A Different Song (ASOIAF- OC/Reincarnation)

Chapter 19: The Arrival
I stood in the solar of Lord Commander Ryswell along with the maester and other lords of the castles along the Wall. Most of the lords were furious with me for destroying Stonedoor in my quest to kill every traitor.
"Lord Commander, are we really entertaining this bastard? He is neither a Stark nor a Targaryen, and he destroyed one of our castles along with its members. If they were traitors, it was our duty to punish them, not this boy's. He should be punished, and his army banished from our lands," one of the lords spat.
"Oh, shut up, whoever you are," I said in irritation. "I didn't attack the Night's Watch. I killed traitors and oathbreakers. I killed the bastards who dared to kill Lord Stark and his heir. I'd gladly do it again. Ser Noseless told you the truth, confessed everything, and yet you still blame me. No wonder they were able to gather so much support right under your collective noses."
The other lord bristled at my insult.
"Silence," Lord Commander Ryswell ordered. "This is my solar, and there shall be no more arguments. Daemon Snow is correct. He has helped us more than once, and now he has directly helped us again. It's time we hunted down the army and the traitor hiding as the so-called King Beyond the Wall. Benjen Stark was right when he said King Jaehaerys turned the Night's Watch into a penal colony by sending traitors and oathbreakers here. This Ser Lucamore Strong, once a Kingsguard, one of the best warriors, used his prowess to fight the gathering wildlings and defeat their leaders for power. No one has ever had the audacity to do such a thing in the Watch's history. But what was the motive, Snow? Did he tell you that? We never reached that part in our inquiry."
I snarled thinking about the traitor and his foolhardy plan from the beginning to take over the Night's Watch and rule the lands beyond the wall. 
"What motive does a traitor like Lucamore the Lusty have?" I continued. "Revenge, of course. Revenge against the king, my grandfather. Ser Noseless is one of his bastards, and their plan was always to escape beyond the Wall. They assumed the king or his sons would come, but dragons don't cross the Wall. They must lead the army from a horse top themselves and what is a dragonrider without a dragon? Just another man. Poor Lucamore couldn't foresee our alliance to reclaim the New Gift and make it prosper. His whole plan hinged on it being abandoned. So, He had to act earlier than planned."
"Fucking Targaryens," Lord Commander Ryswell snarled. "First he send Maegor's Kingsguard, and now his own. Both rebelled against us and caused trouble for the North. This will not be tolerated. An example must be made. The Watch's honor is at stake. This is the second time a Stark has lost his life due to treachery from the Watch. I will do everything in my power to ensure there is no third time. I will personally send the head of Ser Noseless to the king with a message for the entire South to hear: Any oathbreakers and criminals sent here will be scrutinized and watched for years, and no criminal will hold any position of authority when there are those who voluntarily joined. Rest assured, the wildling army will never cross the Wall again, and we will defeat them when they appear."
"What? You're not coming to hunt them down with my army?" I asked, surprised that the Lord Commander would now decide to hide behind the Wall.
"Unfortunately, I can't, Snow. According to the traitor, they are seven thousand strong. What if there are more? We would be in enemy territory, and I can't afford to lose more men carelessly," Lord Ryswell explained, and the other lords nodded in agreement.
"Cowards," I snarled. "Then you will wait forever, as I will personally go with my men and kill every single one of them."
Protests erupted from the other lords, but the Lord Commander's stern gaze was locked on mine. He knew that if he didn't let me go, his own life might be in danger and I would may just cause another slaughter to go beyond the wall.
"Silence," he ordered. "Our duty is to stop wildlings from coming into the North, not to stop Northmen from going beyond the Wall. I will allow you and your men to go."
I accepted the proposal and we parted to rest before the execution of the traitors, which I insisted doing and by beheading in front of a weirwood. 
I felt the direct connection between the weirwood and the Wall as its roots drank in the blood of Ser Noseless after I beheaded him and hung his body upside down on the trunk of the tree. The ancient system made by the builder with the help of Children of the Forest was still efficient. The damages caused by the broken oath of Nights Watch slowly mended by their own life's blood.
"Is this necessary?" Lord Commander Ryswell asked as he approached."Aye, Lord Commander," I replied. "A message must be sent to any new recruits and even the wildligs themselves." I kept my face cold, mimicking the cold mask I had learned from my grandfather—the typical Stark sternness.
The Lord Commander grimaced but continued. "My rangers—those we can trust—have returned with news. Seven thousand men have gathered at the Fist of the First Men. My ranger managed to
escape without alerting them. They haven't heard of their army's defeat on this side of the Wall and are preparing to move south. By now, they may have already started their march. This is the only knowledge I could give you. I will also provide you with additional supplies.
I thought for a moment, but without seeing the land for myself, I couldn't foresee any problems, so I agreed.
"Snow, I have a letter from Regent Stark, ordering me not to let you and your men cross the Wall. You are to return to Winterfell immediately while your army stays here under your captains' command to scour the Gift."
I snorted. "We both know that's not going to happen. The Gift is already secure."
"Aye, I've heard about it. Your birds leading your army to the wildlings hiding and scattered after the Battle of Nightfort. It's been a long time since any Northman used their warging so openly," Lord Commander Ryswell said.
I neither confirmed nor denied it.
Lord Ryswell snorted. "Aye, well keep your secrets. Almost every person who heard the old stories will know it. Maybe try to keep it down, You wouldn't want the Targaryens hear about it and realizing that their dragons, is also a beast at the end of the day.
I nodded, accepting the advice offered in good faith. As I walked back to the tents, my mind wandered to the traitors who started this mess. Perhaps beyond the Wall, I might even find a direwolf cub—one for myself and maybe one for Cregan, too. He'd love it, and it might help him cope with the loss of both his father and grandfather.
Omniscient POV
The time spent flying to Winterfell had been good for Aemon. It had been a long time since he last flew so much, and this time, he was able to enjoy the sights rather than trying to escape from memories or his own responsibilities. After taking in the scenery, he began to reflect on his actions over the last decade, and what he found left him dissatisfied. Even with his selfish nature, the loyalty Baelon showed him, made him want to be worthy of it. Baelon had gone so far as to defy their father, the king, all for him. For the first time, Aemon realized how much he had taken for granted.
Perhaps it was this realization that led to his introspection during the flight. Or maybe the fear of losing his heirship had straightened his head. Or, possibly, it was the fear of Balerion that tempered his arrogance. Even Baelon had been shocked by the entire encounter beyond belief, and Aemon knew how much Baelon worked with their father.
Aemon could barely contain his mirth when the soldiers on the walls of Winterfell panicked and fled at the sound of the dragon's roar. Yet, despite their fear, he saw several soldiers reach for arrows and spears. At least he could say the men here were infinitely more loyal and brave than those at the Twins, where he had spent a night on his journey north. Though he dismissed the longbows at first, on his second pass above the castle near the walls and towers—while Caraxes swooped and played in the air, trying to spook the remaining soldiers—the bone-white color of some of the bows caught his eye.
"The Weirwood longbows are the finest in the world, my prince," Lyarra's cheeky voice echoed in his mind. "An excellent archer can shoot through thick mail if he has enough strength." Aemon's eye watered slightly as the memories of his love hit him. 
"It is said that Brandon Snow, brother to Torrhen Stark, had prepared three special weirwood arrows to kill the Conqueror's dragon and even proposed assassinating the dragon riders at night himself. Fortunately for you, my prince, my own great-grandfather denied him and chose to bend the knee after praying to the old gods." The cheeky voice echoed in Aemon's memory.
Aemon had laughed hard when he first heard that story. After his trip to the Dragonpit with their father, he had to acknowledge that Torrhen Stark was the greatest king at the time of the Conquest. He resisted the temptation to ask "what if"—what if Brandon Snow could succeed. Instead, Torrhen bent the knee and acquired peace, kept his old gods, improved trade, retained almost all of his authority, and didn't lose a single Northman. Aemon shuddered to think what would have happened if the North had followed the Dornish path. He knew even Balerion would struggle to burn the entirety of the North's snow to flush out its lords.
He landed outside Wintertown, and he didn't have to wait long for the escorts to arrive. He frowned, noticing that Regent Bennard Stark wasn't among them.
As he rode through Wintertown, he heard loud whispers:
"Is he the sire of the Blessed Bastard Snow?"
"Is he also blessed by the dragon gods?"
"He must be a great man to sire a god's messenger like Daemon Snow."
"The hair is the same as half of Snow's…"
"He's so beautiful," one girl swooned, while the girl next to her scoffed. "Ha, don't be silly. Mark my words, Daemon is already more handsome than this posh southern prince. When he returns from the war, he'll be a man, just like the heroes in the stories. He'll bless us by visiting our brothel."
Aemon ignored the comments, unsure of how he felt. His emotions had been in complete turmoil. Only the fear of Balerion and the prospect of losing his place as heir had given him the strength to fly to Winterfell, to face her and her son again.
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Bennard Stark had felt many things since news of his father's death reached him. Prominent among them was a sense of uselessness and anger. When he heard what his bastard nephew had done, his anger became as tall as the Wall. His own ability with magic was nonexistent, but he wasn't a fool. He understood what his father, his brother, and Daemon had been up to. He could never forgive the bastard for killing his sister, and now his own Lord father was dead, all because of the son of that damned dragon prince.
When Aemon entered the courtyard, he saw Regent Bennard Stark's face, twisted with animosity. Bennard was trying to maintain the legendary Stark composure, but like Aemon, recent events had loosened his control—or perhaps Bennard was still the same spoiled brat who had tried to attack him when he thought he'd lost Lyarra to him. Aemon had laughed it off at the time and simply beat Bennard into submission during their sword fight.
Bennard Stark had maintained the famous Stark mask for days, but seeing the arrogant, casual walk of the dragon prince, and noticing the shadow of Daemon in it, made his anger burn. It was the eyes, though, that truly made him snap. The same color as Daemon's—the ones that had fought their way into Daemon's one eye and ruined his sister's beautiful grey in their son. The same eye that always looked at him with curiosity and mockery, as if he were a bad pun made by some bard.
"My prince, we weren't expecting a dragon—just a raven," Bennard hissed through gritted teeth, his anger barely concealed.
For a moment, Aemon was taken aback by the open rage in Bennard's eyes and the disrespect he was showing.
Roar! Caraxes let out a thunderous roar that shook the courtyard as Aemon's fury reached his dragon. He now understood the reason for Bennard's behavior.
How dare this fool blame me for her death? It was our blasted son who was responsible, and this cunt has the audacity to accuse me to my face. How dare he not even bow when I've been sent on behalf of the Iron Throne itself? Aemon's thoughts boiled with indignation.
Aemon immediately wanted to displace Bennard as regent and make Daemon the regent, just to spite him. But remembering Daemon was only thirteen, he restrained himself. Even if Benjen Stark had appointed Bennard as sole regent, Aemon resolved that he would appoint Gilaine Stark as co-regent. He would have dismissed any punishment for Daemon's actions then and there, but the King's orders, which stated that neither he nor Bennard could make the final decision, stayed his hand.
As the roar of Caraxes echoed through the courtyard, causing everyone to take a knee in deference to the crown prince, as tradition dictates, Regent Bennard Stark remained standing, glaring angrily at Aemon.

"Bennard, what in the names of the Old Gods are you doing?" came an angry voice—surely Lady Stark—cutting through the tension. Aemon saw a woman and a boy, no larger than a six-year-old, approaching quickly.

The lady was beautiful in the northern way, though nowhere near his Jocelyn, let alone Lyarra, whose face was a mask of anger and fear. But it was the boy's face that made Aemon pause. Ever since entering the town, there had been a lingering sense of grief and anger, and the boy bore the same mask Benjen Stark had worn all those years ago when he and Lyarra were caught after she became pregnant with that demon spawn.
Bennard didn't respond to Lady Stark, nor did he acknowledge her presence, still staring at Aemon, struggling to suppress his emotions.
"My prince, please forgive my regent. He has been under immense pressure and stress ever since my grandfather rejected my uncle from leading the army that went to the Wall, giving the duties of Lord of Winterfell instead. The news of his father's death has taken its toll. Please excuse my uncle's behavior," Cregan said, bowing from Bennard's right, standing two steps behind.
Aemon had to suppress his surprise at the impressive manners of the boy, and he stifled a laugh at what happened next, though a snort escaped him.
Aemon watched as Cregan reached his uncle and punched him behind the knees, forcing Bennard to buckle and fall to the ground on his knees, just like everyone else in the courtyard, except for Cregan.
The harsh voice that came next, eerily similar to Benjen Stark's, snapped Bennard out of his anger and the surprise of being made to kneel by his young nephew.
"Now, uncle, you shall apologize to the prince and welcome him according to tradition," Cregan commanded.
Bennard ground his teeth for a moment but managed to compose himself, putting on a mask of remorse that Aemon immediately recognized.
"My prince, I regret my behavior and am ashamed by it. My own father would have tanned my hide if he were alive now. I apologize. Your surprise arrival, along with the other shocks I've experienced, has clouded my judgment and made me forget my courtesies. I beg your forgiveness for my foolishness. Winterfell is yours, and you are welcome within its walls at any time."
Aemon waited for several heartbeats, considering various harsh punishments, but the current state of House Stark stayed his hand. For all Bennard's stupidity, he had been close with Lyarra, and she would make his afterlife a living hell if he punished Bennard too severely. Sighing, Aemon made his decision
"Lord Bennard, I am in a calm mood after the pleasant flight here, so I will forgive your behavior and chalk it up to the grief-stricken madness of a man who has lost his father and elder brother to traitors. But know that I will never forget this. The gods know I've committed my share of foolishness out of grief when I lost my Lyarra in childbirth. Be warned: one more such incident in my presence, and not only House Stark, but the entire North, will be punished harshly."
Aemon paused, letting his words sink in. "Now, you asked why I am here. I come as crown prince and Hand of the King to convey the Iron Throne's condolences for the loss of one of its most loyal lords paramount and his heir to traitors. I am here to pay my respects to Lord Benjen Stark, who did so much to improve the North for the benefit of all. I had intended to inquire about Lord Benjen's will regarding the regency, if such a document exists, and enforce it. But now, I am half-tempted to appoint Daemon as regent—were he not only thirteen—and remove you from your post, Lord Bennard, regardless of Lord Benjen's wishes, due to your rash behavior just now. The Iron Throne does not desire a regent who makes decisions driven by emotion. It says something when your underage nephew, whom you are regent to, must rein in your feelings."
Aemon could see the Northerners still kneeling, slightly relaxing as his words continued, though they remained tense as he chastised their regent.
"With a heavy heart, I, Prince Aemon Targaryen, Hand of the King, hereby disregard any will Lord Benjen may have left regarding the regency and appoint Lady Gilaine Stark as co-regent to Lord Cregan Stark, alongside Lord Bennard Stark. Furthermore, since Lord Cregan has shown exceptional maturity, he will have the right to contest any decisions made by his regents directly to the Iron Throne in matters of grave importance. Now, let this unpleasantness be over, and I accept the guest rights you have offered."
It was three days after Aemon's arrival when Lords Umber and Karstark, along with their retinues, arrived at Winterfell, bearing Lord Stark's body and confirming the grim news of the "Red Death." Aemon had heard the tales from the first day he was there—how his son had become mad with grief and transformed into a gods-blessed hero. The stories spoke of how Daemon's anger had frozen the entire battlefield, allowing the Northmen to slay the traitors in their midst. They claimed he had killed a thousand men that night and had been so drenched in blood that no other color was left visible on his body.
Aemon had scoffed hard at these tales, knowing no man could accomplish what the gossip suggested. However, the meeting with the lords—alongside the co-regents and Cregan, who was adamant about being present—revealed that there might be some truth to these wild stories.
Aemon dismissed these stories as exaggerations, the desperate fantasies of frightened men trying to rationalize the horrors of war. Yet, as he descended the steps toward the solar, a growing unease gnawed at him. The lords who had witnessed these events weren't men prone to fanciful tales, and their grave expressions suggested they were still struggling to make sense of what they had seen.
As the lords recounted their experiences, Aemon's intrigue deepened. They described how Daemon had wielded fire that radiated both cold and heat, and he saw Lord Bennard's shock while young Cregan wore a wolfish grin. Cregan seemed disturbingly pleased by the slaughter of traitors and wildlings alike. Then they spoke of what happened on the road to Last Hearth—Daemon's near murder of Lord Karstark, his accusations of treason, and how the ancestral Stark sword, Ice, seemed to possess a judging power that Lord Bennard initially rejected.
Lord Karstark's face darkened as he protested his son-in-laws rejection immediately. "The bastard accused me of treason, of conspiring with the enemy. He nearly killed me on the spot, had it not been for Lord Umber's intervention. The Stark sword—Ice—it's as if it has a will of its own, and that mad boy has somehow bent it to his will. The Sword burned my hand, when I tried to lift it. He must be punished severely for taking what was rightfully Lord Bennard's to wield in defense of the North, especially now."
Whatever Lord Karstark expected to gain by pressing the charges of treason and disrespect, the reactions of Crown Prince Aemon and Lord Cregan Stark were not what he anticipated.
Aemon's initial amusement at Daemon's audacity quickly dissipated when he learned that Daemon had openly declared Lord Benjen Stark as his father. A surge of jealousy, something Aemon had seldom felt, rose like a storm in his mind. He was enraged by the notion that Lord Stark had usurped what was rightfully his—Daemon was his son. Only his newfound maturity and introspection kept his rage in check.
Aemon remained silent, observing how the matter would unfold. He watched Lord Bennard, who was agreeing with his father-in-law's complaints, and Cregan, who appeared satisfied when Daemon declared he would gift Cregan the head of the so-called King Beyond the Wall.
Another Kingsguard who betrayed their oath. Aemon decide he will execute any Kingsguard for breaking oath when he become kings. Aemon had already gathered from his chance encounter with Cregan in the godswood that the boy harbored an unhealthy amount of hero worship for Daemon, similar to Baelon's loyalty to Aemon. Cregan's loyalty was clear—his allegiance lay with his older brother, Daemon.
"I propose that Prince Aemon grant me the authority to punish Daemon," Lord Bennard demanded. "More than that, Daemon has ignored my orders to return Ice while the men remained behind securing the Gift. I received word just before your arrival, Prince Aemon, that he slaughtered every man in a castle, declaring them traitors, and then rode to Castle Black, where he now rests in preparation for the venture beyond the Wall."
"No!" Lady Stark interjected. "Daemon may not have followed tradition, but he is needed to address the threats we face. There's no need for punishment. Lord Benjen himself handed Ice to Daemon with instructions to give it to Cregan. He is only following orders."
"No need?" Bennard snarled. "I am the—"
"Enough," Aemon snapped, silencing the room. "There will be no more bickering in my presence. My own house has two ancestral Valyrian Steel Sword and only the King, the head of House Targaryen decides what to do with them. Cregan, though underage, is the rightful Lord of Winterfell, and Ice belongs to him by title and by the endowment of the previous wielder. Daemon has wielded something of House Stark's, and Cregan is its head. Let Cregan decide whether Daemon should be punished or not."
Aemon finished speaking and watched as Cregan, despite his youth, considered the matter carefully. Aemon didn't particularly care whether Daemon was punished or not; his primary concern was ensuring that Bennard didn't get his way.
Cregan, despite being just a child, knew deep down that Daemon would never harm him. His last meeting with his grandfather in this very solar echoed in his mind. He remembered Lord Benjen's words:
"Cregan, if you ever find yourself alone, know that Daemon will be there. He is unstoppable, and he will be loyal to us as long as we remain united in our purpose—to face the Long Night."
"My lords," Cregan began, his voice steady, "the last thing my grandfather told me was to trust Daemon and learn from him. He gave Ice to Daemon to deliver to me, and I am confident he will do so. I will be pleased if Ice is returned to me along with the head of this so-called King Beyond the Wall. I trust Daemon to accomplish this, and he may use Ice until he completes the task."
Aemon smirked, noticing the enraged expression on Lord Bennard's face. Bennard and Lord Karstark had no choice but to remain silent, knowing they had been overruled.
Beyond the wall
Daemon Snow.
I opened my eyes, disconnecting from the animal in Winterfell through which Brandon had been keeping me informed. Though Brandon wasn't directly involved in any meetings, Cregan shared details about the situation regarding me with him.
Aethan stood guard by my side. Ever since I crossed beyond the Wall, I've lost the ability to warg while remaining conscious in my own body. My connection to the other side was severed, and it took all of my power along with the weirwoods to warg with any animals I'd left behind.
Aethan glanced at me, curiosity and concern written across his face.
I sighed, collecting my thoughts. "My uncle has royally fucked things up, Aethan. The king sent Aemon on Caraxes to deliver the Iron Throne's condolences and to sort out matters regarding me. But my uncle lost whatever sense he had left the moment he saw Aemon. He disrespected him, and it took Cregan stepping in to diffuse the situation. Aemon made Aunt Giliane co-regent, but Cregan can challenge any decisions made by the regents directly to the throne. Bennard fought hard to have me punished—accusing me of taking Ice, leading men without permission, and even blaming me for my mother's death in childbirth. In the end, Aemon left the decision to Cregan since he's the head of House Stark."
Aethan burst out laughing at that. "So you got away without punishment again?"
I scoffed. "There was nothing to punish me for in this matter. Allowing these traitors to consolidate their position and spread chaos would be a disaster. Ice accepted me, and Cregan has no use for it at the moment. I'll surrender it to him when I bring him the promised head."
Aethan chuckled. "Really? You'd just surrender such a prize?"
"What?" I snapped, narrowing my eyes. "Do you think I'm a thief? Why would I want this massive chunk of metal, which I can barely control, when I could rightfully claim two of the most famous swords in the world from my paternal family?"
Aethan smirked. "Aye, I've heard His Grace is eager to bestow both Blackfyre and Dark Sister upon you."
I couldn't stop the snort of laughter from escaping. "Indeed," I said, shaking my head.
Then Aethan's expression turned serious. "But, Daemon, do you still feel the same presence observing us? "
"Aye, Aethan. The presence has lingered ever since we left the Wall. It's ancient, something deeply unsettling. My instincts and abilities are working overtime to shield us from whatever it is that's interfering with our meetings."
Aethan's brow furrowed in concern. "That's troubling. I've seen nothing, nor learned anything, that could explain this. There's no Three-Eyed Raven at this point in time, as you've mentioned in your visions. But, while you were warging, I finally found what we've been searching for. One of my birds tracked down a dozen of them, and in three days, we can move them where we need."
A bloodthirsty grin spread across my face as the good news sank in. "It seems, at last, fate smiles upon us, Aethan. Three days, you say? Plenty of time for me to take control and subdue them. That'll be the perfect moment to confront the enemy army. They won't see it coming."
Aethan grinned as well, a wicked smile that showed exactly why Crannogmen earned the name "bog-devils."
4 Days Later
The Wildling camp
I could only grin in satisfaction as I gazed upon the sheer destruction before us. The lifeless eyes of dozens of wildlings wandered aimlessly, searching for their fallen comrades and any remaining valuables. They were so focused on their task that they didn't even notice our army observing them from a mere 500 meters away.
"Daemon, how did you accomplish this?" Lyra asked, awe and respect clear in her voice.
I basked in the admiration, not just from her, but from the soldiers as well, all of them looking at me with a newfound reverence.
"Men of North," I began, my voice steady and commanding. "You followed me to this cursed place out of sheer loyalty and love for the Starks. I don't want to see even one more death of a man sworn to House Stark. You marched with me knowing the enemy numbered seven thousand, while we were only a thousand strong. So, I made a vow: the only lives lost would be theirs, not ours. You can now see the enemy army scattered, dying, their camps trampled."
I grinned, and the soldiers began to stir, sensing something in my words.
"And if you're wondering how that happened, you can see the answer grazing the fields at the far right of the enemy camp" I said.
The soldiers looked at the right and saw something in they have only heard stories about.
"Aye, it was a herd of mammoths that trampled these fools. Now, ride in and finish the job." I continued, "Kill anything that moves—there will be no mercy except for a dozen of them. Also look for the fancy tent in the middle of the camp. I made sure the mammoths left it alone. Inside, you'll find Lucamore the Lusty, dead in his bed. Bring me his head."
The soldiers roared in jubilation, charging forward to finish off whatever remained of the wildling army.
Lyra approached me, her curiosity clear. "How did you control the mammoths? It takes time to tame such large, mature beasts. And what about the traitor? How did you kill Lucamore?"
I smirked, offering no clear answer. "I have my secrets, Lyra. Feel free to try and figure them out."
Her only response was a playful punch to my shoulder.
Lyra turned to Aethan. "You tell me," she pressed, a teasing edge in her voice.
Aethan grinned. "Well, he's Daemon Snow, the god-blessed. He has the power to control the mammoths once I found a herd. As for Lucamore..." He trailed off, shrugging. "I'm not entirely sure how that was handled in the night."
Authors note: so that happened. Yes. daemon warged and controlled a dozen mammoths and used them in the night when wildlings were sleeping. Sometimes u have to fight smarter not harder.
 

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