thrihyrne

Yes, it's not even 9 a.m. but I'm full of exclamation points. Out of curiosity I looked at my archive and saw that, indeed, yesterday was my one year anniversary date of having a livejournal. All thanks to the persuasive powers of

llembas and her lovely free code. To the friends I already had whose LJs I got to discover, as well as the new folks I've gotten to know and love, well, I can't believe it's been a year already.

And although of course I want to you all to read the entirety of "Countdown," especially after

llembas has beta'ed it (she has it now, and little does she know but I'm going to send her the soundtrack as soon as I can burn it today), but I just have to share. So here's the end. *sniff* I'm already seeing an overuse of the word 'brilliant.' Ah, the joy of editing.

***

(this is a continuation from 'April'- they're still at school)

“Tell me you think the portable swamp will work,” Fred insisted.

George leaned against his brother’s pillow, rolling a knut through his fingers. It was Sunday evening, one of the few times when Jordan actually studied, or at least spent strategic time in the Common Room when Angelina was most likely to be there. Fred and George had their room to themselves. Product Planning night.

“I think the portable swamp will work.”

Fred chucked a glob of popping plasticene at him that George avoided with ease. The goo smacked the wall with a small exploding sound.

“You’re having me on.”

“No, I’m not. Towler was right. The stinksap will give it the perfect oozing qualities we want.”

Fred grinned. “’Perfect oozing qualities.’”

“Yes. Perfect oozing qualities. Reckon we should give it a second trial run tomorrow?”

“You read my mind.”

“We must be twins.” George scraped the plasticene from the wall and threw it at Fred, who caught the fiery orange globule.

“Must be. So. We said fiveish. When do we rally the troops?”

“Troops?” George asked, incredulous. “I thought just the two of us were instigating this prank.” He tossed the knut to his right hand, rolling the coin more slowly over his non-dominant knuckles. “Jordan, Merlin love him, asks too many questions about the ingredients. Towler’s balmy with his Potions N.E.W.T.s. I say we skive off Herbology and at five til five, pour out the swamp.”

Fred stuck out his jaw, grating his teeth over his upper lip. “Agreed.” A focused attention entered his gaze. “This’d best be brilliant. I’m counting on you.”

“Don’t you always?” George teased.

“Yeah. Weasley and Weasley,” Fred sighed happily, rolling the plasticene into a small warm ball in his palms. “This will be the best prank ever.”

“Too right.”

***

The swamp had worked. Brilliantly. They’d filled the corridor with a not-too-pungent swamp in a most satisfying putrid green colour, and only a few first- and second-years had been scarred by the process. George and Fred had been near Gregory’s statue, suppressing their laughter, caved in on each other’s shoulders when they felt the wands.

“Weasley,” a malicious voice said behind George’s neck as Fred stiffened in turn.

“I can’t believe we caught them!” a mousy sound echoed behind Fred, who instinctively jutted his elbow back into whomever was standing too near. There was an “Oof!” as he gutted the form behind him, whirling around and about to draw out his wand until he saw they were surrounded.

“Not so fast,” Draco Malfoy said, the words dripping sardonically from his tongue. “I think that Umbridge will be most delighted to see you two, trapped, for once, in your own net. Or lake.”

“It’s a swamp, you idiot!” George swore, feeling the wand trace up his back to a rather sensitive point behind his ear.

“Shut up,” Malfoy hissed, running the wand through George’s hair. George bristled, trying to gauge Fred’s reaction to the Slytherins around him as Fred put up his hands in mock surrender. “Goyle, go get Umbridge. She’ll be ecstatic that we’ve caught these two lowlifes at their own game,” Malfoy said viciously, dragging his wand uncomfortably down George’s spine. “Well? Go to your awaiting public,” he jeered, jabbing George in the shoulder. “You too,” he motioned to Fred. “I don’t know if you’re Fred or George, and I don’t care. Besides, it doesn’t particularly matter, now does it?”

He laughed as Fred and George traipsed back to the swamp, trapped. George glanced over at Fred, whose face was as dark and bleak as George had ever seen. This was it. Loyalty to Jordan notwithstanding, there was nothing left to lose.

“Piss off,” Fred snarled under his breath.

George nodded curtly.

***

The exchange with Umbridge was a blur. Fred took the lead, and George went along. Somehow he knew to raise his wand in tandem with Fred, and yelled “Accio brooms!” and their beloved Cleansweeps zoomed toward them. In the brief time it took for them to summon their brooms, this thought raced through George’s mind:

From zero to infamy, in fifteen seconds.

They shot up from the Hogwarts floor, seeing on their level the poltergeist who had been the bane of their existence.

“Give her hell from us, Peeves,” Fred said, saluting the spectre, who doffed his hat in return.

Applause roared in his ears as they shot out the front doors of the castle into a blazing sunset.

***

IX. May

“So,” Fred said, munching his way through an egg salad and bacon sandwich.

“So,” George replied, eating the same. It was the fifth sandwich for lunch and dinner in as many days. Neither Fred nor George had ever been much for culinary pursuits.

They chewed in silence for a while.

“I feel like I’ve really let a mate down, y’know?” George said suddenly, dropping the crusts on the plate in front of him.

They had received an owl from Jordan five hours after they left Hogwarts in their splashy fashion.

Fabulous exit. You two are genius. Now get your arses back here.

“He’s a big boy, our Jordan,” Fred uttered through a mouthful of crisps, having tossed the lot back and tapping the bag with his hand to further expedite their entry. “He can fend for himself, and would probably be insulted that we’re even discussing him like he’s some helpless child.”

“I never said that!” George said, banging his elbows on the table as he shoved his plate away from him. He jerked his head as yet another Howler banged intrusively against the window of their two room flat, repelled by their hastily constructed, but quite impervious charm.

“Didn’t say you did,” Fred coughed, then grasped for a butterbeer. After gargling, he dropped the bottle to the table. “But we’ve got to unblock Wheeze’s fireplace. And when we do, we’ll have to face the music,” he said sardonically, huffing at the red papers plastered to their window.

“Mum doesn’t sing,” George reminded Fred, then shook his head. “But we’ve got customers. She’s bound to show up someday.”

“Someday. Like today. Or tomorrow,” Fred snickered, grabbing for George’s butterbeer.

“Yes. Both,” George lamented.

“George. We’re in this together. Hullo. Please pay attention to me. I’m your best mate.”

George stared at Fred over his intersecting knuckles. His best friend. His brother. His twin.

How could he ever have doubted?

Together they were indestrucable. FredandGeorge. The paperwork was signed. They already had more orders than they could keep up with. What possible trauma could they suffer meeting their mother?

“Skiving snackboxes. And some more of those popping plasticenes. And for good measure, we need to stew up a few more swamp-boxes and, oh yes, the fireworks. You have a long night ahead of you, Mr. Weasley.”

George couldn’t help but smile.

“You too, Mr. Weasley. There’s a piss-load of orders, and if you’re honestly going to be our bookkeeper, you’ve got to know how we stand with our galleons. Those buggery swamps don’t come cheap.”

“Mr. Weasley!” Fred slapped his hand across his heart. “I can’t believe that you would insult me like that. Of course I know every single ingredient that goes into the insta-swamps, and exactly how much we have at Gringott’s, and how much we have made over the past…” his voice trailed off as he stared intently at his left wrist and his newly-purchased watch. “Over the past 72 hours.” He winked at George. “Best get cracking.”

George picked up a brown crust of bread and chewed on it.

***

“I think it’s hilarious.” Fred waved his wand and turned the sign from “Open” to “You Must Be Joking” and back again.

George nodded. “Pretty brilliant, even for you,” he admitted, regarding the glowing letters.

“Well.” Their mother’s voice resounded behind them and they both jumped instinctively.

“Mum,” they said together as the sign swayed on the glass of the door. George and Fred stared at her. She met their gaze, the bag that she always used for her Thursday shopping already sporting bulgy lumps from her morning’s outing.

“Aren’t you going to give me a tour, then? Or do I have to beg for one?” she asked, her freckled hands poised on her hips. “You would think that as your mother you could at least show me around this dratted shop.” A sly smile blossomed on her face. “Lovely advert in Witches’ Weekly. Couldn’t be prouder.”

George stared as Fred opened the front door and bowed as their mother entered the store.

“Well, you should have finished school. But you continue to surprise even me by being responsible, at least in some aspects- Merlin!” she gasped, staring at the shelves, packed floor to ceiling with products. “You’ve made all of these in a week?”

“You might’ve noticed that we were pretty quiet during the hols,” Fred reminded her. “We might have made some of these during Christmas and Easter.”

“Not the fireworks, though,” George said, scooting behind his mother and clasping her around the waist. “I reckon you heard from Ginny that we’d gone through a righteous lot of those back in April.” He gave her a quick squeeze as she shook her head, her gaze going from one side of the shop and back again. “Had to start over from scratch with those. Quite popular!”

“Third best-selling product,” Fred said enthusiastically. “Right behind the extendable ears and fainting fancies. Dunno why the fancies are so popular.”

“They’re great gag gifts,” George surmised. “Or maybe it’s because I added that extra dollop of vanilla to them.”

Molly turned in George’s arms, then stepped back, raising her hands to clasp his hips. “Dollop of vanilla?” she echoed. “You’re cooking?”

“Not much,” Fred and George said together.

“Must say I’ve been getting a bit tired of egg salad and bacon,” Fred admitted.

At that moment the bell above their door rang and a flock of adolescent boys hurtled themselves into the shop. The room was suddenly full of exclamations of “Wicked!” and “Didn’t think it was true!” and “Noseblood nougat! That’ll get me out of class for sure.” Fred led a small band away from their mother, eager to show off their plentiful products.

“Mum, our customers await,” George said, pulling one of his mother’s hands to his lips and making a dramatic smacking noise as he kissed it.

“Ewwww,” one of the youths said at the show of affection, then tilted his head and looked admiringly at George. “Wait. You’re one of the owners,” he said knowingly. “You’re George Weasley.”

“Nope! I’m Fred,” George replied. “And this is my Mum, Molly.”

Molly looked at George in consternation, then over at Fred who was demonstrating the qualities of their headless hats in a corner.

“Only joking,” George said, grinning at his mother. “Of course it’s me, George. When has Fred ever kissed your hand?”

“That’s what I thought,” she retorted with a disdainful sniff. “As if I don’t know my own children.” She gave George’s hand a quick squeeze, then turned to yell across the shop, “I expect to see you at Friday dinner.” She waggled her finger as he looked wide-eyed at her, towering above the circle of boys. “And don’t be late.”

Fred stood at attention and saluted. “Friday dinner it is,” he said jauntily, then plopped one of the hats on his head so that his grin and whole head vanished.

“Tomorrow night,” Molly repeated to George, then walked out of the shop.

Thank Merlin, George thought as he made his way to Fred. No threatening hexes, and we’ll have a home-cooked meal. A warm feeling of triumph coursed through him as he picked up some canary cremes and began juggling them. She’s proud of us. Who’d’ve thought?

***

George was watching Fred shamelessly flirt with a young witch while her son waved his wand at the sample instant swamp when two owls swooped to the front door. George decided not to interrupt Fred’s pursuits, so he strode to the door and let the birds in.

“Pig!” he greeted, as took both rolls of parchment. He curiously stroked the family owl which then took off, zooming around the shop, twittering constantly. The Hogwarts owl followed the frenetic path of its younger counterpart with its massive golden eyes, its head swiveling. George opened the scroll from Pigwidgeon, and was surprised to see that it was a note from Ginny, not Ron, as he had assumed.

“Bloody hell!” he exclaimed after reading the contents.

“What is it?” Fred asked, looking irritably at him.

“Ron actually helped Gryffindor win against Ravenclaw! Can you believe it?”

“No,” Fred replied, then excused himself from the young mother and walked over to join George, who was scanning the second note.

“No, really.” George waved the parchment and handed Fred the page with Ginny’s tidy handwriting. “This other one’s from Jordan. Honest truth. Ron helped win a game!”

Fred’s eyes darted back and forth as he quickly read the parchment. “I’ll be a hag’s hound,” he said with approval. “Our ickle Ronniekins has, for the first time in his life, done something to warrant our respect.”

“Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Got a quill?”

George pulled his wand out of his back pocket and accio’ed a self-inking quill from beside the shop till, making it dance crazily in front of Fred, who snatched it out of the air.

“Need a writing surface. Turn around,” Fred commanded.

George complied, feeling Fred smooth Ginny’s parchment on his back and then scratch out a hasty reply.

“Oy! Pig!” The owl responded immediately to Fred’s summons, deciding to perch on George’s head.

“This can’t look good,” George said. “And hurts! Sodding claws and all in my tender head.” He put the butt of his wand against his temple and insistently shoved the small owl over until it scooted onto the wood. He turned around and lowered his wand so Fred could tie the reply to the owl’s leg.

“Poor George. Surely you know I’ve seen worse than you deciding to put your wand to your head and then shoving a midget owl onto it.” Fred snickered. “At least you had the sense to have the end pointed outward.”

The bell above their door rang. Two wizards came in, most likely early adolescents given the red bumps on their faces.

“Be right with you!” George hollered. “After I kill my rude brother here and dispose of his body, that is.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Fred said. “Go on, reply to Jordan. I’ll send the owl and deal with the pubescent pimplies.”

“Thanks.” George took the quill from Fred, who winked at him as he walked past the child still toying with the instant swamp, Jordan’s brief missive clutched in his hand. He made his way to the back of the shop through a door with the words Here There Be Mayhem: Weasleys Only above the entryway into their small kitchen-lab combination where he plunked down at a narrow bench.

Jordan,
Thanks for sending the news. The Ravenclaws must’ve been pissing themselves when Ron made that block. Can’t believe that he actually did something right. You coping? Heard about the Nifflers- you really are an honorary Weasley, and you’re welcome here anytime. Business is booming. It’s unreal. Any news from the Green Knights? We’ll see you at the train station in just a few days, kidnap you, and shout you several rounds at the closest pub. I’m sure your Mum’ll have no problems with that. We’re such reliable young men now.

George paused to flick the quill end between his eyes, thinking.

Reckon Towler’s wondering why you’re laughing out loud now. Tell him hi for us, and that we really owe him free gags for life. And that he’s a raving lunatic for taking a N.E.W.T. in potions. Best of luck to both of you. Must say I’m not terribly sorry to be missing the whole exam thing.

Best,

George (and Fred)

He rolled up the paper and tied it with a spare bit of twine, then pushed himself away from the countertop. Once back in the shop he found the Hogwarts owl and attached his message, then opened the door so it could return to the school. George lounged for a moment in the doorway, watching the owl wing away above the crowd. He really was glad that they weren’t in school anymore. It was only hearing from Lee that reminded him that their former roommates would soon be sweating through exams. He and Fred were so caught up in keeping their products in stock that the days since the swamp incident had flown by like he’d never experienced before.

Hogwarts, shmogwarts, he thought, smiling at the passers-by, rubbing at the new sore spot on his scalp. Education is most definitely overrated.

***

X. June

“George! I got them!”

Fred practically ran from the door and slammed two large black boxes on the counter. He looked frighteningly pleased with himself.

George slid the ladder down the row of shelving so he could look down at the wood and his twin’s grinning face.

“What’re you so smug about?” George asked, backing down the steps until he could hop onto the floor. “And what are ‘them’?”

He walked over to Fred, who was impatiently drumming his fingers on the top lid. George glanced down at the glittering gold script, stared at the name, then emitted a low whistle.

“Fred. You shouldn’t’ve.”

“We deserve it.”

George cocked his head. He knew Fred like he knew himself, and knew what was in the boxes. It was the colour of the items that was a mystery.

“Green?” George asked hopefully.

Fred rolled his eyes. “Of course. Now take the top one, open it, conjure a mirror, and put the bloody thing on.”

George grabbed at the black container.

Moments later they stood side by side, admiring themselves in their new jackets.

“Brilliant,” George sighed contentedly.

“Bloody brilliant,” Fred corrected. He looked at his watch. “We’re just in time. Got to go to the Burrow before Mum throws fits, and then to the train station to meet little Ronniekins and Ginny.”

“And Jordan,” George reminded him. “We’re treating him to the finest that the Alley has to offer. Anywhere he wants to go. He’s a free man now.”

Fred slapped George on the shoulder, then let his hand rest there for a moment. “We’ve really done well,” he said to George’s reflection in the mirror. “Pity we didn’t have these for that sodding portrait Mum made us sit for,” he said with chagrin. “Must say how dashing we look in dragonskin. Well, me, anyway.”

“You’re so conceited!” George joked. “Unlike me, of course. I’m dashing no matter what I wear. Guess you’ll have to get over that.”

Fred made the mirror vanish, and turned the shop sign around to “You Must Be Joking,” then cast a locking spell.

“Floo or floo, George?”

“Floo, I think, Fred,” George answered with a grin.

“Age before beauty,” George said at their fireplace, gesticulating generously in front of him.

“If you think you’re beautiful, you’re dreaming,” Fred said, shoving George out of the way. “And it’s handsome, anyway. I’m the only good-looker in this pair.” He wiggled his ears and tossed in some powder. “The Burrow,” he yelled clearly.

“Arrogant git,” George chuckled. “The Burrow.”

***

“Oh, boys!” their mother greeted them as they crashed into each other from the Burrow fireplace. “Watch that you don’t track ashes. And you’re late! We’ve got to leave now to greet Ron and Ginny and the members of the Order. Those coats!”

The sentences ran unbroken one after another like cars on the Hogwarts train.

“Coats?” George asked provocatively, rubbing soot from the vivid dragonskin.

“What coats?” Fred followed, innocently tugging up the zipper on his new jacket.

“Sorry we’re late. Been incredibly busy.” George tidied his hair.

“Thanks for the owl about Ron and Gin, though.” Fred licked his index fingers and ran them across his eyebrows.

“We were especially glad to hear Ron’s doing better, now that there’s hope for him after that stupendous win against Ravenclaw,” George said as they approached their mother.

Molly glared at the twins. “You could always reply to my letters, you know.” The menace in her gaze transformed to melancholy. “It’s been a rather difficult time for the rest of us while you’ve been sequestered in that shop of yours,” she continued. “While I wasn’t all that fond of him, Sirius Black was Harry’s godfather. And Remus isn’t taking it well.”

Fred gave George a knowing look as their mother sighed and turned away. George pursed his lips, then mouthed, “I knew we were right.”

During the Christmas break, when not having the joy of tormenting Ron, or when not working on new products, they had monitored the actions of the Order members’ comings and goings. They had had their suspicion that somehow Lupin and Black were some sort of bizarre couple, and now it had been confirmed.

“Think Mum knows?” Fred replied soundlessly as they headed for the door.

“She doesn’t have a clue,” George silently confirmed with confidence.

“Stop chattering behind my back,” their mother huffed, stopping suddenly in front of the door and whirling around. “My hearing is far better than you two think.”

George shrugged at Fred as they followed her out of the door to their usual Apparating point in the grass outside of their house. Fred was shaking his head in resigned amusement as George willed the thought of Platform 9 3/4 into his mind.

***

George and Fred clutched at each other as they stumbled up the stairs to their flat.

“Jordan. Shuch a good mate,” Fred slurred.

“Couldn’t agree more,” George said, enthusiastically pounding Fred on the back.

Fred got out his wand and waved it toward the door. “Dunno why Rosemerta kicked us out of the pub,” he said crossly. “And why’s the door not open?” He whacked the wooden surface with his wand. “Open up!”

“Think we spelled it with a password,” George reminded him. “Think it was three o’clock and pub had to close. Shuch a good bartender.”

“Too right. Jordan should have come over. Dunno why he went home.”

“Undulate!” George shouted, his wand aimed at their door, which flew open. “Think his Mum said he had to,” he mumbled to himself.

“Oy, is this place a mess,” Fred said as he weaved toward the kitchen.

“Then you clean it!” George cheerfully yelled at his brother. “Your cleaning spells are better anyway.”

“Too right they are.”

George padded through their bedroom into the bathroom and got his bottle of pepper-up, poured a capful, and drank it. After a couple of years of modifying the recipe, George’s version worked perfectly for Fred and him. Within a few seconds, the pleasant foggy haze had vanished, leaving him alert, but not jittery. He leaned on the sink for a moment, staring at his reflection. So much had happened over the year; it was odd that he didn’t appear to look much different from the fall. He tilted his head, studying the underside of his chin where he had a new scar from a recent experiment for an exploding egg prototype.

“George! Don’t keep all that pepper-up to yourself. Bring me a capful too.” Fred’s voice carried from the living room.

Righting his head, George continued to look at himself in the mirror. Why didn’t he look more changed? And why had those couple of blokes spent so much time glancing over at him and Fred and Lee? Surely he wasn’t that unattractive. The two intrigued wizards, who seemed to be in their early twenties, were certainly rather good-looking. With a shrug, he leaned back and poured the potion for Fred.

The shock of what he’d just thought ricocheted through him, and the lid fell out of his hand and into the sink with a clatter.

“George! Pepper-up!”

“Keep your shirt on! I dropped the cap. Won’t be a sec.”

Grasping the lid, he willed all thoughts about being stared at by wizards or witches out of his mind. They were looking at Fred. Or Jordan, who was as distinctive as he and Fred. George cringed when he saw how shaggy his hair was, and pulled it back behind his ears. He gazed back at his brown eyes framed by bushy red eyebrows.

Celibacy isn’t so bad, really, he decided. Especially since there’s nobody you’re keen on. He had Fred, and Jordan, and there were the young witches who came by the shop, though Fred was far more apt to chat them up. George wanted to make sure that Wheezes did well and-

“Shirt’s on, but not for much longer.” Fred pouted in the doorway, swaying slightly. “Give me the bloody potion and quit staring at yourself.”

George handed Fred the capful. “Can you believe we were signing autographs?” he asked, still incredulous that Hogwarts students of all houses save Slytherin had asked the two of them to sign things while they were milling around and meeting their parents. “We’re celebrities. You and I are famous!”

“Somehow I doubt that a Colin Creevey photograph of us on our brooms above the swamp is ever going to make it into The Daily Prophet,” Fred deadpanned after drinking the potion. “Ah. Much better.” He licked his lips. “Add a dash of cinnamon to that and you could give them a run for their money.”

“No, I s’pose leaving Hogwarts in a blaze of glory isn’t really newsworthy,” George agreed, following Fred to their room. They had the money for a place with two bedrooms, but after a lifetime of sharing a room, they knew each other’s habits and patterns and decided not to change things, at least not yet. “Still,” he went on, changing into his pyjamas. “Don’t tell me that you didn’t get a bit of a rush having all those people asking for your autograph.”

“Well, sure,” Fred said, nodding as he got into bed. “Though I thought Ron’s eyes were going to pop out of his head when that Vicky Frobisher asked us to sign her back above her tattoo.”

George snickered. “Probably more witches’ skin than he’s ever seen in his life!”

“Shame, that.”

There was a pause.

“Well, it’s not as though I’ve done much better,” George admitted. “Though perhaps this summer is the time to change that.”

“That’s for bloody sure.” Fred propped himself up on his elbow. “How is it that we know everything about each other and I’ve managed to neglect you in these matters?”

“You’ve not gotten that far, you big poser.”

There was another pause.

George sat up and stared at Fred, narrowing his eyes. “So you’re saying that while I was up in our room, slaving away on those prototypes, you were off slaving away on some… some…”

“I said no such thing,” Fred insisted. “But this is going to be the best summer ever. We don’t have to worry about money. We have the shop we’ve been dreaming of, we’re out of school, and Mum hasn’t disowned us.”

“There’s nothing to disown.”

“Exactly.” Fred sighed a Nox into the room and all of the lights went out.

Several minutes of silence went by. George cradled the back of his head in his hands, staring at the ceiling.

“Fred?”

“Yes.” The voice was fraternally reassuring.

“We’ve really made it, y’know?”

George heard a rustling of sheets and blankets and he knew Fred had turned over to face him.

“Yes, George. We’ve really made it. Thanks to you.”

“And you, Mr. Weasley.”

There was a sleepy chuckle.

“No, that’s you, Mr. Weasley. And thank Merlin you’ve applied some of that potions knowledge of yours to cooking.”

“I was sick and tired of egg salad and bacon,” George said, unconsciously sticking out his tongue. “If I can improve the fainting fancies, the least I can do is improve on a grilled cheese sandwich.”

“Don’t forget the pot roast you made,” Fred mumbled, turning sides in his bed.

“I just don’t understand how we can be identical twins and you can hate carrots the way you do. They’re crunchy, or slightly crunchy, and have this yummy taste.”

“We can’t possibly be related,” Fred sighed. “Going to sleep now. Sweet dreams.”

The vast expanse of FredandGeorge’s Best Summer Ever lay before them. George snuggled into his pillow.

“G’night, Fred.”

“G’night.”

~~~end~~~

The sequel is “Together, Alone.”

Further trajectory for this series is the “Cartography of Fire” series.

I can't believe I started this back in February. Longest writing time ever. But then again, there is the whole Cartography bit, and the fourth one is almost finished. Will probably be done today. And

cim_halfling, I may just ask you to beta, if you have the time. :)