempting to calm him. "Her name is Celia and she is one of the most beautiful women in the westerlands, I'm told. And she's fierce too and wilful. Just your type, I think – " She was about to ramble on when Damon interrupted her.

"You think you can just order me around and force me to do your bidding?"

"Yes. I do, actually," Lyarra insisted, raising her chin. She was not one to grovel. "This marriage will usher in peace between you and the Crakehalls. Lord Crakehall will agree, if his wife has anything to say about it. The only variable in this is you, Lord Damon."

Damon's blue eyes narrowed at her in a fierce glare, all trace of a smirk gone from his face. Lyarra stiffened. "You have no right to demand this of me! I am a lord! It is my right to choose who I will marry!"

"You are a lord because I made you so," Lyarra reminded him, attempting to straighten up so she seemed taller than she was. She spoke to him in a low, cold voice that seemed to shake even him. "I can just as easily unmake you. Don't forget that."

He flinched and stepped back from her a little. Lyarra glared at him, awaiting his response. He would either do as she bid, or lash out at her and demand she leave, and all would be lost. Despite her threats, she couldn't unmake him. His unmaking would be hers, since the decision to make him a lord was the decision that had come to define her. She couldn't back down now.

"Does your husband know about this?" was his response.

"Not yet," Lyarra stated. "I thought to surprise him. He's been so troubled with the situation between you and Crakehall. I had thought to rectify it on my own and ease some of the burden on him." She smiled sweetly at him, but the former bastard didn't buy it.

"He doesn't have a clue, does he?" Damon said, that familiar smirk reappearing on his face. "You're doing this behind his back. But why? Not out of love, obviously. You've proven to you before that you don't love him," His face became suggestive. Even during an argument, Damon still had the nerve to flirt with her. "So why? You could be in your pretty little castle right now, embroidering your lovely children doublets and blankets and whatnot."

Lyarra grimaced, but looked at the man evenly as though he hadn't affected her. "As much as I do enjoy embroidering... doublets, sometimes I decide to aid my family, in whatever way I can."

"And you're quite proficient in it, aren't you? Diplomacy, negotiating... you, who brought Lord Lefford to his knees, you're not one to step into the sidelines when you're no longer needed. Oh no, you enjoy power. You need it. Perhaps it gives you a purpose." Lyarra couldn't hide her true feelings anymore. He was right. He was completely right. "You're not made to be a doting mother, cooped inside a nursery, just as Jaime Lannister is not made to be a lord – "

"You would do well not to insult your liege lord in the presence of his wife," Lyarra found her voice to remind him of that. Truthfully, she was tired of his accusations, especially since every one was at least somewhat right.

"You know you would do a better job, so you forcefully involve yourself in matters to prove you're useful. And that's why you're here, isn't it? To prove that the westerlands – that Jaime Lannister – needs you."

Lyarra felt pathetic. What had happened to her? Somewhere along the way, she fell in love with power. Her father and mother would hate to see her like this, not because she was a woman – but her lady mother might have something to say about that – but because she became corrupted by same thing all southerners too... by their love of power, by their greed.

She swallowed her pride and walked closer to Damon Serrett, who was grinning at her like he had just discovered her greatest secret. "Perhaps you're right," she admitted. "But that doesn't change the fact that you have a duty to ensure the safety of your people. You are shirking your duty if you dismiss an opportunity for peace. Marry the girl."

Damon smirked at her. "Fine."

At that, Lyarra flinched in complete and utter shock. She had expected anger like before, not smug agreement. "Fine?" she repeated, as though it was a question.

"Fine," he shrugged. "You say she looks agreeable."

"I've heard she's quite beautiful," Lyarra replied, still not quite believing how easy it had been.

"Then I'll marry her. I trust you'll make the arrangements."

"Of course I will," Lyarra promised. "I'll write to Lady Crakehall tonight."

The lord nodded his head. "Then so be it. I trust you can see yourself out."

She was too overjoyed to care that Lord Serrett was being unmannerly in rushing her out. She had expected him to be mad – very few men would be happy about being ordered to marry someone – but Lyarra hadn't expected him to analyse her like that, as though she was but an open book to him. She felt vulnerable. Did everyone think she was so pathetic?

Lyarra had barely taken off her cloak when Jaime barged into her room, with a face that could make a man drop dead in fear. Lyarra flinched when she saw him and backed away, until stubbornness encouraged her to stand still. After all, she had done nothing wrong. If anything, she did a good thing.

"You've took off in the middle of the night without telling anyone, and you don't even have anything to say?"

She hung her cloak on its hanger and turned back around to face him. "I sorted out the Crakehall dispute."

Jaime looked at her oddly. Lyarra could see that she had surprised him. He recovered quickly though, and shot back at her, "The one you started to begin with?"

"That's exactly the one," she clarified. "They do say it's a woman's job to clean up messes, and that's what I did."

"If you wouldn't mind telling me what in Seven Hells did you do, that would be brilliant," her husband scathingly replied as he struggled to keep a hold of his temper.

"Lord Serrett is going to get married. To Crakehall's daughter," she explained perkily, though Jaime's face did not reflect any semblance of happiness as his eyes narrowed at her. "Oh, come on. Don't be so glum. I took a bit of initiative. The problem is sorted. All is well."

"And you did exactly what you were so mad with me for doing," Jaime accused. "You went behind my back and did something you knew I wouldn't be happy with."

Lyarra placed her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes at him. "And why wouldn't you be happy about this? I stopped another stupid siege. How do you warp that into being a bad thing, Jaime?"

"Because you did it mere hours after our argument, so it was obviously meant to spite me. Because a lord's wife is not meant to negotiate on his behalf without his knowledge. Do you have any idea how it makes me look?"

"Like your wife's a genius who took some initiative," Lyarra tried.

Jaime ran his hand down his face in frustration in an attempt to calm himself. "You're acting like a child, Lyarra."

It had been years since he called her a child. Before he left for war, even. For some reason, it affected her a little more than it should. "No, Jaime. You're the one acting like a child. A child whose pride has been wounded!"

"Pride? You think this is pride?" Jaime asked, his voice taking on a sarcastic and biting tone. "Oh, Lyarra, this has nothing to do with pride. I told you what the westerlands are like. What happened to my grandfather. If my bannermen perceive me to be weak, they'll take advantage of it. I can't have a wife who runs around doing whatever she likes!"

"Why in Seven Hells not? You obviously do!" she shouted back at him. Her own temper had flared as well, and she felt herself being blinded by it.

"Not anymore," Jaime stated, shaking his head firmly. "From now on, I will be in charge of the westerlands, without your interference. This is the last matter you will have any influence on. You will organise this wedding, and that will be that. And I'll be hiring a steward too."

At first, Lyarra felt as though he'd slapped her. As though all the time and effort she'd put into ruling his home had been for nothing. But then, she felt only anger. She scoffed and walked passed him. He grabbed her arm to stop her. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Away from you," she growled.

"You know what Lord Lefford said to me at the feast last night?" he asked her. Lyarra shook her head, pursing her lips into an angry frown. "He wanted me to lower his taxes, and then he demanded that we continue our investment as we always had. And then I realised that he'd become senile, but he kept going on and on. He demanded to marry one of my cousins since his wife died in childbirth just a fortnight ago. And then... he started insulting you. He demanded I string you up and burn you as a traitor. And then I hit him. He went asleep last night and he hasn't woken up since."

"Why are you telling me this?" Lyarra asked, realising he must have some motive.

His eyes became softer as his grip on her arm loosened. "Because you seem to think I don't give a damn about you. That I keep trying to hurt you in some way or another. But I'm not, Lyarra. I'm not your enemy."

Then who is? She asked herself, but allowed the words to die on the tip of her tongue. Instead, she nodded meekly and pulled away from him, rushing out of the room before she said anything she would regret.

Author's Note: I am so so so so so sorry! I can't believe its been a year! I kept trying to write this chapter, but life kept getting in the way. I have big exams this year and there were bereavements in my family, so I haven't had much time to do anything except study. But I'm back! And I would like to sadly admit that there's a chance I won't be updating until June if I don't update again within the next week. I'm on holidays this week, and then the next term is the last before my exams so I'll be doing nothing but studying I'm afraid.

This chapter had a lot of Jaime/Lyarra scenes, and a whole lot of angst. There's a lot of distance between them after everything and Lyarra's becoming a bit dark, I have to admit, but she'll get better. And she's also comparing herself a lot to Cersei at the minute, which I think is the pinnacle of self-awareness and can only lead to healthy character growth. I've also decided to alter my original plan for the next few chapters. I lost interest in this story partly because I hated where I was going with it so I decided to change a few things, which then resulted in a lot of changes. So I hope you enjoy what I have in store!

I apologise if there are any mistakes. Its really late and I just wanted to get this chapter out.